“If you think we need to go, then we’ll go,” Jude said. “I’ll convince the Guard.”
The Nameless Woman appeared back at the door.
“The message is on its way,” she said. “We should hear back soon.”
The day seemed to drag by. Anton haunted every room of the Nameless Woman’s hideout, while Jude sequestered himself in his own room, to the point where Anton had no choice but to believe he was avoiding him.
Finally, the Nameless Woman summoned them both back into the study.
“It appears,” she said, “that the Paladin Guard is already waiting for you at the Temple of Endarra.”
Jude nodded, looking grim, and rose. “We should go meet them.”
He turned to leave the room, and Anton rose after him.
“Wait,” the Nameless Woman called as he reached the door. “You’re forgetting something.”
Anton watched with surprise as she held out the Pinnacle Blade. Jude turned back, approached her, and then hesitated. His mouth pinched into an expression Anton couldn’t quite read. He looked almost annoyed, with a hint of confusion.
“Take it,” she said. “It’s yours.”
With a slow nod, Jude took the sword and secured it back at his side. Anton looked at the two of them, unsure what had just passed between them. But Jude turned and left the room without another word.
“You’re not coming,” Anton said to the Nameless Woman. “Are you?”
He didn’t just mean to meet the Paladin Guard.
She smiled, a little sadly. “No. But I’ll make sure you get to your destination safely.”
Anton wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed. He didn’t trust the Nameless Woman, and he knew the Guard wouldn’t, either. Accompanying them to Novogardia would only complicate things.
Maybe it was just the fact that she seemed to understand his power, and everything that came with it, better than anyone—even himself. That was what had made him run when they’d first met, but now it seemed like a reason to keep her near.
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
“Getting sentimental, are we?” She sighed. “If all goes well, then I suspect not.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
She gave a thin-lipped smiled. “Then we’ll have much bigger problems to worry about.”
32
BERU
BERU AWOKE TO THE SOFT SOUND OF HUMMING. FOR ONE DELIRIOUS MOMENT she thought it was Ephyra’s voice in her ear, humming a song from their childhood. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the wide fronds of a date palm spread against a bright blue sky. Slowly, she pushed herself up.
“You’re awake!” a bright and unfamiliar voice greeted.
Beru turned and pushed herself off the ground to stand. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she nearly collapsed before a pair of strong hands caught her by the forearms.
“Don’t strain yourself,” the voice said. “Let me help you.”
Beru leaned heavily on the stranger, allowing them to help her upright. Panting softly, she raised her gaze.
Before she had a chance to speak, there was a flurry of sprinting footsteps and she was suddenly shoved backward. Beru wavered, catching herself as the sharp sound of metal scraping against metal rang out around her.
“Get away from her!” another voice roared.
This voice, Beru recognized. Hector stood in front of her, his sword unsheathed in one hand while the other was flung out behind him, as if to keep Beru back.
She was not his target.
With her breath coming in short spurts of exertion, Beru looked across the few feet of distance between Hector’s taut form and the stranger who’d woken her. The stranger was tall and thin, almost delicate, with long black hair and tattoos running up and down his arms. He held his hands out to them, palms first, his shoulders hunching as if he was trying to make himself smaller.
“Don’t come any closer,” Hector warned.
Beru wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the presence of the stranger out here in the middle of the desert, or the ferocity with which Hector had charged to her side, sword in hand.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger said, sounding almost tearful. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just trying to help her.”
A moment of tense silence passed, and Beru realized Hector was waiting for the stranger to make another move.
Beru reached out, touching the curve of Hector’s bicep with the tips of her fingers. Instead of flinching away, his shoulders softened at her touch. She could feel his fear, mingling with her own unease.
Emboldened, Beru pressed her palm against his arm. “It’s all right,” she said in a shaking voice. “He’s telling the truth.”
“Who are you?” Hector demanded, staring across the distance at the stranger. “How did you find us?”
The stranger lowered his hands. “I—I found you both collapsed in the sand not far from here. I brought you here to heal.”
“Where is here?” Beru spoke up, looking around at the clear blue pools scattered between craggy rock formations. Lush green trees and reeds spilled out of the land, and she even thought she could hear the faint chirping of birds. “What is this place?”
The stranger spread his arms in welcome. “This is my home.”
“Who are you?” Beru asked.
“My name is Azar,” he replied. “I am a healer.”
“Did you heal me?”
Azar raised his eyes to hers. “I did.”
“How?” Hector asked.
“The oasis provides all I require,” Azar replied. “Come, come.”
He spun on his heel, loping away from them.
Hector lowered his sword and turned his head slightly to catch Beru’s gaze, as if checking to see what she wanted to do.
“Are you all right?” he asked. The tender concern in his voice rendered Beru speechless with confusion for a moment.
“I’m fine,” she replied at last. “Are you?”
Aside from his baffling behavior, he looked sort of shaky and drawn. Like he was beginning to fade.
She shoved the thought away.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “But there’s . . . something familiar about this place.” He ran his hand over the leaf of a palm tree.
“Familiar?” Beru repeated. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Hector replied. “I just feel like . . . I’ve dreamed of this place.”
Ahead, Azar turned back to them expectantly.
She tilted her head toward the healer. “Let’s see what this is all about.”
He led them into a squat hut at the edge of one of the springs. There was a table surrounded by cushions in the center, already set up for tea. Hesitantly, Beru took a seat as Azar poured them tea, humming.
Beru reached for the cup, and with a jolt realized her wrist was uncovered. She instinctively grabbed it with her other hand to hide the handprint.
“I know what you both are,” Azar said, his tone even. “And I know who brought you to the middle of the desert and left you for dead. They were my teachers, once.”
“The Daughters of Mercy?” Beru asked.
He nodded. Hector was still staring at him, suspicious.
“What happened?” Beru asked.
“They cast me out,” Azar replied. “Gave me to the desert, much like they did to you. But I found this place. An oasis. A refuge. And I’ve remained here ever since.”
“By yourself?” Beru asked.
Azar inclined his head. “Occasionally, a wayward traveler will stumble into my path, needing aid. As you did. But they never remain long. And no one in quite some time. No, it’s just me and Prickly.”
“Prickly?”
Azar pointed to a sharp-looking plant in the corner. “Don’t worry, he loves visitors. Don’t you, Prickly?”
Beru glanced at Hector, not sure if she should be horrified or amused that their savior, or whoever he was, apparently talked to his plants.
She
cleared her throat. “You helped us, even knowing what we are?”
“Yes, yes,” Azar replied. “I’m not one to discriminate between those who are living and those who are . . . living again. Who was it who brought you back?”
The question was so casual he might have been asking their favorite kind of tea.
Beru glanced at Hector. She wasn’t sure yet if they could trust the healer, despite what he’d done to help them. He said he didn’t believe in the doctrine of the Daughters of Mercy, but how far did that extend? A revenant was one thing. The necromancer who’d made her was another.
“You don’t want to tell me. Oh dear. Well I won’t pry, then. It’s not polite,” he said, almost like he was chastising himself. “You are welcome to stay here and recover your strength. The oasis will happily provide for you, too.”
“How did you really heal her?” Hector asked. “And don’t give us some line about the oasis.”
Azar tilted his head. “An odd way to treat someone who just saved your life. But I suppose you’ve had quite a busy day, so I’ll forgive you.”
Hector’s expression darkened and Beru suddenly had the urge to laugh.
“The two of you,” Azar said after a moment. “There’s a connection between you. Your esha feeds off each other.”
Beru’s laughter suddenly vanished and she felt like she might be sick. “Do you mean . . . you used Hector’s esha to heal me?”
It explained why Hector had seemed so much weaker than before. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see his expression when he realized that, once again, Beru had done nothing but take from him.
“You’re upset,” Azar said softly. “I—I only meant to help you.” He seemed lost suddenly, hurt in a way that surprised her, his eyebrows crinkling and his mouth pulling down at the corners.
She had the sudden urge to comfort him. “It’s . . . it’s complicated. You couldn’t have known, but Hector’s death was because of me. Because my . . . because someone wanted to use his esha to heal me.”
“I see,” Azar said.
“I wanted to try to undo it,” Beru went on. “That’s why we went to the Daughters of Mercy.”
“What is done cannot be undone,” Azar said.
It was exactly what Hector had said the night he’d confessed he wanted to end his own life.
“But I think you know how to make it right,” Beru said. “You can help us, can’t you?”
Azar didn’t answer at first. He was looking down at his hands. Then, quietly, “Alone, I’m afraid I—I cannot do what you ask. It will require another. The one who did this to you.”
Beru’s eyes widened. Ephyra. She would never, ever agree to it. She would never give up Beru’s life, least of all for Hector.
“Please,” Beru said. “There has to be another way.”
“I can think of no other way,” Azar said. “Unless—”
“Unless what?” Beru asked, leaning toward him.
“There is something,” Azar went on. “An object. An ancient Relic that belonged to the first queen of Behezda. A chalice.”
“Eleazar’s Chalice,” Beru said.
Azar’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “You know it.”
Beru nodded. “We . . . I was searching for it. But I never even came close to finding it.”
“Many have tried.” Azar bowed his head. “Yet without it, I know of no other way. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
She felt anger coming from Hector, but she could not make sense of it.
“Please,” she said. “You’ve done more than we could ask for. Thank you.”
“I’ll show you your rooms,” Azar said. “And the baths, if you’d like. There’s a particularly nice pumice stone that—well, you’ll see.”
He rose from the table and ushered them both back outside and into a honeycomb-like structure with doors that faced out to a small garden. Azar opened one of the rooms and let Beru inside.
“Here you are.”
Once shut inside, Beru felt suddenly alone. She’d gotten used to Hector’s presence beside her in the tent during their journey to Behezda. She also felt completely exhausted. It couldn’t be past midday and yet she felt like she wanted to lie in the musty bed and sleep for hours.
A knock came at her door.
“It’s me,” Hector’s voice filtered in.
Beru went to the door and pulled it open. Hector stood on the other side, looking uncertain.
“Come in,” she said. He did, and she shut the door behind him.
“Does this seem strange to you?” Hector asked as soon as Beru had turned to face him.
What was strange was that Beru’s heart wouldn’t sit still in her chest when she looked at Hector. What was strange was that he was coming to her. She waited for him to continue.
“This healer just happens to find us out in the desert?” Hector asked. “And he just happens to be able to heal you? It seems too good to be true.”
“I guess that depends on your definition of good,” Beru replied.
She felt his jolt of surprise.
“Hector,” she said, “you wanted to kill me not that long ago.”
He grimaced, and she felt a pang of something like regret. “When the storm came, I thought you were going to die and I—” He looked at her beseechingly, like she might be able to tell him what he was trying to say.
Beru wanted nothing more than for him to finish his thought.
But when he spoke, he said, “We can’t stay here.”
“Then don’t,” she said. “Find your way back to civilization.”
“And leave you with this creep?” Hector said, incredulous. “Not a chance.”
Beru pulled up short, feeling protectiveness and frustration radiating off of him. It was a moment before she found her voice. “Sure, he’s a little weird, but he’s harmless. And besides, you don’t owe me anything.”
“I didn’t say I did,” he returned, his voice heated. He paused. “You don’t—Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” Beru answered at once. She felt even more like she needed to lie down.
A smile flickered tentatively on his face. It was the first time she could remember seeing him smile since they were children, and her heart fluttered at the sight of it, warmth rushing into her face. She wasn’t a little girl with a crush anymore. So why did she still feel like one?
“Let’s just be careful, all right?” Hector said. “We thought we could trust the Daughters and look how that turned out. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
“All right,” she answered faintly.
He remained standing by the door for a long moment, as if waiting to say something else. “I’ll let you get some rest,” he said at last, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Once she heard the sound of his footsteps leading away she let out a sigh and leaned her head back against the door. She felt a bonedeep exhaustion, but when she lay down on the bed, sleep did not claim her.
She should be dead. She should have died in the desert, like the Daughters of Mercy had intended. But once again, against all odds, she had been saved. Hector was right—it was too good to be true. Something was wrong here, but she didn’t think it was Azar.
She was beginning to think it was her.
33
EPHYRA
EPHYRA DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG SHE STOOD IN THE TOMB, HOLDING THE Chalice, looking down at the bodies of the Daughters of Mercy spread out around her.
A sharp inhale wrestled her from her trance. She swung her gaze to the edge of the room where Illya stood, his mouth covered by one hand.
“What did you do?” His voice was clipped, bloodless.
“They killed her,” Ephyra said. “They killed her.” She looked down at her hand and the Chalice clutched in her fingers.
“I don’t need it,” she said. “It’s yours if you want it.”
He eyed her, as if he thought this was some kind of trick. But there was something else
in his eyes. Hunger.
She held the Chalice out to him, watched his gaze follow it and then drag back to hers. His breath hitched.
“Or maybe,” Ephyra went on, “there’s something else you want.”
She felt rage—powerful, unyielding—a ring of fire around an abyss. Anger would fill it, but even that would burn out, leaving nothing but this chasm of nothingness.
If she let herself fall into it, it would hollow her out and tear her apart.
She stared into Illya’s golden eyes and stepped smoothly into his space, her hand curling around his neck. The Chalice dropped to the ground between them. Her thumb pressed gently against the hollow of his throat, and she felt his pulse jump the way it had outside the tomb when she’d taken his esha.
“I could kill you, you know,” she said. “Easily. I should have done it the night we met.”
His eyes darted to her lips. “So do it.”
Her hand tightened on his throat. She pressed on it as the emptiness pressed in on her. Killing him would fill the void. It would feed her hunger, but when it was over, when he was dead at her feet, it would be back, gnawing and endless.
Beru was gone, and she was alone in the world.
Her hand slid up, cupping his face, drawing it to hers. The kiss crackled like a wildfire between them, uncontrollable. Ephyra’s rage was gone. Need burned in its place. Ephyra pressed herself closer as Illya’s hands tangled in her hair, his lips searing against hers.
And then, just as quickly as she’d begun it, she ended it, shoving him away from her. They stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, sizing each other up as if for a fight. Then Ephyra leaned down and picked up the Chalice.
“We need to get out of here,” she said.
He nodded, still staring at her. “We can’t go back the way we came.”
They both turned away at once, searching the walls of the vault.
“Here,” Illya called. “I think there’s an exit.”
Ephyra followed the sound of his voice and saw he was standing before an opening in the wall. Ephyra let herself be led, her feet moving but her mind blank. The rest of the journey out of the tomb was a blur, until finally they were stumbling out to the light.
As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness Page 26