Zilpha’s brows lowered in disbelief. The treasure. Citrine knew something about it. Something warned Zilpha against trusting her, and yet she had no choice. Perhaps when the time came, she could outwit Citrine and take it for herself. Or once Citrine touched it, she’d know it was something dark and evil and it was best to run away. Decisions scurried through Zilpha’s mind and, seeing no other option, she stepped forward. “I accept.”
Citrine smiled. “We must get started then. Sit there and I will put together a concoction to help you find the treasure. Before we begin, you must still your thoughts. You can practice now by sitting there and breathing, relaxing, and focusing on the events that took place that led you to throw away the treasure. Can you do that for me?”
Zilpha nodded and folded her hands in her lap. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to let the tension of the past two days fade from her mind. The flavors in the air shifted, and a sweetness rose to her nostrils. As she breathed in, a sensation captured her, and delectable flavors touched her lips. She gasped and sank further, attempting to find the source as it surged around her. Cool fingers touched her hands as she heard Citrine’s guiding voice in the distance. “Keep your eyes closed. Come, sit here. Drink this. Then lie back and let the visions do their work.”
She was led somewhere warm and sat down upon a pallet; she guessed it was something like a bed set at waist height. When she was sitting, Citrine’s presence faded and then returned, and another cup was pressed into her hand. Pungent flavors rose up from it, and when she sipped a bitterness stung her tongue, quickly replaced by minty flavors coursing down her throat. Shuddering at the odd mixture, she wanted to pull away, but it seemed as if a spell lay upon her, and she could do nothing except what Citrine commanded. When the cup was empty, it was taken from her, and a hand touched her shoulder, guiding her until she lay flat on her back and the vision came.
A vortex whirled in the darkness, and memories came crashing back. Sounds came first—the crackle of fire, a female voice chanting, her words flowing together so fluidly Zilpha could not decipher them. Then a shadow appeared in the vortex, and a male’s amber eyes glowed at her. Lord Nodin. One of his gloved hands held a candle. Lifting it to his mouth, he blew it out, and Zilpha was plunged into darkness. Her eyes flew open, and her hands reached out, grasping for something solid to hold on to, but there was nothing, and she fell backward, a scream emitting from her throat as the darkness swallowed her whole. A roaring burst through her ear drums, and suddenly she was outside. Looking down, she saw her feet planted on a boulder, and before her the waves of the Jaded Sea roared, splashing up against the craggy stones. Zilpha understood she was reliving a memory. In both hands she held the box, carved out of redwood and sanded smooth. Her fingers trembled as she held it out over the cliffs and dropped it. That day, she’d lifted the key from her neck, then put it back and fled back to weave more baskets, thankful the accursed treasure was out of her control. Now, in the vision, she watched the box drop like a stone, smashing into a rock. It cracked in half and tumbled down into the water where the waves caught and tossed it to and fro like a sea creature playing with its food. At last, when the tide went out to sea, the smashed box floated into a cove and rested at the foot of a cave. There, a bird, thinking it was interested, pecked away at it, unintentionally moving it further into the cave. When it grew bored, it flew away, and the vision receded.
Zilpha woke with a start, sitting straight up and almost banging her head on the bundle of herbs that perched above. Her eyes flew open, and she saw the herb shop with Citrine sitting in a corner, writing.
She glanced up at the movement, her face impassive. “What did you see?” she asked.
Zilpha swallowed hard, wanting to tell a lie to prevent Citrine from seeking with her, but nothing came to mind. “It’s in a cave, by the shore.”
Citrine paused, the quill in her hand. She licked her lips and cocked her head. “If you saw this cave, would you recognize it?”
“Aye,” Zilpha’s breath caught in her throat.
“Good. The sun is almost down, and there’s no use searching at night. We shall meet here at first light to begin our search. Are these terms agreeable?”
Since there was no other choice, Zilpha nodded. She rose to her feet, and the shop pitched around her. She reached out a hand, steadying herself against the wall.
“You might feel groggy for a bit.” Citrine shrugged without sympathy. “It’s a side effect of the herbs.”
Zilpha nodded that she understood while her eyes sought a window. She felt hesitant about going out after sundown, especially since the incident at the temple. Swallowing hard, she wondered if the beast was out on such a night and if she could seek sanctuary somewhere. She opened her mouth to ask, but when she glanced at Citrine, she was frowning at something in her book. A wave of embarrassment came over Zilpha and steadying herself she took a deep breath and made for the door.
“Oh, leave your baskets here,” Citrine waved her away. “You can collect them tomorrow.”
Zilpha recognized what it was. Collateral to ensure she showed up the next day. Without another word, she opened the door and slipped outside. Evening had fallen, and the sun was streaked pink and orange with the failing sunset. Zilpha took a deep breath, her eyes drawn to its beauty. A peace filled her heart, and something like joy tingled on her fingertips. Everything would be okay now. She would find the treasure, with Citrine’s help, and give it to Lord Nodin in exchange for full payment of her debt. She had a plan. It would work.
Ignoring the fact she might not find the treasure quickly, she turned to walk past the tavern. As she did, she saw three shadows behind her. Males. With knives. One of them licked his lips at her. “Oy there, miss, where are you going at this hour?”
“Need a little company?”
They barked at her, like wild dogs eager to devour prey.
A little scream of terror tore from Zilpha’s throat, and she set off in a run, looking wildly about for somewhere to hide.
17
Questions and Demands
The shore tilted as Zilpha fled, and the grogginess pricked at her head, causing a deep ache to ring in her skull. The base of her throat felt dry, and a longing for a cool draught of water consumed her. But the three males drew closer, calling out to her, their voices a blur. The walls of the buildings rose before her with the port on the left and the city on her right—an open view with nowhere to hide, and no one in sight. Panic made her chest seize up, and when she realized she could run no further, a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.
Zilpha skidded to a stop, choking on air as she balled her hands into fists. Her brown hair flew as she spun around to eye the males behind her. Her cheeks flamed with heat as she realized they still stood exactly where they’d been when she’d left Citrine’s herb shop. One of them held up a knife and licked his lips, then turned and sauntered into the tavern.
Relief swept through Zilpha’s exhausted body, and she leaned over at the waist, gasping clumps of salt-stained air combined with the faint odor of fish. The shadow in front of her was forgotten until it spoke, a cold voice meandering through the air like the first winter snow. “You went to see Citrine?”
Nostrils flaring, Zilpha’s head snapped up, and she leaned back as the male towered over her. He was well over six feet tall with a lanky body and sharp features. Emerald green eyes bored into her, slightly sunken into his angular face. Stumbling backward, Zilpha reached out for something to hold on to. Her head felt hazy, and her breath turned shallow and weak. “Well?” the male prompted without ceremony.
Zilpha’s eyes dropped, taking in his garb. He wore black pants and boots soiled with dirt. A plain shirt and a black jerkin with gold embroidery covered his broad chest. His hands were gloved and crossed over his chest, while his pink lips curled with indifference. Although he had not touched her, words came to mind. He was someone powerful, with authority, not in the same way as Lord Arden and the city warden, but there w
as something about him that demanded an answer. For a moment, her knees knocked together, and she considered kneeling, if just to regain her mobility. Silently she uttered an oath against the potion Citrine had given her, for her mind moved like the morning fog over the Jaded Sea, obscuring truth.
“Aye,” the whisper escaped from her lips. She wrapped her fingers around the folds of her dress, relieved to hold on to something solid.
“Excuse me,” the male motioned toward the tavern. “You look as if you will collapse. Would you prefer we continue this conversation sitting down?”
Zilpha’s eyes darted to the tavern and back to the male. She would prefer to go home, but it did not seem as if he would allow her. Besides, the tavern was full of people. Her fingers twitched, and a wistful thought began in her mind—the hope Irik was still at the port and would come to her rescue. She could rely on him to escort her home after dark with nothing indecent taking place. Heart hammering in her chest, she pressed her lips together and nodded at the strange male. “Who are you?”
His hand came up to touch her elbow, guiding her to the boisterous establishment. “I am the Nameless One.” His voice was just as cold and hard as earlier. The word emotionless came to her mind. “If you desire a name, you may call me Tor Lir.”
A wave of exhaustion came over her as he pulled open the door to the tavern and waved her inside. Incessant chatter met her ears, and a roar of laughter came from the males in the corner. A dark haze danced on the edge of Zilpha’s vision, but Tor Lir’s hand came up, touching the small of her back and guiding her to a small table tucked into a corner.
Once she was sitting down, her vision cleared, and she eyed the inside of the tavern with disgust and fear. Taverns were a popular place for newcomers to gather for food—a place to sleep and glean the local gossip. While taverns were spread out across the city, the one at the port was popular for sailors, fishers, and traders on their way out. Most people were about to embark on an adventure the next day or had just arrived and needed a stiff drink and to flap their tongues while they worked on their land legs. It was not a place for ladies such as herself, and once again Zilpha reproached herself for putting herself in such a predicament.
A well-endowed maid came over, her bright hair curling over one shoulder. “What will it be?” she demanded, her eyes widening as she studied Tor Lir. Zilpha followed her gaze. On second glance, she realized the male had an alluring quality to his looks. All the same, she cowered inside at what he wanted from her.
“Water for the lady, wine for myself.” Tor Lir waved two fingers without even glancing at the maid.
She frowned and spun away, likely furious at not even being able to catch the attention of such an attractive male.
“What is your name?” Tor Lir asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Zilpha,” she replied. “I don’t know what you want with me but please, I need to get back home. If you want to know what happened perhaps you should ask the herb lady?”
“Citrine won’t tell me anything, which is why I’m asking you.”
Zilpha raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. “You know her?”
“Aye.” The male folded his long fingers on the table.
Zilpha noticed they were beautiful and smooth, unlike the rough work hands most males had. She glanced again at her strange companion and as his dark hair moved could have sworn she saw pointed ears sticking out. Every bone in her body felt stiff with cold and weary. “Did you come with her?”
Before Tor Lir could reply, the maid returned with a cup of water and a mug of spiced wine. She plopped the drinks down and held out her hand for a coin. Tor Lir flipped one on to the table without much thought and took a long draught of wine, almost draining the mug. Zilpha stared at him, every inch of her body telling her to flee while she had time, but some curiosity held her firm. She took a timid sip of water.
Tor Lir set down his mug and leaned over the table, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “You likely don’t know, but Citrine is dangerous. She is not who you think she is, and if you and she are planning something together, it is likely one or both of you will come to your ruin. I sense the threads of imbalance in this land, and I believe it leads back to something Citrine is planning. Your aura is shining with fear, and it’s related to something big that is about to happen in this city.”
Zilpha felt a flutter of panic scurry through her, the same old fear that kept reappearing. Words tumbled out of her mouth. “Are you a seer that you know this?”
Tor Lir’s lip curled, although Zilpha could not tell if he were smirking at her or disagreeing with her question. “Nay, I am no seer. I am the Nameless One. The keeper of the balance between good and evil.”
Zilpha gasped at his words, fighting to keep from feeling as though she were on the edge of hysterics. “The keeper? The balance of good and evil?” It sounded impossible, like a story told of the Heroes of Old. “If you know something is going to happen, you will try to stop us,” Zilpha insisted with bravery she did not feel.
Tor Lir raised an eyebrow and studied her, his emerald eyes moving over her body. There was a coldness to them Zilpha did not understand. “There is no need to stop you if it will keep the balance.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“That’s why I need to know what you’re planning.”
Crossing his arms, he leaned forward, his uncanny presence looming over her. Zilpha tore her gaze from him and glanced around the room, checking to see who was available to come to her rescue. The males and females talked and smoked, some slurping down drinks while others shoved food in their mouth. And then there was a swing of bright hair and braids. Hava’s face appeared. She stood in the door way with her hands on her hips, scanning the room. Her eyes flitted from table to table and suddenly paused when they landed on Tor Lir. A scowl covered her face as her eyes rested on Zilpha.
A ripple of fury and hatred made Zilpha hunch up her shoulders and wrap her arms around herself. Did Hava know about the fire? Hava strode in toward her, her dark boots stomping across the tavern floor, moving people out of her way. A few whistles and calls of approval sounded across the tavern. But they fell silent when they saw the swords on her back.
Zilpha rose as Hava approached and pointed a finger at the tall lady. Anger, not bravery, inspired her words. “You!” Zilpha hissed. “You ruined me during market day.”
Hava’s cool expression was enough to make Zilpha stumble back to her seat like invisible hands had pushed her. Hava crossed her arms, staring down her nose at Zilpha like a beast studying its prey. “We all do what we need to survive. My father is ruthless and has many debts. You will survive to pay it. Now what are you doing here?”
Hava’s hazel eyes darted from Zilpha to Tor Lir. Zilpha took a deep breath as Tor Lir took over the conversation.
“I need information from her,” Tor Lir said.
She noted his voice changed. Instead of the chilly coolness, it turned warm. Zilpha blinked in surprise. Of course he respected Hava. After all, she was the daughter of a wealthy Lord. It was best to stay on her good side.
“Has she given it?” Hava demanded.
“Nay,” Tor Lir grinned, his gaze returning to Zilpha.
In a flash, Hava yanked a knife from her belt. Leaning over until her bosom almost touched Zilpha’s face, she placed a hand on the wall above Zilpha's head and pointed the knife at Zilpha’s throat. A cool expression covered her face, and her eyes went flat. Hava’s voice sounded like a low growl as she demanded: “Tell him what he needs to know before I cut you.”
Zilpha sagged against the wall, pitying herself yet determined not to cry in front of her beautiful enemies. “We meet tomorrow at dawn. That’s all I can tell you,” she whispered.
Hava brought her knife closer, and Zilpha licked her lips, her eyes fixated on the gleaming blade. Hava’s eyes looked very much as if she’d like to run the knife across Zilpha’s throat. Close now as they were, Zilpha saw a faint bruise on Hava’s cheek, likely from t
he slap. But her attention jerked away as someone interrupted.
“What is the meaning of this? Threatening a young lady in a tavern?”
The male voice sounded familiar, and Zilpha dared to raise her eyes from the blade for a split second to find herself staring up into the amber eyes of Lord Nodin. His eyes betrayed nothing, yet he smiled at her.
“Lord Nodin.” Hava stepped back and put the knife away. “We were simply asking a question.”
“And do you have an answer?” Lord Nodin asked, his gaze turning from Zilpha to Tor Lir.
Zilpha saw his eyes widen as he glanced at Tor Lir. Something flickered behind those amber eyes, causing Lord Nodin to lift his chin and take a step back.
“We have the answer we need, for now,” Tor Lir replied, his voice as cold as death. He rose to his full six and a half feet, towering over Lord Nodin.
“Are you the one who found the body?” Lord Nodin asked, refusing to take another step back.
Tor Lir froze, and Zilpha could have sworn she saw a cautiousness creep over his face. “Aye. What of it?”
“I hear you’re wanted at the temple,” Lord Nodin smirked. “Now excuse me, I must take the lady home. Zilpha?”
He held out a hand—a gallant gesture—and Zilpha felt nothing but relief sweep through her. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her away from Hava and Tor Lir.
18
Spilling Secrets
“That did not go well,” Hava remarked, taking a seat and resting her elbows on the table. She flipped her knife and then put it away.
Tor Lir quirked his lips. “You came on too strong with the knife. She was frightened.”
“She’s one of my father’s tenants. She has reason to be frightened, and it seems she’s working with your friend, the colorful one, Citrine.”
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