His head shifted slightly to the side. “What are you trying to say?”
“Maybe it isn’t chance that I’m here.”
“Because of a name mentioned in an old song by a long-dead madwoman?”
“It’s more than that, Rafe. I saw her,” I blurted out.
His expression changed almost instantly from curious to cautious, as if I’d gone mad too. “You think you saw a dead—”
I cut him off, telling him about the woman I saw in the hall, on the ledge, and finally in the passage. He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Lia,” he said, “you’ve been through a horrible journey, and this place—” He shook his head. “Anyone could see things here. Our lives are in jeopardy every minute. We never know when someone will come and—” He squeezed my hand. “The name Jezelia could be as common as air here, and a dragon? That could be anyone. She may have even meant a literal dragon. Have you thought of that? It’s only a story. Every kingdom has them. And it’s understandable that you might see things in a dark passageway. It might have even been a servant passing through. Thank the gods she didn’t expose you to the guards. But you’re not meant to be a prisoner in this godforsaken place, of that much, I’m certain.”
“But there’s something going on here, Rafe. I feel it. Something looming. Something I saw in an old woman’s eyes on the Cam Lanteux. Something I heard.”
“Are you claiming this is your gift speaking to you?” There was a strange lilt to his tone, a hint of skepticism, and I realized that maybe he didn’t even believe I had the gift. We had never talked about it. Maybe the rumors in Morrighan about my shortcomings had spread all the way to Dalbreck. His doubt stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Spoken aloud, it sounded ludicrous even to me.
“I’m not sure.” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, angry with myself that I didn’t understand my own gift well enough to give Rafe more answers.
He stood and pulled me into his arms. “I believe you,” he whispered. “There’s something looming, but that’s all the more reason why we need to leave here.”
I rested my head on his chest, wanting to hold him until—
You think he’d tell you when we were really leaving?
My thoughts froze on Finch’s taunt. Kaden wouldn’t tell me when he was really returning either. I don’t trust you, Lia. And he never had, with good reason. This was a game I loathed playing with Kaden.
“I have to go,” I said, pushing away, “before he returns and finds me gone.” I snatched up my cloak and ran to the window.
Rafe tried to stop me. “You said he’d be gone all day.”
I couldn’t take a chance, and I had no time to explain. I was only just stepping up on the ledge of the window when I heard the key rattle in the lock and Rafe’s door creaked open. I pressed close to the outside wall, but instead of fleeing, I lingered, trying to hear who it was. I heard Calantha’s voice, far more accommodating in her tone with him than she was with me. And then I heard Rafe complimenting her on her dress, transforming in a single breath from a prince to a solicitous emissary.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KADEN
I wove my way through the troops who stood at ease laughing at the bottom of Corpse Call, happy to be relieved of midday duties. Pockets of soldiers called to me, welcoming me home. Most of them I didn’t know, because I was gone more than I was here, but they all knew me. Everyone made a point to know, or know of, the Assassin.
“Heard you brought home a prize,” one called.
The bounty of war. I remembered calling Lia the Komizar’s prize myself when Eben aimed to cut her throat. I’d said it without thinking, because it was true. All bounty belonged to the Komizar to distribute or use for the greatest benefit to Venda. It wasn’t my place to question him when he said, I’ll decide the best way to use her. Without a doubt, it wasn’t just I who owed him a great debt—all of Venda did. He gave us all something we hadn’t had before. Hope.
I kept walking, nodding; these were my comrades after all. We had a common cause, a brotherhood. Loyalty above everything. Not one of the men I passed hadn’t suffered greatly in one way or another, some even more than I had, though I wore the scarred proof on my chest and back. A few coarse remarks from soldiers I could ignore.
Look here.
Another call from somewhere in the crowd.
The Assassin.
No doubt weak from wrestling with his little pigeon all the way across the Cam Lanteux.
I stopped cold and stared at a group of three soldiers, smiles still on their faces. I stared until their feet shifted and their grins faded. “Three of your comrades are about to die. Now’s not the time for laughter about prisoners.”
They glanced at each other, their faces pale, then melted into the crowd behind them. I walked away, my boots grinding into the wet soil.
Corpse Call was a hillock at the far end of the Tomack quarter. The training camps spread out in a low valley just beyond it, hidden by a thicket of woods. Eleven years ago, when the Komizar came to power, there were no prepared soldiers, no training camps, no silos for storing the grain tithes, no armories for the forging of weapons, no breeding stables. There were only warriors who learned their trade from a father if they had one, and if they didn’t, brute passion guided them. Only the local quarter smiths banged out crude swords and axes for the few families who could afford them. The Komizar had done what none before him had, coerced greater tithes from the governors, who in turn coerced greater tithes from the quarterlords in their own provinces. While Venda was poor in fields and game, it was rich in hunger. He beat his powerful message like a war drum, calculating the days, months, and years until Venda would be stronger than the enemy, strong enough so that every belly would be full, and nothing—especially not three cowardly soldiers who had betrayed their oath and run from their duty—would be allowed to undermine what all Vendans had worked and sacrificed for.
I traversed the short trail that led to the top of the hillock, back and forth until I reached the chievdars who waited for me. They nodded to a sentry, who blew a ram’s horn, three long bleats that hung in the damp air. The troops below quieted. I heard the sobbing of one prisoner. All three were on their knees, wood blocks before them, their hands tied behind, black hoods covering their heads as if they were too repulsive to look upon for long. They were lined up on the crown of the hillock in plain view of all who watched from below. An executioner stood near each one, and the polished curved axes clutched in their hands glinted in the sun.
“Remove their hoods,” I ordered.
The sobbing prisoner cried out when the hood was snatched away. The other two blinked as if they didn’t quite understand why they were there. Their expressions twisted in confusion.
Make sure they suffer.
I stared at them. Their noses didn’t quite fit their faces, and their thin, shivering chests hadn’t yet broadened.
“Keep?” the nearest chievdar prompted. It was my job as Keep to move the execution forward.
I walked closer and stood before them. They lifted their chins, wise enough to be afraid, wiser still not to ask for mercy.
“You’re accused of deserting your duty, your posts, and betraying your oath to protect your comrades. The five you left behind died. I ask each one of you, did you commit these crimes?”
The one who had sobbed broke out in anguished wails. The other two nodded, their mouths half open. Not one of the three was more than fifteen years old.
“Yes,” each one said obediently in turn, even through their terror.
I turned to the soldiers below. “What say you, comrades? Yea or nay?”
A unanimous rumble as thick as night rolled in the air.
The weight of the single word pressed down on my shoulders, heavy and final. None of these three had yet seen a razor on his face.
Yea.
Every man waiting below needed to believe his comrades would be there for him, that no fear or impu
lse would deter him from doing his duty. One of the five who died may have been their brother, their father, their friend.
It was at this point the Komizar or the Keep might have cut a line, not too deep, in the throat of one. Just enough for him to choke on his own blood, to draw out his misery and make the other prisoners retch in fear, just deep enough to sear it into the memory of every witness below. Traitors received no mercy.
The chievdar drew his knife and offered it to me.
I looked at the knife, looked out at the soldiers below. If they hadn’t seen enough misery by now, they’d have to find it elsewhere.
I turned back to the condemned soldiers. “May the gods show you mercy.”
And with a simple nod, before the chievdar could protest the quick end, the blades came down and their sobbing ceased.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The hallway was dark, and the lantern I had snatched from a hook barely lit my way. I couldn’t go back the way I had come. Every turn had been blocked by governors or sentries, and I’d had to make quick unexpected turns to avoid them, slipping down narrow stairways, darting into paths that were little more than tunnels. Now I wandered in this squat hall that showed little promise of leading anywhere. It was empty and bleak, and appeared to be unused.
The walls closed in the farther I went, and the air was musty. I could taste its heavy age on my tongue. I contemplated turning back, but then I finally came to a portal and more stairs that led down. It felt as if I were already in the belly of a deceased creature. The last thing I wanted to do was venture deeper into its bowels, but I stepped down anyway. I worried that Kaden would be back before nightfall and didn’t want him to know of my wanderings. He would surely seal the trapdoor.
The stone steps curved, funneling me into more darkness, something I was becoming accustomed to in this hellish city, and then suddenly I heard a rumble and the stair beneath me gave way. I fell, tumbling in the darkness, losing the lantern, my cloak wrapping around me, my hands scraping walls, stairs, anything to try and stop my fall. Finally I landed with a glorious hard thump on a floor. I lay there, momentarily stunned, wondering if I had broken anything.
A cold burst of air washed up from below, carrying the scents of smoke and oil. Faint light revealed an immense root crawling down the wall beside me like a heavy-footed creature. Above me, thin tendrils of other roots hung down like slithering serpents. If not for the light and the scent of lantern oil, I’d have been certain I had fallen into the hellish garden of a demon. I sat up, the cloak still twisted around my shoulders and chest, then rubbed my knee, which hadn’t had the benefit of padding. There was a bloody tear in the trousers. Piece by piece, I was shredding Kaden’s clothes. How would I ever explain them? I got to my feet, shaking the cloak free, and something hard knocked against my leg. I reached down and squeezed the fabric. There was something rigid sewn in the hem. I ripped it open, and a thin sheaf of leather fell into my hand. A small knife was tucked in it.
Natiya! It had to be. Dihara would never take such a risk. Neither would Reena. But I remembered Natiya’s defiant raised chin when she brought the cloak to me. It was neatly rolled up with string around it to secure it. Kaden had grabbed it from her, saying it would have to go in my bedroll.
I turned the knife over in my hands. It was smaller than my own dagger, a three-inch blade at most, and slim. Perfect for Natiya’s small hands—and perfect for hiding. It couldn’t do much damage if thrown, but at close range it was lethal enough. I shook my head, grateful for her cunning, picturing how nervously and quickly she would have had to work to sew it into the hem with no one the wiser. I slid it into my boot and continued cautiously down the winding staircase. Then, like a gift, with a few more steps, the stairs ended and soft golden light rushed up to meet me.
I stepped out into a room and suppressed a gasp.
It was a vast cavern of white stone, glowing with the warm buttery light of lanterns. Dozens of columns rose up, sprouting into arches across the great expanse. Giant roots like the one I saw in the stairway had bored through the ceiling and snaked down along pillars and walls. Smaller vines dangled between—the whole room looked eerily alive with creamy yellow snakes. The floor was part polished marble, part rough stone, and in some places, piled rubble. Shadows flickered between arches, and in the distance I saw robed figures walking away. I tried to peer after them, but they quickly disappeared into the dark.
Who were they, and what were they doing down here? I hugged my cloak close about me and darted out, hiding behind a pillar. I scanned the cavern. What was this place? They have elaborate temples built far below the ground.
A ruin. I was in an excavated ruin of the Ancients.
Three robed figures walked past just on the other side of the pillar, and I pressed closer to the stone, holding my breath. I listened to their shuffling feet on the polished floor, a strange softness to their steps. The sound of reverence and restraint. I stepped out into the light, forgetting caution, and watched the sway of their plain brown robes as they departed.
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the cavern.
All three halted and turned. They didn’t draw weapons, or maybe they just couldn’t because their arms were full of books. Their features were hidden in the shadows of their hoods, and they didn’t speak. They simply faced me, waiting. I approached them, keeping my steps steady and assured.
“I’d like to see who I speak to,” I said.
“As would we,” the one in the middle answered.
My chest clamped tight. He spoke in perfect Vendan, but even in those few words, I heard the difference, the way he formed his words, the erudite air. The foreignness. He was not Vendan. I kept my chin tucked low to keep my face in the shadow of my hood. “I’m only a visitor of the Komizar, and I’ve lost my way.”
One of them snorted. “Indeed.”
“Little wonder you keep your face covered,” another said, and pushed back his hood. His hair swirled in intricate braids across his head, and a deep line cut between his brows.
“Is this a dungeon of some sort?” I asked. “Are you prisoners down here?”
They laughed at my ignorance, but came forth with the information I fished for. “We’re the amply rewarded purveyors of knowledge, and the gut of this beast has much to keep us busy. Now be on your way.” He pointed behind me, telling me to take the second stairway up.
Learned men in Venda? I stared at them, my thoughts still racing with the who and why.
“Go!” he said, as if he were shooing off a one-eared cat.
I whirled around and hurried away, and when I knew they could no longer see me, I ducked behind a pillar and leaned back, my head pounding with questions. Purveyors of what knowledge?
I heard footsteps and froze. More of them walked past, a group of five this time, mumbling about their midday meal.
The gut of this beast has much to keep us busy.
A whole army of them prowled through these caverns.
A chill crawled up my neck.
Everything about them was out of place here. What were they being amply rewarded for? I dashed out and found the second stairway, taking two steps at a time, the sweet, smoky stench of the cavern suddenly turning my stomach.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I sat on the wall staring at thin gray clouds, strange to me like everything else in this dark city. They striped the heavens like giant claws drawn across flesh, and the pink of twilight bled between them.
The guards below me had, by now, become accustomed to where I sat perched on the wall. I hadn’t been able to get back to the trapdoor in the chamber closet, and I’d had to take a chance on getting back in through my window since the door was locked. I had almost made it to the ledge when the guards spotted me. I immediately sat down on the wall, making it appear that it was my destination and I had just come from my window. Their shouts hadn’t deterred me, and once they were assured escape wasn’t part of my plan, they tolerated my teetering place of refuge.
/> In truth, I didn’t want to go back inside. I told myself I needed air to clear the smoke and sulfur from my nostrils. It seemed to cling to every pore of my body, sickly and pungent. There was something about the strange men down in the caverns that left me dizzy and weak.
I remembered Walther saying I was the strongest of us.
I didn’t feel strong, and if I was, I didn’t want to be strong any longer. I wanted out. I’d had enough. I wanted Terravin. I wanted Pauline and Berdi and fish stew. I wanted anything but this. I wanted my dreams back. I wanted Rafe to be a farmer and Walther to be—
My chest jumped, and I choked back whatever was trying to shake loose.
Something is looming.
And now, with these strange erudite men in the cavern, it seemed certain.
I felt the loose pieces floating just out of my grasp—the Song of Venda, the Chancellor and Royal Scholar hiding books and sending a bounty hunter to kill me without benefit of trial. And then there was the kavah on my shoulder that refused to fade away. Something had been stirring long before I ran on my wedding day.
I remembered the wind that day I prepared for the wedding. Cold gusts beating against the citadelle, warning whispers winding down drafty halls. It was in the air even then. The truths of the world wish to be known. But it was far more than I had believed it to be. The before and after of my life cleaved in two that day, in ways I could never have imagined. My head ached with questions.
I closed my eyes, searching for the gift that I had only just been getting a sense of when I crossed the Cam Lanteux. Dihara had warned me that gifts that weren’t fed shriveled and died, but it was hard to feed anything here. Still, I kept my eyes closed and searched for that place of knowing. I forced my hands to relax at my sides, forced the tightness from my shoulders, focused on the light behind my eyelids, and heard Dihara again.… It is the language of knowing, child. Trust the strength within you.
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