by L. Penelope
“Thank you,” people repeated over and over again.
An elderly woman stopped him with a palm to his chest. “You came to our village and restored my husband’s garden after the soldiers had salted it. We were able to feed the entire neighborhood after the ration decrease. Bless you, oli.” Son, she called him. He smiled at the woman and ducked his head in acknowledgment as tears pricked the edges of his eyes.
His movement through the crowd was stymied by many such testimonies. One woman’s children had been saved from starvation by the secret potato fields he’d planted. He’d led a team of Keepers to rescue a caravan full of children who’d been stolen by nabbers to be sold to the highest bidder. His intervention had saved a group of teenagers’ Songs from tribute when they were children. The list went on and on. He held back the tears as the people expressed their gratitude.
“And what of justice, Shadowfox?” Talida’s voice rang out, causing the group that had gathered around him to turn. Standing on the crate again, her face was strangely blank. Sadness poured from her, and his heart clenched at her pain. “You urge us to wait for the Elsirans and say that change is coming, but the Elsirans blame us for taking food off their tables when the king and queen feed us. They call us criminals and savages when the real criminals sit in the dungeons of the palace being housed and fed when their lives should be forfeited.” Her voice carried over the now-quiet group.
“The Enforcers. The Collectors. The Golden Flames. Should they not be held accountable?” Pain laced her gaze as their eyes locked. He did not know her story, but every Lagrimari had either experienced some form of cruelty from the government, or watched someone they loved do so.
“There will be trials for those who have harmed us.” He spoke more to her than to their audience.
“Will we trust the Elsirans to provide our justice? We have no say in their courts.”
“All of that will be worked out. The Mantle fell a mere six weeks ago.” He spread his arms, pleading.
“And yet we still suffer.” Her voice was hard.
“You have the ear of the king,” Aggar said, slicing him with a razor-edged glare. “Are you truly our advocate?”
Talida’s hands fisted. “Justice must be swift. And it must be ours to mete out.”
“The king is a fair man and eager to do what is needed for the unification,” Darvyn said. “And the queen has been on our side since before the Mantle fell.” He was confident that the rulers would do whatever was necessary to provide closure to the people.
“Lagrimari should be involved in deciding the fates of those who tormented us and sit in prison,” Talida said. “And for those who are in hiding, still hoping to escape justice … we want to hold their trials in absentia.” Her voice grew stronger with each demand. “We should not have to wait for months and years to heal these wounds.”
Darvyn sighed as the silence around him indicated that every man, woman, and child present was hanging on his answer. “I will bring this to the king and queen.”
“We should start with a symbol of the True Father’s thirst for blood—his most beloved assassin.”
Darvyn stopped breathing at her mention of Kyara. As Talida spoke, Aggar’s cold eyes bored into him like a drill, menacing and mean.
“The first to be tried for crimes against the people of Lagrimar should be the Poison Flame!” she shouted.
A deafening cheer went up among the crowd as Darvyn’s vision swam. His heart tore in two. Muscles rigid, his gaze never left Aggar’s.
So this had been the game. Reveal the Shadowfox to the people, force Darvyn to show his face to them, accept their praise, and then back him into a corner he’d have difficulty escaping.
Talida’s emotions were shielded. The woman still had her Song, though she was not a strong Singer. Her shield was flimsy, and though Darvyn could have broken through it if he’d wanted, he left it intact. Her refusal to look at him any longer let him know that she, too, knew exactly what her demand would do to him. Both she and Aggar had witnessed Darvyn’s meltdown when the Keepers had threatened to execute Kyara in Lagrimar. Aggar had even ordered Darvyn to be collared—fixed with a device that prevented access to his Song—briefly.
Cries of “Justice! Justice!” rang out. Darvyn spun around, beset on all sides by people when all he wanted to do was escape into the fresh air.
Hands reached out to him, words of gratitude barely reaching his ears. Someone gripped his arm and dragged him away while they murmured thanks to the people still surrounding him. Then he was outside, gasping in the crisp, sea-salty air, fighting the terror that clutched him.
Zango stood before him, concern etched in his gaze. Rozyl spoke in a harsh whisper behind him, but Darvyn was still drowning in a sea of sorrow.
For the first time since Kyara had disappeared from the streets of Sayya, Darvyn was glad. He hoped she was far away and safe. He could not imagine a choice more difficult than one between the people he’d spent his life protecting and the woman he loved.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“A riddle will I offer, to help you find your way,” said Crispis the Entertainer. “What is freely given but expects a reward?”
Ayal would ponder the answer for a very long time.
—THE AYALYA
A pounding at the door roused Tai from fitful dreams. He shook his head to clear it of the hazy images of broken bodies, rubble, and chaos. The scene from the morning’s bombing had invaded his troubled sleep. He and Mik had only gotten a glimpse of the destruction, but it had been enough to see that there was nothing they could do to help. Besides, when Elsiran soldiers had caught sight of them, they’d been pushed back beyond the gate into Portside.
The sobbing and wailing of the onlookers and survivors still clamored in his ears, mixing with the sound of someone beating on the door, and forced him off the lumpy inn mattress. Mik snored loudly from his bed in the corner. The man could sleep through a tsunami … and had.
Tai peeked out the window to see that night had fallen, but he had no idea of the time. They’d rented the room and fallen asleep in the early afternoon, weary from the voyage. He’d intended to go find that barmaid again but had opted for a nap first. Now he wrenched open the door, expecting to find a squad of grown men—perhaps those he owed money to—by the intensity of the knocking. His last retreat from Rosira had been made in haste, without a chance to settle his debts.
Instead, a teenage girl stood at the threshold, perhaps his sister’s age. She was Lagrimari, and her dark eyes held shock, as if she wasn’t certain he was actually going to answer her belligerent thumping. She lowered her fist and took a hasty step back. That’s when Tai noticed the girl wore the light-blue robes of an initiate to the Sisterhood with an odd little white apron attached. She’d wrangled her springy black hair into an approximation of the topknots the Sisters all wore, but instead of the calm, serene expressions they assumed, astonishment froze her features. Perhaps she’d never seen a Raunian before.
Her gaze was locked on his shock of blue hair and the tattoos swirling on his face. He reached up and traced the newest ones, which spread from under his left ear to the middle of his cheekbone. The two barely healed lines indicated his years in prison. His forehead bore the insignia of his rank as captain of his own vessel, along with his family’s pattern, and his chin bore marks displaying his right to use the communal waterways surrounding the island of Raun.
He gave the girl time to look her fill and watched the embarrassment settle over her. He racked his brain to remember the few words of Lagrimari he’d painstakingly learned from the passengers of his ill-fated voyage two years prior.
“All is well?” he said, struggling with the guttural pronunciation of the language. It had taken nearly as long for him to learn to speak the sentence as it had for him to master Common Fremian.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she rattled off a string of words. He held his arms out and shook his head.
“Sorry, but I don’t understand.” He tossed ou
t the phrase in the four languages he spoke fluently, but she showed no recognition.
She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. Written in Elsiran were the words:
The Goddess Awoken requests an audience with Master Tai Summerhawk. Novice Zeli will guide you.
Tai’s breathing hitched. One hand went to his birthstone pouch. He read the note three times before handing it back to the girl, Zeli. Well, this was a stroke of luck. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that someone as powerful as the Elsiran Goddess could find him. Holding up a finger, he bid the girl to wait while he ducked back into the room for his shoes and coat. He considered waking Mik, but instead scribbled a note and placed it on his friend’s nightstand. Then he left the room to follow Zeli and meet the Goddess.
* * *
A black, gleaming town car idled on the street outside the inn. Somewhere a clock chimed nine—not as late as he’d thought. Zeli motioned for Tai to enter first, then climbed in behind him. The auto took off and passed through the Portside gate, waved on without inspection by the soldiers manning it.
Tai had seen Rosira dozens of times on approach from sea, but this was his first up close glimpse of the city. From the water, it appeared as though the buildings climbed straight up the mountain. Nearly all the structures bore distinctive stucco facades in soft pastels with clay-tiled roofs.
Winding switchbacks in the road made him slightly dizzy as the auto zoomed around the corners, rising higher and higher. Zeli grasped hold of her seat, as well, her eyes closed as if this trip was no easier for her than it was for him. Tai wondered where the Goddess Awoken intended to meet, at the peak of the mountain? But it turned out to be the next best thing, as the town car passed through the gates of the Rosiran palace and pulled to a stop.
White as bleached bone and lit with hundreds of electric lights, the palace stretched out on either side of him. It was only three stories high but at least a cable-length wide. Zeli was out of the car before he had a chance to really take in the exterior. They passed under pointed arches and an abundance of carved marble as he followed her quick pace inside. None of the black-clad guards stopped them, which was just as surprising as finding himself inside the home of the king and queen in the first place.
Zeli strode through the snarl of opulent hallways, never pausing or appearing confused. The only time she stalled was at an intersection of the corridors to allow a group of soldiers to pass them by. Tai observed the precision of the soldiers’ movements and was surprised to find a willowy young Elsiran woman in their midst. Her head was held high, her hands clasped before her with no chains or shackles affixed, but Tai could see the metaphorical prison bars around her clear as day.
She did not so much as glance in his direction, but he could not keep his eyes off her. She was regal in bearing, and her fancy Elsiran gown and perfectly coiffed reddish-blond hair were at odds with the armed men guarding her. He couldn’t say how he knew that the guards were not so much for her protection as for her confinement. Perhaps it was just one prisoner recognizing another. He wished he could have handled captivity with the quiet resignation apparent in the woman’s demeanor. But though his mother had won the kingship of Raun when he was a teen, there was nothing royal or dignified about him.
He shook himself and peeled his gaze away from the group, hurrying to catch up to the Lagrimari girl who was already a dozen paces ahead. Thoughts of the delicate Elsiran woman and her strange circumstances consumed him until Zeli wrenched open a door, revealing a stone staircase leading down.
Tai’s curiosity grew, along with his trepidation, as he was led into the bowels of the palace. His uneasiness multiplied when they paused at the brass gate leading to the dungeon. Two years of hard labor had left him with little desire to step one foot farther. Zeli turned for the first time, her squint of confusion transforming to an expression of understanding. She shook her head, pointed to the bars, and swept her arms apart, indicating no. She fished the note from her pocket, pointed at it, and gestured down the dim hallway.
The Goddess was in the dungeon?
She motioned him forward. Tai took one wary step and then another as tension stiffened his muscles. Zeli slowed her pace to match his. Consciously avoiding the eyes of the prisoners, he made his way down the passage. He felt the men behind the bars staring at him and felt shame at his cowardice, but freedom was still too new for him to have the courage to look at any of them straight on.
The dungeon was divided into corridors, and Zeli led him deep into its belly. The damp, close air was musty and cool. A Guardsman unlocked a creaking gate revealing an even darker chamber. Illuminated by flickering candlelight was a woman who could only be the Goddess Awoken.
She stood before an imposing wooden door leading to what he thought might have been a storage room as it was clearly not a proper cell. Nearly as tall as he was, the Goddess had thick dark hair that sprouted out in a riot of unrestrained curls falling past Her shoulders. She wore a flowing white dress but no other adornments.
Her simplicity momentarily shocked him. The Raunian deity, Myr, was always portrayed bedecked in precious jewels—rings on every finger, throat held up by his many necklaces, wrists laden with bracelets. And though Myr had not walked the earth for eons, Tai had expected the Elsiran Goddess to be similarly arrayed. Her presence, however, was potent. Power seemed to crackle off Her skin, and Her gaze raked over him, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.
Her voice burst with musicality when She spoke to Zeli in Lagrimari. Then the girl curtsied deeply and left. Tai bowed stiffly, unsure of how to address the deity before him. He knew only a little of Her lore, and most of it had come from the time when She had slept and spoke only to Her followers via dreams.
Glittering, dark eyes peered into his soul. When She turned back to the door, Tai nearly slumped with relief.
“Come forward, Tai Summerhawk,” She said in Elsiran, inclining Her head slightly. He took a few steps forward, then a few more until they stood side by side. The Goddess smelled like power—that was the only way he could describe it. Being near Her reminded him of the stormy sea in the moments before a crack of lightning would rend the sky. The hairs on his arm stood up from their proximity.
He looked through the small, barred window leading into the room. Empty shelves lined the walls, lending credence to his guess that this had once been a storage room. But now it bore a cot on which a man was lying, his back to them. Limp, russet-colored hair pegged him as an Elsiran, most likely. To be kept apart from the general prison population must make him either especially well connected or especially dangerous. Based on the Goddess’s presence, it was probably the former.
“I would like for you to tell him your story. He has always liked stories.” She motioned toward the man in the cell.
The request was odd, but such were the ways of the powerful. The prisoner wore what was once a fine shirt and trousers, now ragged and encrusted with dirt. Tai could see nothing but his back and longed to ask who he was, but he swallowed the question. “Which story?” he asked instead.
“The story of how you acquired the death stone.”
The pouch around his neck seemed to pulse, though Tai was certain it was his imagination. The death stone. That was what Dansig had called it, as well. Tai pulled on the cord, freeing the pouch from behind his shirt, but the Goddess raised a hand to stop him.
“The story first, if you please.”
“How—how did you know about it?”
Her gaze seemed to puncture his skin, leaving him somewhat breathless. The corners of Her mouth shifted slightly, but he could not call Her expression a smile. “I had a long time to watch the world. I saw many things.”
Tai exhaled when She turned to motion him to a stool in the corner of the small chamber. He felt awkward sitting in Her presence, but She apparently preferred to stand. Tai sat obediently and thought back to the events of two years prior.
He told of how he and his sister, Ani, had been here in Ros
ira, negotiating a deal to sell some merchandise he had come to possess. A fellow Raunian named Bor was the buyer, but the deal had gone terribly wrong. So wrong that it ended in a chase through the streets of Portside followed by Bor and his men.
In the ensuing confrontation, a woman of the Sisterhood had been shot and killed as she stood on a street corner alongside a Lagrimari man and two Elsiran teens. It turned out they were father and sons, and the boys, twins, were half-Elsiran and half-Lagrimari. The dead Sister had drugged and kidnapped them from their home far away, based on a message she’d claimed she received during a Dream of the Queen.
He paused his tale, eyeing the Goddess for any reaction. She hadn’t moved, so he continued.
Fleeing the violence, and with no time to discuss a plan, all five of them had escaped to the Hekili and headed out to sea, only to be chased by Bor’s ship. They finally managed to elude their pursuers, but returning to Rosira was impossible.
The father, Dansig ol-Sarifor, and his sons, Roshon and Varten, had reluctantly decided to complete the mission the deranged Sister had kidnapped them for—to find a magical stone lost in the ocean’s most dangerous waters.
After much convincing, Tai had agreed to sail them to the Okkapu, a section of the sea feared by Raunians, and after a harrowing search, they had retrieved the death stone. But before they could sail away, a rival captain had found them. He’d been hired by a Yalyish mage who had been seeking the same magical object.
Ani had hidden the death stone, and Dansig had elicited a promise from Tai that if something happened to him, Tai would ensure the stone found its way to Rosira and to the Sisterhood. When the mage couldn’t recover his quarry, he’d captured Dansig and his sons. Tai had fought to save them, but the mage had ignited some sort of explosion, killing both him and his captives, and maiming Ani.