“And I’ll kill you too,” Gault said, “if you don’t step back.”
“I still aim to fuck that girl,” another growled.
“Right!” another one shouted. “There’s more of us than there are of you.” Gap-toothed grins spread through the remaining slaves as several of them lunged at Gault.
Before Gault could bring up the severed arm to defend himself, there was a loud snap and whoosh of air. The two attackers nearest him were hurled back, screaming in pain, each clutching his chest and face. The remaining slaves stopped their advance.
“Nobody harms the Sør Sevier man!” a booming voice shouted from above. “He’s meant for the arena! On King Jovan’s order!”
Gault spied the lone guard atop the wooden scaffolding. The guard’s crossbow, loaded with more sharp marble shot, was pointed down at the slaves. “Any of you touch the bald man and you’ll see what happens! One blow on my whistle and every guard in this quarry will have their spearheads stirring your guts!”
Gault glared at the remaining slaves, two of whom were trying to swipe the slivers of marble shot from their faces.
He spoke clearly and concisely, so all would understand. “Any of you lay a hand on the girl again and I will tear your throats out with my own teeth.” He tossed the severed arm at their feet. “And leave the boy alone too.”
† † † † †
“What will happen to us now?” Delia asked Gault, both of then sitting with their backs against the towering wall, eyeing the slaves attempting to bandage Higgen’s chin and eye.
“They will leave us alone for the time being,” Gault answered.
“I’m scared,” she said. “It will only be a matter of time before one of the guards above attempts the same thing. If not all of them.”
Gault met her terrified gaze. She sat closer to him than to Lindholf now. And Lindholf had clearly noticed the girl’s shift in allegiance. A scowl was fixed on his scarred face. There was clearly some history between Delia and Lindholf, and Gault had just inserted a wedge between them by saving her.
“What will happen to us?” she repeated.
Gault answered without emotion. “They will hang you and Lindholf in the arena. And I will fight the Prince of Saint Only. Until then, this quarry will be our life.”
“There’s no chance of escape?” she asked.
Gault’s eyes roamed the sheer walls. Five hundred feet of quarried marble rose straight up in every direction. Torchlight, moonlight, starlight, all of it cruelly reflected off the stark white of their inescapable prison. Yes. He would die here in Gul Kana. He would never get to be buried in that place of his dreams, that one perfect spot, the only place he was ever truly happy, that windswept plain in the Nordland Highlands near Stone Loring where he had first met Avril.
“It still hurts.” Delia’s hand brushed over the raw slave mark on her neck. She turned to Lindholf. “Does your brand hurt too?”
The boy nodded halfheartedly. “Swimming through that muddy water only made it hurt worse.”
Gault wished the girl hadn’t mentioned the slave brand, for now he was suddenly reminded of the constant sting of his own.
“And this?” Delia pointed to more scars on the back of the boy’s hand. Thin red lines in the shape of a cross. “You got this when Glade raped me in the Filthy Horse?”
“Yes.” The boy looked sullen, tried to cover the wounds with the sleeve of his shirt.
But Delia leaned over and pulled the sleeve of Lindholf’s shirt all the way up, revealing several ragged scars stretching up his arm. “You never did tell me how you got those.”
“I got the scars when I found the shield and stone,” Lindholf answered, a haunted look in his eye.
The mention of a shield and stone got Gault’s attention. There are more mysteries to this dough-faced boy than meet the eye! He leaned in to get a better look at the scars on the boy’s arm.
“A mermaid clawed me while I was in Memory Bay.” Lindholf let Delia examine the scars with searching fingers. “The savage bitch attacked me twice, once in the cavern where I found the shield and stone, and then again when I swam out into the bay.”
“A mermaid.” Disgust was written on Delia’s face. “How horrid.”
“She nearly drowned me.”
“What cavern?” Gault asked. “What shield and stone? Something you found when you followed Tala and Glade past my cage and farther into Purgatory?”
“Yes.” Lindholf’s frightened eyes met his. “Tala had a map that spoke of treasure. But they were too afraid to find the treasure and turned back. But I found the treasure. I found the shield and the stone. I believe the shield is Ethic Shroud and the white gem with it one of the angel stones.”
“You mean Ethic Shroud from The Way and Truth of Laijon?” Delia asked.
“I figured you already knew.” Lindholf was eyeing her with even more distrust now. “I figured that was why you followed me, had me hide the shield and stone behind your saloon. Are you claiming you didn’t know it was Ethic Shroud I would bring?”
Delia broke her gaze from the boy, stared down at the slaves who were still tending to Higgen. They’d wrapped the man in a blanket and dragged him some distance from the camp. Gault wondered if he was now dead.
“You knew I had a shield,” Lindholf went on, eyes turning icy. “You mentioned it in the alleyway in Amadon. You specifically asked that I bring it to you.” He was openly glaring at her now. “How did you know?”
“I . . . ,” she started, then stopped, looking unsure of herself. “I suppose nothing worse than this damnable slave quarry can happen to me now.” The girl’s eyes roved the surrounding dark. “And I suppose she can’t possibly be watching me now. Not here of all places.” Relief flooded across her face. “No, she can’t possibly be watching me now.”
“Who?” Lindholf asked.
“The Vallè woman who put me up to all this,” she answered. “Seita.”
“Seita?” Lindholf’s deformed face scrunched up in confusion. “Seita put you up to all of what? What does the Vallè princess have to do with anything?”
“It’s all her doing,” Delia said. “She has tricked us all. Don’t you see?”
“Val-Korin’s daughter has tricked us?” Lindholf asked.
“She stabbed Jovan,” Delia said in a rush. “It was her.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I saw her do it.”
“Seita?”
“My father had been sick for some time,” Delia said, an urgency in her voice, as if she wanted to spit out her confession in one breath. “Near death. A very painful sickness. Seita came into the Filthy Horse, looked him over, and said he’d been poisoned. Gave me some green Vallè medicine. It healed him. No more pain. But only for a time. He got worse again. But she kept coming into the saloon and looking in on him. Always cloaked. Always in the same black leather armor. She had more of the medicine. She wanted no payment. Just wanted me to complete tasks for her from time to time. Simple stuff at first. Take this over here. Take that over there. The medicine she gave me helped my father’s pain. I figured it was a good trade. But he still lies in the saloon sick.”
There was something about the girl’s story that didn’t sit well with Gault. “You said Seita was cloaked?” he asked. “In black leather armor?”
“Aye,” Delia answered. “She would threaten me with little black daggers.”
Gault’s heart froze. A Bloodwood!
“She had little black daggers.” Delia looked at Lindholf. “Like the one Glade took from you, that day in my room when we were arrested.”
“That was Tala’s dagger.” More confusion flooded Lindholf’s features.
“Tala is part of it.” Delia nodded.
“Tala was there when Glade cut Sterling Prentiss’ neck.” Lindholf looked into the darkness. “She had the black dagger with her then.”
“It’s a Bloodwood blade,” Gault said. “You are describing an assassin’s weapon. The wor
st kind of assassin. And the worst kind of dagger.” Both Delia and Lindholf were looking at him now. “I do not know this Vallè, Seita,” he followed. “But she is not to be trusted. Vallè and Bloodwood, a combination of the two most devious and duplicitous species there are.”
“Everything Seita said to me was a lie.” Delia was watching him carefully. “And also the truth.”
Gault met her gaze frankly. “Not lies. Not the truth. But games. ’Tis always a game with the Vallè. Tis always a game with the Bloodwood. That you have run afoul of such a creature is most unfortunate.”
“It’s like Seita could see the future,” Delia said. “Like she could predict everything that would happen with every task she set me upon. Said Princess Jondralyn would come into my saloon with a handsome man and a dwarf. Said a Vallè thief would come into the saloon at the same time and start a fight. Even asked me to flirt with Jondralyn. Coached me on the exact words to say. Ridiculous words, like betwixed.”
“And you did everything she asked,” Gault inquired. “For the Vallè medicine?”
“The medicine was all that would ease my father’s pain.”
“I reckon it was Seita’s poison that also caused your father’s pain.”
“I realized that too late.” Delia’s gaze turned to Lindholf. “Seita predicted that Tala would come into the saloon a few days later with a red gladiator helmet. Even told me that it would be you and another boy from the castle who would accompany Tala that day. Seita told me that I was to convince Tala to secure me a job as part of the castle staff for the Mourning Moon Feast. Told me to serve you all pastries. Told me to try and seduce Jovan.”
“But why?” Lindholf asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “But it was Seita who stabbed Jovan. She framed me for the crime, then broke me out of my cell in Purgatory, even helped me escape the dungeon. And I don’t know why.”
“Did you swim out into Memory Bay as I did?” Lindholf asked sarcastically, as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying. “Did mermaids accost you, too? Did you see visions in the water?”
“No,” she answered sharply, unhappy with his mocking tone. “No mermaids or visions leastwise. We—we only traveled a short way when we met an old man who called himself Maizy. Seita seemed to know him. Like old friends. He guided us out of the dungeons. But the tunnels we took actually did empty us out in the Memory Bay. Emptied us out into the bowels of a half-sunken ship moored some hundred yards from shore, near the dock district no less, not far from the Filthy Horse Saloon.”
Lindholf’s face scrunched up in concentration. “Was Maizy hanging in a cage?”
“I don’t know of any cage,” she answered. “But Maizy claimed there were hundreds of ways out of Purgatory for those wise enough. Claimed he knew every secret of Amadon but one. Said he would someday visit me at the Filthy Horse Saloon. But I never did see him again.”
“How did you know about the shield and stone?” Lindholf asked. “How did you know I had them?”
“Seita told me of you, Lindholf. Said you would also travel through Purgatory and find great treasure. A white shield and a white stone. She ordered me to find you and have you bring me the shield and stone. Seita asked me to—” Delia clamped her mouth shut.
“Asked you to seduce me?” Lindholf finished for her, betrayal in his eyes.
Delia hung her head, not willing to look at the boy. “I haven’t seen Seita in a moon or more. Haven’t been given any new medicine in that time. I imagine my father is dead. They’ve probably hauled his corpse from the saloon, the other bar staff. So what was it all for? All this nonsensical deception and running around?”
“You will likely never know what it was all for,” Gault said. He knew how Dugal’s Caste of Bloodwoods operated as a whole. And this girl’s far-fetched tale was the exact type of mischief they were always in the middle of. Especially if the schemes of a Vallè maiden were also involved.
Gault’s eyes met Lindholf’s. The boy looked more miserable than ever.
* * *
Thus we have raised great sculptures of our true One and Only. We have given unto you great works of art and sculpture that you may worship and pay homage to Laijon as you await the day of his return.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
AVA SHAY
14TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
THE MOURNING SEA, JUST SOUTHWEST OF ADIN WYTe
The Eagle Rose plied the sea toward the hulk of Mont Saint Only in smooth silence. Their route took them north, closer to Wyn Darrè than Gul Kana, to avoid the shallow waters between Lord’s Point and Adin Wyte. The fortress atop the Mont loomed black and foreboding under its fiery beacon, a beacon that guided them through the night.
Standing at the prow under a velvety moon, Aeros Raijael blew into a thin black whistle that made no noise. Ava had watched him summon birds out of the air with the tiny instrument before. He slipped the whistle into the inside lining of his jerkin and glanced at her, his pale face impassive. He wore all white: white leather pants, white shirt, jerkin, belt, even his steel-toed boots were white.
In contrast, the Bloodwood standing behind him was dressed all in black; black boiled-leather armor under a long black cloak. Ava wondered if the Spider still kept her beetle carving or if he’d rid himself of it. He held a small lantern that illuminated the prow in a dreary yellow glow. The assassin also smelled of polished leather and cloves, a scent Ava had been growing used to over her many days of traveling with the man, but a scent that was currently only adding to her growing nausea.
It was her first time on a ship this size—Aeros Raijael’s personal vessel. It was large and daunting and moving fast. Though the water below was smooth as black glass and the boat did not sway, pitch, or yaw, Ava still wanted to puke. She wanted to throw herself overboard and end the terrible sickness rising in her gut.
Tonight was the lowest she’d felt since her capture, for tonight she was leaving the shores of Gul Kana, the only home she’d ever known.
The Isle of Adin Wyte seemed like another world altogether. But Adin Wyte was where the bulk of Aeros’ armies had gathered—two hundred thousand battle-hardened soldiers camped north of Saint Only. The White Prince was on his way to personally lead them across the channel from Saint Only to Lord’s Point. Then the full might of his armies would finally be in Gul Kana.
A black kestrel fluttered in from the west and landed on Aeros’ outstretched forearm. “Nighteyes, my swift flier,” the White Prince cooed. He set the small bird on the wooden prow before him. A narrow tube made of silver was tied to the breast of the kestrel with a string of leather. Aeros gently removed the tube and pulled forth a slip of parchment. “From Dugal, let’s hope.”
The Spider positioned his lantern over the paper, giving the prince some light to read by. “It is from Dugal.” Aeros’ skin was ashen against the light of the lantern. His dark-pupiled eyes darted to the Bloodwood. “The girl has completed her task.”
“So, the deed is done,” the Spider stated matter-of-factly. “Your plan for Gault’s daughter was a success?”
“Black Dugal was right.” Aeros looked down at the parchment again, crumpled it in his hand. “Even I must become fatherless.”
“As do we all.”
Aeros clenched his fist around the paper. “All who knew the truth about Krista Aulbrek had to die. Ser Aulmut Klingande. My father. All of them.” He looked at the Bloodwood, iciness in his glance. “I’m sure Silkwood and Rosewood will do their part in eliminating the rest?”
“In due time.” The Spider met his cold gaze. “That you wanted Krista to assassinate Aulmut and Aevrett herself”—a smirk played at the corner of his mouth—“I imagine delighted Black Dugal to no end.”
“Nothing like patricide to please a Bloodwood,” Aeros responded with a wicked sneer of his own. “But lest you forget, there is still one more left in Rokenwalder who must die.”
“I imagine my master has Krista in place by now,” the Spider said. “My father should have never kept the man alive. But Borden Bronachell will soon be dead, and all he knows will die with him.”
“And then Nail will again become nobody.” Aeros tossed the parchment into the sea.
“Fatherless,” the Bloodwood said. “Exactly like his sister.”
Aeros looked at Nighteyes still perched on the prow of the ship, stroked the feathers atop the kestrel’s small head. Then his piercing black eyes cut toward into the Bloodwood. “You forget one thing, assassin. Borden Bronachell is not the last one to know the truth. I know the truth. You know the truth. Your brother knows the truth. Who knows how many of the Brethren of Mia Hawkwood has told?”
“There is still some of Dugal’s blood left in Hawkwood,” the Spider said. “He will not give up lightly what secrets he is privy to.”
“All the Brethren of Mia must die. Even the betrayer. Why have neither Rosewood or Silkwood not killed him yet?”
“I’ve not heard from Rosewood in some time,” the Spider said. “But according to the last note I received from Silkwood, she claimed Ethic Shroud has been found in Amadon. She herself is with Nail, part of a company of nine headed toward mines above Arco in Sky Lochs. Silkwood will get Blackest Heart and Afflicted Fire. She claims all the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels will soon be yours, and those she travels with will not live through the journey.”
“Let’s hope she follows through on her promises,” the White Prince muttered. “One day soon, I myself will wear Lonesome Crown into battle and fight with Forgetting Moon. Perhaps even when we attack Lord’s Point. Ser Ivor Jace should have my armies ready in Adin Wyte.”
Aeros held his arm out for the kestrel on the prow, his eyes lancing into Ava’s. “Part of what keeps you alive is your silence. Breathe one word of what you have heard tonight and your end will be long and painful. Are we clear?”
She gulped and nodded, her gut unsettled as she watched the bird hop onto Aeros’ outstretched arm. To calm her nerves, she reached up and ran her own fingers gently over the kestrel’s tiny head. The bird stared at her with the keen eyes of a cold hunter. Ava was not calmed.
The Blackest Heart Page 62