Chapter Six

Icelyn could see the pain in Malcolm’s eyes and etched on his face. She felt terrible for all that he had gone through already and what he was trying to work his way through now. She knew that he deserved to know more, if even only a small amount. She stood and walked over to the coffee machine as she tried to formulate the words in her mind. What she had to tell him could change everything, and it could also put them all at greater risk. Taking two mugs of coffee, she placed them on a tray along with a plate of cookies and carried them into the living room. She placed the tray on the table in the center of the seating arrangement and settled onto the chair where she had sat the night before. Malcolm came into the living room and took his place on the couch. It felt like it was becoming a pattern, something more familiar and predictable than perhaps it should have felt in only the short time that they had known each other.

“You asked me about my family,” she started.

Malcolm nodded as he picked up one of the mugs of coffee and took a sip.

“Yes,” he said.

“My grandfather was a man named Casimir. He was in the Order. I know so much about it because I found his journals and read them.”

Malcolm looked like he was struggling to swallow the sip of the hot, strong beverage and he reached forward to put the mug back down on the table.

“He kept journals?” he asked.

“Yes. They detailed his time in the Order and what he was doing. There were a few of them from his early years when he was first selected, but the closer he got to the end of his life, the more he wrote.”

“We are forbidden from making any records of the Order or what we have done,” Malcolm said.

“I know,” Icelyn said. “Have you ever seen Aegeus’s mark?”

“No.”

“It is a symbol that represents him. His father had one as well. So, did mine. They were designed for the purpose of communicating to others that would seem anonymous to those who weren’t familiar with the marks. It ensured that they could send communications, send messages, or just establish that they were in a certain place without writing out their names.”

Malcolm looked as though he were reeling from the information that she had just given him.

“He risked everything, including his life, by writing those journals.”

“I know,” Icelyn said again. “But that’s why I know what I do and why I was able to be here to help you.”

She debated telling him more. What she had told him already was true, but it wasn’t everything. There was so much more that part of her felt he should know, but there was another part of her that was still wary, still wanted to keep it close to her. She wasn’t entirely sure why. In only the brief time that they had known each other she had developed a sense of closeness with Malcolm that she had never experienced. Even if she wasn’t able to express it or didn’t even know what it meant herself, she knew that she wanted to trust him and to be able to open up to him, especially about things that she knew impacted him so seriously. She couldn’t understand what it was that was in her that stopped her from telling him more. It was almost as though she had stayed quiet about it for so long that she didn’t know how to open up to him or even if it would be safe for either of them if she did.

Malcolm was staring at her and she took a sip of her coffee, partly to break the intensity of his gaze.

“What are you thinking about?” she finally asked after several long moments of silence.

“Just how thankful I am that it was you who Athan chose to help me. If I need to be protected, I am just glad that it is you who I ended up with.”

Icelyn felt pleasure move through her at the words. She tried to hold back the smile that was trying to come to her lips. When her eyes met his, however, the smile melted away as an unexpected rush of emotion came over her. She felt the urge to be closer to him and felt herself ease to the edge of the chair. She wasn’t sure what was behind the compulsion, but she reached up and touched her fingertips to his cheekbone, running them down the side of his face. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt as though she couldn’t get all of the breath into her lungs. Malcolm looked as though he were feeling the same thing and she noticed him drawing closer to her, his eyes not moving from hers.

Taking her hand away from his face, Icelyn stood sharply and reached down for the mug of coffee.

“It’s late,” she said. “You should really get some sleep. Training tomorrow will probably be even harder than it was today.”

She headed for the kitchen and could hear him coming up behind her.

“Icelyn,” he said.

She put the mug in the sink and turned.

“Is there anything else that you might need before bed?” she asked. “I’ll find your clothes and wash them tomorrow. When you get up, I’ll have a shirt waiting for you.”

She didn’t pause long enough for Malcolm to say anything else. She needed to get away from him. She felt as though she were losing herself, the control that she had always had slipping slightly away a little more with each moment. Tucking herself into bed, Icelyn squeezed her eyes closed and refused to let herself dwell on the image of Malcolm that was trying to take over her mind.

Icelyn prepared breakfast for Malcolm and laid out a new, larger shirt for him before he woke up, then remained in her bedroom until she heard him leave to meet Athan for training. When he was gone, she gathered the clothing that he had worn the day before along with her own clothes and headed down to the creek. She was kneeling by the basket at the edge of the water trying to grind enough of a cleansing stone into one of the stains on his shirt as she could to remove the discoloration when she heard someone approaching. Icelyn glanced over her shoulder and felt her heart constrict at the sight of Weyland coming closer. He was also carrying a basket of clothes, but the look on his face told Icelyn that there was another purpose behind his trip to the creek.

“Hello,” she said, looking directly into the man’s face to keep his attention focused on her. “It’s a beautiful day today.”

“It is,” Weyland agreed. “Clothes will dry fast today.”

His eyes flickered over her shoulder as if he wanted to see what she was holding and Icelyn shifted her body slightly, trying to subtly block his view. As she continued to smile at him, she balled his shirt up in her hand and shoved it down in between two of the boulders protruding from the bank. Once it was hidden, she grasped one of her dresses that she had already washed and relaxed her posture so that Weyland could clearly see the soft blue garment draped across the boulder. She ground the stone into the fabric arbitrarily, occasionally glancing down at it as if checking the progress of a stain.

“It seems like I’m always down here washing,” she said, trying to add levity to her voice.

The Order member came to her side and stared at her dress. She couldn’t tell if he was fooled by it or if he was trying to figure out what it was that she was trying to hide.

“I suppose in that way it’s a blessing to be alone,” Weyland said. Icelyn felt herself go still. “If only your grandfather was still here. I remember how much Casimir appreciated fresh shirts.”

A chill ran through her, but Icelyn refused to allow herself to show it. She dipped her dress down in the rushing water and forced herself to nod in agreement.

“It is much easier to handle it just for myself. I can’t imagine these women who wash for their entire families.”

Weyland made a strange sound in his throat and she looked over her shoulder at him again. He was staring down into the basket in his hands.

“You know,” he said. “I think that these are clean. I’m going to go home and put on a fresh shirt. Have a nice afternoon.”

Icelyn could feel herself shaking when the man walked away. She didn’t think that he had seen the clothing that she had hid, but that didn’t change the look of smug suspicion on his face. It was as if he wanted her to know that he knew something, but was purposely not telling her so that he could simply trail her along, tormenting her. She stayed by the side of the creek for several more minutes, trembling as she forced herself to finish washing the clothing. Once it was clean, she piled it back into the basket and headed back toward her house to hang them to dry. She brought Malcolm’s clothing inside the house and hung them in front of the heater, turning the warm air on so that it could quickly dry out his clothes without anyone seeing it. Though it was effective, the heater immediately brought the temperature inside the home up to an uncomfortable level. She went to the back door and opened it, propping it open so that the hot air from inside the house could escape. Though the temperature outside was barely cooler than that inside, if at all, the movement of the breeze helped to stir up the air, easing the oppressive feeling.

Closing her eyes against the glare of the sun, Icelyn leaned against the doorframe and let the breeze wash over her. The air carried with it the smell of rain and the promise of gentler temperatures, reassuring her that soon the heat would break. Her mind immediately went to Malcolm where he was training in the field. She knew that it was hotter and more intense there than it was in the village and she hoped that he was doing alright. As soon as she thought of him, though, her mind went back to Weyland and the horror that seemed to exist just behind his shimmering eyes. She didn’t know what to think or how she was supposed to feel about everything that was happening around her. For years she had been torn, pulled in different directions by forces that she had no control over, and now she felt that the time might be coming that she would have to make the most important, and most difficult, decision that she ever made.

Icelyn felt like she couldn’t concentrate on anything that she was supposed to be doing throughout the rest of the day. Though she knew that there was so much that she needed to accomplish, she couldn’t force her thoughts to remain focused on anything other than the oppressive, overhanging thoughts that seemed to cloud her mind and dampen her ability to handle anything. Even after Malcolm returned to her house at the end of the day, she couldn’t keep her mind on even having a conversation with him. She had prepared a meal ahead of time for him and brought hers into her bedroom to eat, listening as he moved around the house showering, changing into the clothing that she had left out for him, and then settling down at the empty kitchen table to eat. Part of her wanted to go out to him and find the same comfort that she had found near him the night before, but she couldn’t. She was sitting in the center of her bed, struggling to finish a single seam on a shirt that she was repairing, when she knew that she couldn’t keep going this way.

Tucking the shirt, needle, and thread back into the box beside her bed, Icelyn got up and changed out of her nightgown and back into clothing. She crept out of her room and paused, staring down the hallway at the darkened living room until she was confident that Malcolm had gone to bed and wouldn’t notice her leaving. She made her way quietly through the house and slipped out of the door, locking it carefully behind her. The kingdom around her was quiet as she walked through the pools of moonlight and glimmer of stars toward the other side of the village. When she arrived at a house in an older section of the village, she stepped up to the door and rapped on it, hoping that she didn’t disturb anyone nearby. There was shuffling on the other side of the door and a few moments later a glow appeared between the curtains on the front window of the house. The door opened and Athan looked out at her, blinking through the sleepiness in his eyes as he stared at her inquisitively.

“Icelyn?” he asked as if he wasn’t entirely sure that he was really seeing her. “Is something wrong?”

“I have some questions,” she said, taking a breath and forcing her shoulders to relax as she willed her heart to calm and the trembling of her body to still. “I need you to tell me more.”