Blood Mercy (Blood Grace Book 1)

by Vela Roth

  “How did you enjoy the festivities?” she asked.

  “I am disappointed I did not get to dance. Apparently we Hesperines are too alarming if we do anything except stand about looking dour.”

  “I have suffered through those dances on a number of occasions. I assure you, you were fortunate to escape the obligation.”

  “Was there no one there tonight with whom you would have enjoyed dancing?”

  “The king’s daughter does not enjoy anything.”

  “I see. Not even cheering for her favorite warriors on the battlefield?”

  “I was not at the tournament.”

  His lips parted, and she heard him take a breath. “Ah. Another escaped obligation. You were gardening instead.”

  She smoothed her skirts. She hadn’t realized any stains had sneaked under the apron she’d worn to the temple. Then she realized what his breath had meant. He could smell…

  “Magic.” His nostrils flared. He held up a hand. “I have it now. You give your time at the Kyrian temple that’s near here.”

  “The maiden mages would be disappointed to learn the scent of their magic on me is no deterrent to Hesperines. I’m sure they imagine their holy aura would ward off creatures of the night such as yourself.”

  He sniffed again, smiling. “They smell pleasant. There is kindness in that place.”

  She subjected him to her shrewdest gaze. “Is all this information about my activities what you’d like in exchange for the answers you promised me?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. His limbs did not speak the same language as human ones. His natural grace made the messages his body sent her hard to understand. But his face said a great deal. Every word he spoke and his every reaction to hers were written in the tilt of his brows, the angle of his mouth.

  Right now his mouth was relaxed and no longer devoid of color. It was harder to judge color in the moonlight, but his cheeks and lips that had been so pallid in the great hall now held the natural variations in hue she would expect to see in any healthy human face. He had transformed from solid marble to a fair-skinned, rosy-cheeked young man. Was that what a well-fed Hesperine looked like, as opposed to a thirsty one? So he was negotiating on a full stomach.

  “I begin to think your terms are all in your own favor, Lady Cassia.” He leaned forward, and the moonlight seemed dim in comparison with his eyes. “I demand new terms.”

  “Suggest them, and we shall see if I agree.”

  He gestured toward the lip of the basin. “Will you not join me at our negotiation table?”

  Cassia felt much better standing. But to sit would be a good demonstration of confidence. And a sign of goodwill. She seated herself out of arm’s reach of Deukalion. Knight draped himself over her feet, warming her through her slippers.

  Deukalion smiled, that same smile that struck her as both friendly and closed. Mysterious. Given the overall expressiveness of his face, that was noticeable.

  She put her finger on why. He never smiled with his mouth open. Well, well. He was hiding fangs.

  She might do well to remember that.

  He leaned back, as if relaxing on the fountain, and the lower half of his face disappeared into shadow. “I think we both grow weary of these small, hard-won exchanges. If we are to demand so many questions and answers of each other, why not establish a broad agreement that covers all eventualities?”

  “Spoken like an ambassador.”

  “Initiate ambassador. I am not a master, nor even a full ambassador yet. I only just earned my cords.” He touched a hand to the silver-and-white silk braid that hung around his neck, which appeared ready to receive a future medallion of office.

  “Oh, you are ruining your image now.”

  “I thought it already beyond saving and that I have nothing to lose. Although, to be fair, my position as an initiate is rather more advanced than that of an apprentice in a temple or a craft.”

  “You are here for the next level of your training, then? What a crucible your master has chosen for a workshop.”

  “I jumped in of my own accord. I am not ashamed to admit I begged him to let me come. We are making history here. Participating in this embassy is the opportunity of a lifetime, even a Hesperine lifetime.”

  And how long was that, in his case? “You must forgive my lack of enthusiasm for history. I live in it every day.”

  “I can already tell our new agreement will be a success.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Speaking openly is coming naturally to us already.”

  If he thought this was openness, he was more innocent than she had believed. Wasn’t he?

  “This is what I propose,” Deukalion said. “Let us make our own Equinox Oath to ensure all is fair and equal in our dealings. I will promise to speak my mind, and you will promise to speak yours, with no one as our witnesses but…” He pointed upward. “My protector.” He pointed at Knight. “And yours.”

  Cassia looked up at the moons. They were high overhead, one smooth white, one liquid red, perfectly matched in size but opposing in nature. “Mortals call the moons Anaklastia’s Mirrors and imagine them to be made of steel. One is said to reflect her father Anthros’s light and the other the blood he spills. The myths say the moons wane because Hespera seeks to wrestle the Mirrors from the grasp of Anthros’s devoted scion. But I know better.”

  “Have you seen any real moonstones that have fallen from the sky? They shine even when no sun touches them.”

  “So I would imagine. I am certain the moons shed their own light and belong wholly to Hespera.” She rested a hand on Knight. “You know where the loyalties of my protector lie. What about yours?”

  “She is loyal to all those who seek Sanctuary under her gaze. The Goddess’s Eyes see and keep secret all that passes under the shelter of night.”

  Cassia met his gaze, and this time she did not tease him about his philosophical nature.

  He must have seen the challenge in her eyes, for he shook his head. “You have seen I am as good as my word. I concealed our conversation in the great hall from the embassy.”

  “You dared to use a spell in front of the royal mage.”

  Deukalion actually chuckled and shook his head. “That was hardly a spell. Walking unseen? For Hesperines, that’s like…simply walking, or speaking, or singing. Something you do naturally without expending effort. Effort is what rouses a mage’s curiosity.”

  “It required so little effort for you to befuddle the senses of those who tried to look at me?”

  “Including a human in Hesperine magic is a more complex matter, but my little tricks in the great hall were not anything that would draw attention.”

  “Yet you said if you kept at it too long, the other Hesperines would eventually realize you were there. What will you do when they come looking for you here, hoping to share your evening meal? If we make a habit of this, how can you assure me they will not become witnesses to our conversations?”

  “That is not a concern.” Deukalion sighed. “Truth be told, I am the only member of the embassy who requires the deer.”

  “Is that so. You’d best not let Amachos find out, or he shall suspect your companions of feeding on the human populace instead.”

  “They don’t require humans, either. But on that subject, I must say no more, unless we protect our mutual revelations with an Oath.”

  Cassia could let their conversations end here, the negotiation in balance. Or she could agree to spill words with him under the moons’ shroud.

  What did he hope to gain by luring her to speak, as he called it, openly?

  Perhaps the best answer to that was, what did she hope to gain?

  As long as they both gave themselves the same amount of rope, neither could hang the other without sending them both to the gallows. As always, they were even.

  Cassia drew a deep breath. She saw Deukalion do the same. She suspected his was informative, while all hers served to do was brace her.

  “If you ne
ed time to consider my suggestion,” Deukalion said, “I’m happy to wait again for an answer. You can tell me tomorrow night.”

  She could spend another day deliberating, another night wondering whether she would be able to get away. That would be a wasted chance, a waste of risk. She should press her opportunity tonight and get closer to the answers she sought.

  “No,” she said. His face revealed his disappointment before she clarified, “No, I don’t need more time. I find your terms satisfactory. We shall both lay our questions and answers on the table…freely.” She fixed him with a gaze. “And there shall be no consequences.”

  He placed a hand upon his breast. “I do so swear.”

  She stood long enough to drop him a courtesy. “I do so swear.”

  “May this Oath stand till those who come after us stand here again.” He spoke the words with the solemnity of ritual, but then his smile widened slowly. Kept widening, until she saw a row of clean, straight, white teeth. The tips of his canines descended beyond, hidden in his lower lip. “You won’t regret it, Cassia.”

  She hoped he was right. And she hoped he wouldn’t regret it either.

  He was too eager to trust. He did not seem to realize how dangerous she was to him. If he were human, he would hang long before she did.

  But he was not.

  “I believe,” he began, “I ought to answer your outstanding question from last night. What about life in Orthros would you like to—”

  He was holding up his hand suddenly, his expression alert. Cassia had not seen him move.

  “Stay here, and no one will find you.” He had hardly said it before he was gone.

  Cassia surged to her feet, glancing about her for any sign of him. Knight stood at attention, silent but with his lips peeled back from his teeth.

  There was someone in the woods.

  Someone Deukalion had heard—smelled—sensed?

  Her mind raced through possibilities, even as she urged herself to make a decision, to act in her own defense.

  She had no idea who was out there or where they were. If she moved now, she might run into them instead of away from them.

  But if Deukalion thought their newfound bargain meant she would sit here and rely on him to protect her, he was gravely mistaken.

  Cassia dropped to her knees and took Knight’s face in her hands, gazing into his eyes. He was bred, born and trained to attack a threat head-on and destroy it, not to sneak about in the dark. But she had never once made a request of him he did not understand. She might never know to what magic the breeders had subjected Knight’s ancestors, but she had seen more than once the evidence of his intelligence, his perception beyond even her senses.

  So quiet only he could hear, she murmured, “Loma. Hoor.”

  Home. Silence.

  When Cassia turned to leave the clearing and hasten carefully into the trees, Knight followed without a growl or a rumble.

  Proof of Honor

  The moment the mage noticed Lio watching him, the man startled visibly. Lio had to admit it was satisfying to see Amachos jump at the sight of him. Cassia could have taught the king’s new glyph scribbler a great deal about the art of not displaying reactions.

  This was one encounter Lio could spare her. His veil spell kept her concealed and safe back at the fountain, and he had succeeded in intercepting the mage some distance from her. Concealing a human while a mage was on alert required what Lio had described to Cassia as making an effort, but it was a manageable risk for him to cloak her in moonlight while she sat still and he distracted Amachos. Even if the mage noticed anything, the Font of the Changing Queen had a magical aura more palpable than Lio’s subtle weaving.

  Amachos stood bedecked in the full three-robe ensemble that signified his rank as an honored master in the Order of Anthros. Here under the Goddess’s Eyes, Lio tried to find it in himself to regard the mage justly. He must separate Amachos as an individual from the Order whose robes he wore and give the man a chance to show what truly lay within his heart.

  But facing a mage alone for the first time, Lio discovered the limits of his fairness. He could think only of the names his people spoke with reverence and grief, the names of Hesperines he might have had the privilege of knowing if not for the cult of Amachos’s violent god. Among them was Prometheus.

  Lio made himself perform his most studied ambassador’s bow.

  Amachos, hands in his sleeves, gave him a shallow, stiff bow in return.

  Lio reminded himself the man before him was not personally responsible for the deaths of those Orthros mourned. This Tenebran temple sweeper had nothing to do with the Cordian war mages who had cut short so many Hesperine lives. In fact, Amachos’s home temple at Namenti played a vital role in keeping Cordium out of Tenebra, and Amachos himself had been outspoken in favor of restoring the truce between his people and Lio’s.

  Lio resolved to address the mage with courtesy in Divine, the language they both held sacred, which Hesperines spoke as their mother tongue and human mages still used in all their rites. Lio had learned it on his father’s knee, while Amachos would have had to study it for years. Lio told himself it was a peace offering. Or perhaps he couldn’t resist testing Amachos’s education.

  Lio opened with a neutral greeting. “Good evening, Honored Master Amachos.”

  “Anthros shine upon you, Deukalion.” Amachos’s accent was different, but his words were perfectly understandable.

  The mage’s inflammatory statement dried up what little compassion Lio had managed to muster. He did not reply. He need not defend his presence here, where the king had authorized him to be. It was Amachos who was out of place at the moment, and they both knew why.

  Apparently the mage had judged his apprentice capable enough to spy on the elder Hesperines while they were in plain sight, surrounded by liegehounds and warriors. But Lio was in the wind, and Amachos had come to keep an eye on him. The silence stretched between them as Lio waited to see what excuse the mage would give for harassing him.

  Amachos’s smile appeared forced. “The king saw that one of his guests had excused himself before the festival was at an end, and he grew concerned his hospitality might have been found lacking. I am come to inquire after your satisfaction.”

  “My satisfaction?” What a disingenuous way of saying he had come to breathe down Lio’s neck. But Lio was not afraid of this undereducated superstition-monger. No…it was not Amachos Lio was worried about.

  The most dangerous person here was Lio himself. It was Amachos who would have cause for concern, if Lio could not master the strange and powerful feelings now threatening to overcome his conciliatory nature.

  Lio never had this much difficulty formulating a tactful response. He was still considering his words when he sensed a disturbance in the veil he had left over the fountain.

  He felt Cassia exit his concealment, as if a rose and her thorns had fluttered from his grasp. She had not taken him at his word that he would keep her safe.

  Lio had no time to indulge his disappointment. This was not the bright, crowded great hall, where he had fiddled with the candlelight and nudged minds eager for diversion. He must wrap a moving, mortal target in a veil so complete that a mage on the hunt would not notice a Hesperine had cast a spell under his very nose.

  Lio lifted his veil from the fountain and tossed it around Cassia an instant before she passed beyond the furthest edge of the Font’s aura.

  He allowed all his knowledge of flowery discussion free rein and spoke in the way Xandra always referred to as his “infuriating pretensions.” His perseverance in reading all those verbose discourses hadn’t been a waste after all. “How infinitely kind of His Majesty to trouble his thoughts over each and every one of his grateful foreign guests, and how beneficent of you, Honored Master, to cleave yourself from the festivities and sacrifice the exalted company of Tenebra’s magnanimous prince, tonight’s celebrant, in order to convey His Majesty’s thoughtful concern for the lowest member of our embassy from dist
ant Orthros.”

  While he chattered, he made sure his veil kept pace with Cassia. Each band of moonlight through which she passed strengthened his spell. As she trod through shadows, his magic made a safe path beneath her feet.

  Meanwhile, Amachos glazed over in the eyes without Lio having to employ any mind magic directly. Ah, the power of words, especially in overwhelming quantity. The mage’s smile thinned, and his eyes narrowed. It was plain the man could not make up his mind whether or not Lio was mocking him. Perfect. Amachos sucked in a breath through his nose, as if to speak.

  Lio preempted him. “Upon your return to His Majesty the King, please express my thankfulness and say to His Majesty that Deukalion found the generosity of the royal table to be without compare and treasured the opportunity to observe such a truly grand display of human culture.”

  “Yet,” the mage cut in, “we missed you at the dance.”

  Lio spread his hands in a classic gesture of admission. “As the evening progressed, I became overwhelmed with concern on behalf of the many Tenebrans who would be returning to home and hearth long after nightfall, and I thought to hasten and conclude my own evening meal here amid the bounty of the royal grounds, while my merry hosts still celebrated, so that I might be gone by the time the king’s well-satisfied subjects embarked on their path homeward. I would not wish to remain at large once they depart the palace, lest my presence cause them undue alarm.”

  A branch snapped in the distance. Lio dared not turn his head, but Amachos did. The mage paused to listen. Lio kept his physical gaze on his adversary and cast his senses far into the trees.

  Knight moved with the certainty of a hound on a trail, giving Amachos a wide berth, but an animal of that stature was not built to move quietly. Thorns. Lio couldn’t do anything about Cassia’s liegehound. Except keep talking.

  “Ah, the aforementioned bounty of the royal grounds,” he declared. “I must compliment His Majesty on the number and diversity of creatures thriving under his care.”

  There came a pulse of Amachos’s power. Lio recognized the Anthrian seeking spell from descriptions in scrolls and the uncomfortable warmth on his senses. He held his veil over Cassia steady and let his power wax, as diffuse as the moons’ glow, as pervasive as the darkness, that his spell might be one more natural shade of the night.