Blood Mercy (Blood Grace Book 1)

by Vela Roth

  Javed knelt before the boy. As if by unspoken agreement, Kadi also drew near. The look the boy gave her was marginally less wary than the one he turned on Javed.

  “My name is Javed, and this is my lady, Arkadia. We haven’t any children of our own yet, but I get to spend time with many people your age because I’m a healer. The Prisma has told me I may help her treat your sister.”

  The boy glared at him in silence.

  “I can see you take very good care of your sister.” Javed smiled softly. “Would you please keep holding her while I work a healing spell?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” the boy demanded. “No one will tell me.”

  Javed looked at the Prisma. She hesitated, and then she nodded.

  Javed lifted a hand, not fast enough to be startling, and caressed the girl’s curly head. “Fever is very dangerous for anyone, but especially for someone as young as your sister. The fever grew so hot that it harmed her brain. Because of the damage, she can’t wake up, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be in her right mind.”

  The boy’s tears spilled into the Blood Union, although his eyes were dry. “You can’t really heal her,” he accused.

  “Certainly I can. I will awaken her this very night, and in time, I can help her be herself again.”

  By the time Javed finished speaking, the girl stirred in her brother’s arms.

  The boy gasped and looked at his sister. She lifted her head, blinking sleepy eyes, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “It’s going to be all right now,” the boy told her.

  The little girl blinked again in confusion, but she smiled at her brother.

  “She recognizes you,” Javed said. “All shall be well.”

  “I have seen enough.” The Prisma’s voice quavered.

  As she and her mages brought the children into the clearing, Lio’s resolve and the flow of his Gift and everything within him that had carried him this far drained out of him in a rush. He watched as the women took their leave of each child with encouraging words and gentle touches. The prayer to Kyria the Prisma said over the small band rose up into the trees and echoed in her magic.

  As she turned to go, she halted before Lio. “Take good care of my children for me.”

  “You have my word.” His breath hitched. “Take good care of your gardener. For me.”

  She looked at him from within her hood with knowing eyes. “You have done right by her. Unlike these children, she has a future here in Tenebra, and she is not alone.”

  Lio’s last connection with Cassia retreated through the woods.

  A silent call had gone out, and Basir and Kumeta had joined them. Even they were smiling. Lio watched Basir kneel before a little girl and compliment her on her rag doll, while Kumeta wiped a smudge of dried milk from the child’s lip. Lio had never once heard the war-weary Master Envoys laugh until this moment, when they helped the other elders keep twenty-four small, exhausted humans on their feet a little longer.

  Kadi and Javed lingered with the scarred boy and his sister. The two Graces shared a long look over the children’s heads. Kadi’s aura was aglow, Javed’s full of longing. Lio suspected he saw before him his two newest cousins and the continuation of one of Orthros’s founding bloodlines. Uncle Argyros and Aunt Lyta would finally have their grandchildren.

  Dalos was dead, and the Hesperine embassy would escape with no fewer than twenty-four orphans for Orthros to welcome into Hespera’s embrace. Even Basir and Kumeta’s burden of grief lifted in the face of such a victory.

  Lio stood waiting for a sense of triumph to visit him at last, but it did not come. He had felt it with Cassia after the battle. Now it was over.

  Before he had left Orthros, following the rules had always been the right thing to do, and doing the right thing had always felt good.

  Here in Tenebra, in order to do the right thing, he had broken every rule that mattered. He knew he had acted rightly. But he felt worse than he ever had in his life.

  “You did well.” Uncle Argyros’s aura shone with approval.

  Lio turned to his uncle. When he had envisioned the end of the embassy, he had longed to hear those words of praise. Tonight he certainly hadn’t been sure his mentor would deem him worthy of them. Now he struggled to take comfort in them. “Thank you.”

  “Lio, do not be so downcast. It may still lie before you to account for your decisions before our Queens, but do not doubt they will rejoice at the outcome.”

  “I do not fear that reckoning.”

  “Then what could possibly trouble you?”

  Lio had kept his own counsel so much that night, against his habit, that the truth came out of him. “I feel like I failed.”

  “Failed?” His uncle clasped his shoulders. “We came for a dead Oath, but we return home with these young lives instead. That is a finer success than I could have imagined.”

  “I cannot help thinking of who we can’t save.”

  “Ah. In that case, there is nothing wrong with you.”

  Lio raised his brows.

  “That is our way,” Uncle Argyros said. “Deep down no Hesperine can escape the feeling that we must not rest until every soul in Tenebra lives under the Goddess’s Eyes. There are no lost causes, but there are some causes only the Goddess herself can rescue. You must not dwell on the people beyond your reach. It took me centuries to learn this. Heed it now and spare yourself many years of burdens that are too heavy to bear. Blessings like these children are what keep us going. Think of them, not those we cannot save.”

  But Lio would think of her. He could not keep from it, and he refused to. He would never stop thinking of her.

  Aunt Lyta asked a question, and Lio’s uncle released him to walk over and rejoin her. Uncle Argyros’s concern lingered where he had stood. Lio drifted after him, reaching within himself for the strength to help with the children. It would take patience and attention to put them at ease during the journey home. The embassy must travel all the way to Orthros in steps small enough for the children to tolerate. But as their combined power carried the little ones from Sanctuary to Sanctuary, there would be no war mage on their trail.

  A night breeze slipped through the Grove and touched Lio’s face. A scent broke through his numbness.

  Tallow soap and betony.

  He startled and looked around him, searching first the trees, then the clearing with all his senses.

  He followed his nose through his people and the children, past Aunt Lyta and two toddlers.

  Lio found himself before the seven-year-old girl. The child who had become her fellow orphans’ only mother.

  When Lio’s shadow fell over her, she went very still. She looked up, up at him, her eyes wide. Her dress bore old stains, and her hair was full of snarls, but her skin was pink and clean. She smelled of fear and courage, tallow soap and dried flowers. A bundle over her shoulder smelled of bread and cheese the mages must have entrusted to her. Her little hands, now relieved of her younger charges, held fast to one of Cassia’s betony charms.

  Lio knelt down on the girl’s eye level. “I know who you are. You have been very strong and taken good care of the other children. May I ask what your name is?”

  She stared at him in silence.

  “My name is Lio.” He gestured to the fragrant token she held. “You have quite a treasure there. There’s nothing better than a betony charm to keep you safe from bad dreams.”

  A look of determination came over the girl’s face. “This is for the others. I don’t have bad dreams.”

  “Really?”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  “Not a single bad dream, ever?” Lio moved his hand slowly and reached into his collar. He drew out Cassia’s talisman. “I keep a charm just like yours, see? I have bad dreams all the time.”

  The child glanced from her charm to Lio’s. “Do they frighten you?”

  “Yes. Sometimes I feel very scared.”

  The girl’s lip trembled. “Where are we going?” />
  “To my home in Orthros.”

  “Is it far?”

  “It won’t feel far. We will get there before dawn.”

  “Will the others have enough to eat?”

  “Oh, yes. All of you will have everything you need.”

  She squared her shoulders. They shook. “Then I will let you take them there.”

  Lio tried not to smile. His teeth might yet frighten her. Instead, he extended a hand. She watched him reach toward her.

  He closed his hand over her small, cold ones where she held the betony charm.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Hold on tight to me, and I will keep us safe all the way to Orthros.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Of course not. I can see how brave you are. That’s why I hope you’ll hold my hand on the way. I’ll feel braver with you next to me.”

  The King’s Noose

  When Cassia opened her door again, the guards stood to attention. Their gazes traveled over her flawless hair, her bronze court gown and clean slippers. She reminded herself again to be freer with praise around Perita.

  The guard who had scoffed at Cassia’s companion spoke up, his tone patronizing. “You’ll be remaining in your rooms for the time being, my lady. For your safety. Your entertainments in the garden and sport with your hound must wait until His Majesty tells us the danger is past.”

  “I am going to see the king. I trust his solar is not on the list of dangerous, forbidden destinations?”

  The guard frowned. “His Majesty has not sent for you, my lady.”

  “He sent for me this afternoon, and I was unable to attend him. I will do so now.”

  The soldiers exchanged glances with each other.

  The sarcastic guard muttered to his comrade, “Go hail the nearest of the king’s messengers and send him to ask if His Majesty wishes to see Her Ladyship. Then get back here to your post.”

  Cassia subjected the subordinate guard to a glare and was satisfied to see him halt in his tracks. “The king doesn’t want superfluous messengers going back and forth at a time like this. Do you have any appreciation for the disastrous matters he attends to even now? He wants his orders obeyed, and he issued the order for me to appear hours ago. You will take me to him.”

  It clearly took an effort, but the guard in command wiped the scowl off his face and bowed. His subordinate jumped to follow suit.

  It was they who had to struggle to keep up with Cassia on the way to the king’s solar. Her steps didn’t falter. Her heart pounded only with the force of her conviction.

  The king’s wing was in chaos. Everyone from free lords to messengers raced in and out. Lord Hadrian stood at the door of the solar, a bulwark against those swarming the main corridor and the guard room. He sent a great many interlopers back the way they had come and barked for those who’d been summoned to get inside.

  A chill crept over Cassia, and the hair on her arms stood on end. An instant later, a black robe swept past her. A mage of Hypnos had come to perform the final rites for his fellow mage. Even Anthros’s own must feel the touch of his brother, the god of death. Dalos’s apprentice watched the black-robed mage pass by. The young man huddled in a niche against the opposite wall, observing the proceedings with his expressionless gaze.

  Cassia found a bench in one of the niches and sat.

  It was three hours before Lord Hadrian had the opportunity to tell her she might go back to her rooms, and she politely declined. It took still more hours after that before the furor died down into a manageable bustle. Night was receding from the windows high in the wall above when Lord Hadrian finally approached her again.

  “Go ahead, Lady Cassia.” His expression gave no indication of what awaited her.

  The solar was still crowded. There was no room for Cassia to kneel, with so many people going back and forth, she reasoned.

  She gave the king a courtesy and remained on her feet.

  One by one, he dismissed the others in the room with a glance or a flick of his hand. But it was too late. She still would not kneel.

  He got to his feet on the other side of the desk. Braced his hands on it. Leaned forward. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”

  “You summoned me, Your Majesty.”

  “I summoned you this afternoon, and you failed to appear.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “My handmaiden has conveyed my excuses to you. Knight and I were on the move all day to fulfill his exercise regimen. It would have been a challenge for any messenger to keep up with us.”

  He leaned closer. He stared into her eyes. The monster that had loomed over her all her life crept nearer.

  He was so predictable.

  Here he was, reusing the same strategies, falling back on the same tactics. Next he would turn her into target practice and spout insults to vent his frustration over all he had lost today.

  She did not look away. And something in the familiar vision before her changed. In his dead blue eyes, she saw a flicker of surprise.

  “How dare you,” he spat.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

  What would he do now? Command her to lower her gaze? Bring his guards in and push her to her knees?

  It would not keep her down. She was ready with a retort for any accusation of treason he launched at her. She had Perita and Callen and even Lord and Lady Hadrian to vouch for her. She would find a way out of this, and she would live to walk through fire again to take up her vigil in Solia’s armor.

  Do what you will, she told him silently.

  He began to chastise her. Not even in his icy, controlled tone of anger. He shouted in her face.

  The words blustered around her. Disobedient. Bastard. Mine. More powerful words had already taken root inside her, and the king’s insults found no ground.

  Finally his tirade abated, and he leaned on the desk. She could hear him panting. “Get out.”

  “You have yet to tell me why you summoned me, Your Majesty.” He had yet to say whether he had wanted her to live or die this day. What he still intended.

  “I am your king. Do not question me. See to it that girl of yours keeps your court gowns in good repair. The seamstress will measure you for another tomorrow. When Lord Titus’s son arrives at Solorum next month, you will dance with him.”

  “I shall look forward to a new gown.” A small smile came to Cassia’s mouth. “I think I should like a red one this time.”

  She did not give the king the opportunity to repeat his dismissal. She backed away, observing his figure hunched over the desk. When she emerged into the corridor and turned around, she found early morning light flooding down from the windows.

  Lio’s day had just ended. He might lay sleeping in his own bed. She must not think of how far, far away Orthros was from Tenebra. She must begin her day.

  Cassia could accomplish great things with nothing more than a damaged cloak, and she could draw very informative conclusions from a new dress. A traitor slated for execution did not need another court gown. What Lucis had intended her fate to be at the Summit, she did not know. But his plan for her now was clear. She would be staying with the court for some time. He thought the game would continue as it always had, with suitors to be strung along and her to be bartered about, or brought down on her knees before him when he needed to remind himself he was king.

  How wrong he was. Nothing would ever be the same.

  SPRING EQUINOX

  Last Call

  Lio clenched his hands. The sample of crimson glass before him fractured.

  His stomach was the source of the fire. From his hollow belly, the heat raged through his limbs and seared upward out of his throat, parching his mouth. He felt as if he had swallowed Dalos’s spell.

  The curse eating Lio from the inside out would not be so swift.

  He raked his gaze over the half-finished sketches of roses that covered his worktable. Through the broken
shards of red, not red enough for their roses, he saw distorted images of his insufficient drawings. Somehow he had thought he could cut out his pain in glass, heal their parting as he pieced together a tribute to her. He had imagined that somewhere in this chaos, he could craft himself some peace. But his symptoms gave him none.

  On his first night without Cassia, his misery had been easy enough to explain. Their parting was a fresh wound, and suddenly returning to a diet of deer blood after he had been feasting with her would naturally leave him miserable.

  By the fourth night here at home, his emotional and physical distress had appalled him. Frustration unlike anything he had ever known took hold of him, and he directed it at himself. How could he let his pining and hunger reduce him to this? He admonished himself he must be stronger for his people, his family—for Cassia. Leaving her behind was what she needed him to do.

  But by the eighth night, the agony was more than anyone could be expected to bear.

  Denial had become his most powerful ally, his only protection against the truth. Tonight it threatened to desert him.

  He could scarcely believe this was the Spring Equinox. The fortnight he and Cassia had once hoped to spend in each other’s arms had dragged by at the pace of years, each hour more excruciating than the last. He had learned to long for the Dawn Slumber as much as he dreaded it. Sleep brought relief and dreams of her. But then he must awaken from them. When the sun set, he must return to reality—his hunger.

  He stared down at his hands. The shadows they cast across papers and glass trembled. He braced his palms flat on the worktable, trying to hold himself upright.

  His bastion of reason was crumbling. Over a millennium of Hesperine philosophy and research offered only one answer. The very one he had done everything within his power to ignore, deny, and explain away. But the verdict was clear. There was no other possible cause for what he was experiencing.