The Temple of Forgotten Secrets (After The Rift Book 4)

by C. J. Archer

  "I lost my memory too!" he cried. "Why wouldn't I want to use a wish to get everyone's memories back?"

  "There are too many unanswered questions," Balthazar went on, "not to mention too many doubts about your character. How do we even know you're telling the truth? You had ample time to tell us but you didn't, not for five days."

  "I hoped to use the third wish for myself and I thought you'd stop me. There, happy now?" He shook off Dane and Max and marched back to the fallen chair. He picked it up but didn't sit down. "But I won't try that now, and that's the truth."

  "Forgive us if we don't accept your word," Balthazar said.

  Brant sat heavily on the chair and dragged his hand through his hair. He didn't meet anyone's gaze.

  "And another point," Balthazar went on. "How do we know you're not working for someone else who wants the gem? I suspect the Deerhorns and Barborough would like to possess it."

  "Why would they when they don't have the wishes?" Brant asked.

  "We only have your word that you have them, and I've already stated how worthless that is. I imagine both the Deerhorns and Barborough would want the gem in case they can somehow obtain the wishes. I wouldn't put it past the Deerhorns to think they could bargain with the sorcerer, and I wouldn't put it past Barborough to pretend not to know what happens to the wishes after death. He might know how to get them. He might already have them."

  "I have the wishes!"

  "You might have struck a deal with the Deerhorns or Barborough, saying you'll get the gem for them if they use one wish to get our memories back."

  Brant rounded on Dane. "Why are you letting him say all these lies?"

  "I told you before, I am not the leader of all the staff, just the guards," Dane said. "We have equal say in what happens to the gem, and Balthazar is allowed to voice his opinion."

  "But he's wrong!" Brant ground out through a clenched jaw. "I have the wishes, and I need the gemstone to use them. Don't you want your memories back?"

  "You know I do," Dane said.

  "Then give me the fucking gem!"

  "No," Balthazar said again. "Not until we know we can trust you. We've already seen how much damage can be done with just one wish. Imagine what can be done with two." He put up a gnarled and knotty finger as Brant protested again. "We have a responsibility to be careful with those wishes. You might have them, but those of us who are aware of the sorcerer's power have a duty to see that they're used wisely. I will not sit by and allow you, or anyone else, to become another Leon."

  "That's easy for you to say," Brant spat. "You're old. You've lived the best part of your life. All you've got to look forward to is a grave. The rest of us want to live our lives and we can't do that until we know our pasts."

  "You think I want to go to my grave never knowing what I've done in this life?" Balthazar shook his head. "I am not advocating letting the wishes go to waste. We will use one to retrieve our memories. But I want to make sure you are not the one wielding all the power for your own selfish reasons. I am yet to determine how to do that." He nodded at Dane. "It requires discussion. I suggest we take some time to think about it and not act in haste."

  Brant kicked the table leg and crossed his arms. "This is pointless."

  "I agree with Bal," Theodore said. "Captain?"

  "So do I," Dane said. "We need time to plan for all possible outcomes."

  "None of you believe me?" Brant asked.

  "I believe you," Yen said. "But I don't trust you not to use one of the two remaining wishes for yourself. I agree to delay while we consider it. We've waited this long to get our memories back, what's a few days more?"

  "Aye," Erik chimed in.

  The rest of the men nodded, although not all looked entirely convinced. Some would be impatient to get their memories back, no matter the cost.

  "Bal, pay Josie for a jar of salve she's going to purchase then organize a meeting with the heads of staff," Dane said. For someone who didn't like to be called their leader, he certainly gave orders as if he were. "I'm late for a meeting with the dukes. Brant, stay here until I get back."

  Brant muttered under his breath and crossed his arms high up his chest.

  Balthazar rose and handed me some coins then walked off with Theodore. Dane held the internal door open for them. Before following them through it, he looked back at me.

  "You're returning to the village now?" He posed it as a question, but I suspected he was making a suggestion. A strong one.

  "After we speak with Remy," I said. "I'd like to see how he's faring."

  Max collected his sword and belt from the hook. "I'll escort you."

  "We don't need an escort," I said without thinking.

  He paused. "I need to see someone in the kitchen anyway."

  Erik chuckled. "Bring me back some chicken."

  Remy was in the makeshift class that had been set up in the corner of the service commons courtyard. He and two other students listened to maid-turned-teacher, Olive, as she spoke to them about the history of Glancia. She stopped so Remy could speak to us.

  "Olive's been teaching us about stuff that happened a long time ago," he said with bright-eyed enthusiasm.

  I'd offered the boy from The Row and his mother a room in my house when the situation in the slum became dangerous. When the governor's office had sold my house to pay the fine I'd incurred from illegal doctoring, the Ashmoles had leased it and thrown us out. The Divers couldn't take Dora and Remy into their home as well as me, so Dane had found Dora a place in the palace kitchen. She was the only servant with a memory and her son was the only child on the estate.

  "Olive taught me about famous kings and battles, and inventions. Did you know, Josie, Mull is hundreds of years old?"

  "That's very interesting." I glanced over his head at Olive. She wouldn't have known the history of the nation either. Or, rather, she wouldn't have remembered it.

  She held up a thick book. "The palace library is extensive."

  We left them to their studies and intended to head home, but got only as far as the large forecourt. I spotted Kitty, the Duchess of Gladstow, and Lady Miranda Claypool approaching from the palace and hailed them.

  "I'm so glad to see you both before we leave," I said, taking Miranda's offered hand.

  "Were you going to leave without even speaking to us?" Kitty pouted, but it was a pretty pout and held no rancor.

  "I'm coming back this afternoon and would have sought you out then."

  She turned to Meg. "Is this true?"

  Meg bobbed a hasty curtsy. "Yes, Your Grace."

  "You don't need to use our titles," Miranda chided. "You're a friend of Josie's, and that means you're our friend too. It's Meg, isn't it?"

  Meg nodded. "Yes, er, ma'am."

  "I'm Miranda and that's Kitty. You'll get used to calling us by our names, although getting used to us takes a little while. Particularly Kitty. She's far too proper and uptight."

  "I am not!" Kitty snipped. "I'm no different to Meg or Josie, except that I wear finer clothes. Put me in a village dress and no one will know the difference."

  Miranda burst out laughing, and I giggled into my hand, not yet confident enough to laugh in the duchess's face. Meg simply stared at me, horrified.

  Kitty's lips twitched until she gave in and smiled. "I suppose I am a little different. It's not my fault. I was born like this." She indicated her rose-colored gown with the matching military style jacket, white ruffled collar, and polished leather boots. "It's breeding."

  Miranda rolled her eyes. "That's an argument for another day."

  Kitty looked as if she would protest, but Miranda got in first. "We're heading out for a ride. Will you walk with us to the stables?" She glanced back at the palace then leaned closer to me. "We have some questions to ask you."

  "We certainly do," Kitty said as we walked. "Do you remember listening in to my husband's conversation with Buxton, that sergeant and the Deerhorn brat?"

  It was my turn to glance back to the palace, b
ut no one followed us or lurked within hearing distance. "You haven't mentioned it to anyone, have you?"

  She vigorously shook her head. "It doesn't matter now that the king is dead."

  We were close to the gate so I signaled for them both to remain quiet. I smiled at the guards who opened the gates for us, and waited until we were out of earshot to speak again. "The question of the king's legitimacy to sit on the throne is no longer important," I said. "But it's wise not to discuss it."

  "But what about…" Kitty put a hand over her mouth and whispered, "Magic? Did the sergeant prove it to my husband?"

  Meg and I exchanged glances.

  Miranda gasped. "Hailia and Merdu."

  "Don't say a word to anyone about magic," I told them.

  "No one will believe us anyway," Kitty said. "Nobody has mentioned it."

  "As far as we are aware," Miranda finished.

  "Oh, I am well aware of many things," Kitty said. "I've been spying on my husband and listening in to his conversations."

  "Kitty! That's dangerous."

  "But quite informative. Do you know what I learned?" Her strides lengthened, and considering she was quite tall, the rest of us had to quicken our pace to a trot to keep up. "I learned that he's been meeting with Violette Morgrave."

  I stopped. The three of them stopped too and rounded on me.

  "Josie?" Miranda prompted. "What is it?"

  "Lady Morgrave is a Deerhorn," I said.

  "And quite as manipulative and nasty as her mother. So?"

  "I'm sure the Deerhorns believe the tales of magic. They also wanted her to marry the king so that she could become queen. If she is meeting with your husband in secret, Kitty…" I swallowed the rest of my words. It was too cruel to voice my opinion to her.

  "It's all right, Josie," the duchess said levelly. "I have suspected for two days that she is seducing my husband." Kitty might not be too bright, but a woman had an instinct about such things.

  "Why?" Meg blurted out. She didn't blush or try to hide her birthmark, nor look as though she wanted to slink away from the sudden attention focused on her. She simply looked shocked. "He's already married, and to a beautiful young woman too. Why would he look at another?"

  Kitty lowered her gaze. "Because she could give him children and I am barren."

  Meg bit her lip. "Oh. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn."

  Kitty took her hand and offered a weak smile. "You have nothing to apologize for. The truth is, my husband has grown restless for an heir and I am unable to give him one."

  "It could be just a matter of time," I assured her. "It may still happen."

  "I know that, and you do too, but Gladstow doesn't care. He refuses to even come to my bed, lately. He says he's too busy. But he's not too busy to meet with her, is he?"

  Miranda hugged Kitty's arm. "The Deerhorns are a pack of wolves. They smell blood and attack without mercy."

  "Wolves are nobler creatures than the Deerhorns," Kitty said.

  We walked on in silence, and all I could think about were the implications of Lady Morgrave attaching herself to the Duke of Gladstow. Did the Deerhorns consider him the best candidate to win out of the two dukes and they hoped Violette Morgrave would once again be the mistress of the most powerful man in Glancia?

  Whatever the reason, I knew for certain that she didn't intend to be his mistress for long. She intended to marry him and become queen if he secured the throne. If he thought Kitty was barren, he might agree. But that meant getting rid of his wife.

  I lifted my gaze to see if Kitty knew it. She stared dead ahead, lost in her own thoughts. Miranda, however, looked as worried as I felt.

  "Perhaps you shouldn't ride far today," I told them. "And not into the forest."

  "But I long for a lovely sedate ride," Kitty said.

  "We'll stay on Grand Avenue," Miranda assured me.

  "I also think you should tell everything you just told me to the captain," I said.

  "Why?" Kitty asked. "Is palace security affected by their affair?"

  "It might be." Miranda and I exchanged glances. "The thing is, Kitty, your life might be in danger from the Deerhorns," I said.

  Kitty gasped. "That's a diabolical thing to say! Honestly, you've become too involved in palace intrigue and can no longer see the good in people."

  "I know how the Deerhorns are," I said, lowering my voice. "Lady Violette Morgrave's family murdered her husband so that she could marry the king. Is it such a stretch to think they would remove you too so that she could marry your husband?"

  She blinked watery eyes and bit her lip.

  Miranda wrapped her arm around Kitty's waist. "We'll stay together from now on. Send someone to fetch me if you wish to go out. Or even better, you can move into my room."

  Kitty drew away. "I do appreciate the offer, dear Miranda, but your room is hardly big enough for the two of us. Besides, if I am to win back my husband, I need to be available to him, particularly in the evenings."

  "Why do you even want to win him back? He's a prick for what he's doing to you."

  "Miranda, language. Just because you're with Meg and Josie doesn't mean you can use village slang."

  "He is a prick, Kitty, and you should wake up to the fact that he might never come back to you. You are still the Duchess of Gladstow, however, and will be until the day you die. Let's just make sure you outlive your husband, shall we?"

  Kitty touched a hand to her stomach and her pretty cheeks paled. "What shall I do?"

  "Be careful," I said, "and inform the captain."

  Mistress Ashmole blocked my entry to the house with more conviction than any of the guards at the palace gate. Her pinched lips and flared nostrils were more forbidding than their weapons. I wouldn't be getting across the threshold unless I was in desperate need of her husband's services. Perhaps not even then.

  That was all right with me. I didn't want to enter the house I'd called home for my entire life until mere days ago. I didn't want to see the changes she'd made to the rooms my mother had furnished as a newlywed or the surgery my father had died in. I did wonder if the larder was as well stocked with medicines as I'd kept it, but not enough to invite myself in.

  It was one of those medicines I needed now for Dane's injury.

  "Why do you need it?" she said when I asked to purchase a jar of anneece salve.

  I blinked back at her. "What do you mean? I need it because I need it."

  "It's for infectious wounds."

  "I know."

  Her gaze raked up and down my length. "You don't appear to have anything wrong with you."

  "It's not for me. I'm buying it for a friend."

  "Then I can't sell it to you." She went to close the door but I thrust my foot into the gap.

  "I can pay," I said, stupidly.

  She sniffed. "I can't sell it to you if it's not for you. That's the rule."

  "Whose rule?"

  "Mine."

  "How do residents who are infirm get their medicine?" I pressed. "Horatio Grigg lost both legs to infection and cannot walk. His daughter-in-law would pick up an ointment whenever he needed more. Do you not sell it to her? Does he have to come here in person? That would be difficult for him."

  "It's perfectly all right for family members to buy on behalf of their loved one. You don't have family, Miss Cully, and you already admitted it was for a friend."

  I drew in a deep breath but it didn't help. I was very close to losing my temper. "My friend doesn't have family in the village. How do you propose he come and get what he needs if he is infirm?"

  "Is he infirm?"

  "He's injured."

  "That's not what I asked." She pulled hard on the door, banging it against my foot. "Please leave or I will send for the sheriff."

  "He has better things to do," I said.

  "Agreed."

  I stepped back, but she opened the door wider instead of shutting it. Yvette Baker slipped through the gap, one of her five chil
dren in tow. She dipped her head as she passed me, not meeting my gaze.

  "Sorry, Josie," she muttered. "I'm real sorry, but Pip has a rash."

  "It's all right, Yvette." To Pip, I said, "Doctor Ashmole will clear that rash up for you."

  The boy scratched his wrist where a red welt spread from beneath his shirt cuff. "His hands are cold and he smells funny."

  His mother dragged him away so hard he had to run to keep up.

  I returned to the Divers' house, muttering as many swear words under my breath as I could before reaching the threshold. Mistress Diver would not like me using sailors' language in front of her children. It didn't help ease my temper, however, and I dashed off a message to Dane in anger. Meg's two younger sisters agreed to take it to the palace.

  I visited one of my patients in the early afternoon. She lived at the edge of the village, and the quickest route was to pass by the dock. But the dock area was a busy place these days, not only with sailors, porters, builders, and carts of all sizes coming and going, but also with men looking for work. I had a good chance of running into Ivor Morgrain there. The less I saw of him, the better. He seemed to think I'd make him a good wife. The notion was both amusing and horrifying.

  Delle was close to her time, but she was healthy. The baby's heartbeat sounded strong through the ear trumpet I placed to her belly, and Delle seemed prepared for his or her arrival. I assured her the discomfort was normal and instructed her to send for me as soon as her contractions started.

  The sun was setting and afternoon shadows shrouded the village by the time I left Delle. I traveled back to Meg's house the same way, avoiding the docks. Most of the workers would soon be finishing for the day and either heading home or to one of the inns, but not yet. For now, Mull almost resembled the quiet, sleepy village I'd known my whole life. The market and shops were closed, and women were at home preparing the evening meal. Some children played in the streets, but their numbers thinned as I moved out of the residential district toward the village green.

  I took a shortcut down one of the narrow alleys behind the shops, but regretted it as soon as I entered. The reek of piss and horse dung hadn't been so strong the last time I'd ventured this way. Avoiding the dung and the filthy puddles pooling in the wheel ruts meant leaping and sidestepping as deftly as a dancer, and took all of my concentration.