She didn’t look back to wonder or worry if the man would wake up and grab her. It was a tight squeeze. She quaked all over in her struggle through, weak, thirsty, and exhausted. Putting the washing bat through first, she grasped the grass growing on the outside as if it could help drag her out. She kicked her feet, but they dangled with nothing to kick against. All depended on her scrawny, numb arms.
After squeezing her rib cage through the little basement window, she was, for once in her life, thankful for having such a stringy figure and lack of a fanny. Next came her legs, along with the bulk of her dress. She pulled herself free.
Grabbing her bat, she sprinted to the nearest shadow along the cathedral wall and collapsed for a rest. She couldn’t rest long, however. If anyone found the unconscious man, or if he woke up, they’d easily track her to this hiding spot. As much as she wished to get far away from the cathedral, she’d be desolate without her travel supplies.
The sun waned, and the shadows grew within the cathedral walls as she made her way back in. She waited until a certain bell when the sanctuary welcomed a new wave of people coming in for the evening blessing. Blending in with them, she slunk in past the cathedral’s towering pillars and attending priests as they moved through the throng with baskets to collect the people’s money offerings.
Her basket was still abandoned on the floor where she had knelt earlier. Clinging to it with both arms, she hurried back into the shadows, avoiding the waning light through the windows and the glow of the votive candles lining certain walls. She rushed out the door, frequently glancing over her shoulder.
This place had been taken over by sorcerers like Chandran and the red-gloved convent raiders. The cathedral she’d earlier loved and thought about was now a sham—a place to corrupt the innocent citizens. How many other sanctuaries did the sorcerers control? Would her convent soon become the same way?
Bowaen. I have to find him.
Bowaen was her only friend here. Where had he said he’d be?
Out on the street again, she rushed to the easiest avenue she could access, anywhere to get away from the cathedral.
What was the name of the place Bowaen talked about? “Ax,” she tried aloud. “No… Max? The Max Manor?”
She growled and tugged on her ragged hair. It smelled. She stank. She could smell the cathedral’s dank stench all over her. In her clothes too. She stifled a whine. Crying would be a relief, but she refused to give in.
She reached out to the next person to pass along the road. “Excuse me.”
The man stopped and gave her an impatient glare. Reflexively, she checked his hand for a glove. He had none on his visible hand, but the other hand was kept shoved into a pocket.
“Where can I find a manor called the—the Ax?”
“You mean the Dax Manor?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She clasped her hands together.
The man looked her over and grimaced. “You think Lord Dax’ll want to talk to you? That fat, greedy ol’ fart’s too busy for us poor folk. Try the Carri Manor if you’re hungry.”
“No, please, I need the Dax Manor.”
With a smirk, he turned and pointed down the road toward the sunset.
“Thank you.” She ran in that direction. If the Creator really cared about her, Bowaen would still be there.
Chapter 28
Her Friend Rem
Wild, pale eyes blazed down at him. A stench like no other polluted Gaije’s air. His last breath would be filled with it. No blood leaked through the hole gaping open on his attacker’s neck. A bit of embedded wood showed where he had broken off Gaije’s arrow shaft.
No blood…
Gaije wriggled to the side and pushed against the man’s head with his free hand as the dagger stabbed the earth beside his ear. It caught some of his hair, which ripped when he moved.
Kneeing the man’s ribs, Gaije rolled over, took the dagger out of the earth, and stabbed him under his collarbone. He pulled it out and stabbed again. This human wore a helmet, but his vest, made of small leather plates, hung open, torn at one shoulder. The vest was meant to be worn under heavier layers anyway. When Gaije stood up, the man still lived, though he writhed uselessly on the ground.
A horn blasted.
“Archers to the east!” his captain yelled and repeated.
Putting distance between himself and the sloppy warrior, Gaije stole a glance at the field. Most of his company lay dead. The electrocuted ones lay fallen in heaps. The remainder of his fellow archers were answering the call. Gaije shook his head.
Many boots stirred the leaves behind him, along with the sound of shoddy clanking armor and murmuring voices in some other language. Gaije bolted the other way, out of the approaching company’s path and the opposite way from which his captain called. He ran into the forest, leaving the horrific sounds behind.
Unable to control her quivering lip, Kalea pounded on the heavy wood with her fist. The shoulder supporting her laundry basket ached. Who knew if her knocking was heard on the other side of the door?
She tapped her washing bat against the smooth surface next. Quite an expensive wood had been used to make the door. The Dax family really was rich, perhaps greedy like the townsman had said. In an effort to stop her tears, she ran her stare along the wooden surface as she waited, looking for seams. There weren’t any. The door had been made from a solid tree.
She knocked again with her bat, unable to remember if the polite amount of time had gone by since her last knock. A tear leaked out of her eye, but she hardly noticed it. The next one registered better. Her shoulders began to quake with the oncoming sobs. She leaned against the door, smashing her cheek on the wood, and cried.
Dorhen.
A nightmare was all it was. When she woke up, what part of her life would she return to? The part where they were planning to live together? Or the part before Dorhen’s arrival when she had lived peacefully with her sisters at the convent?
She slid down along the door to the step and huddled there. Burying her face in her hands, she let the sobs come. She wanted the “Dorhen” part of her life to be real. She wanted to wake up to his smiling face, to his voice.
The door opened, and she fell over. She jolted awake after what must’ve been a light snooze.
“Oh, dear,” an old man said from above.
Kalea rubbed her eyes and looked up.
The old man’s face looked long. “Lord Rem was right. Girl, why didn’t you ring the bell? I would have heard it better.”
“Oh.” She finally noticed a bell chain dangling by the door. She must be so exhausted, her brain wasn’t working properly.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the old man. “I need help. I’m looking for someone.”
“Say no more.” He bent over to help her up even though he grunted and trembled himself. As they both stood up, she continued clinging to his fine tabard, unsure she could stand on her own anymore. “Can you walk up any stairs?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can try.”
Her head swam as she stepped over the threshold and into the darker atmosphere with candle-smoke-filled air. Nothing too creepy struck her about this place. The inside of the house was lovely. A maid shuffled past the opening of the foyer with a candle.
“You can put your things down here, madam,” the old man said. “We’ll take good care of your belongings while you’re in there.”
“In where?”
Every manner of inner voice and guardian instinct within her screamed no. She didn’t know this man or this place; she shouldn’t trust anyone or anything, or this town. But she’d reached the end of her energy. She’d pass out if she had to take another step. Yet she kept going, clinging to the stranger’s arm.
“The oddest thing is unfolding right now,” the old man said. “My lord has a guest who told me of your arrival. He said so before the maid informed me of your rap at the door. He said to hurry because you would be worse for wear. When I opened the door, there you were: collapsed.”
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“How did he know?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing of this guest, besides his elfishness.”
“Elfishness?”
“You’ll see. Please come along. He was urgent about your arrival.”
It seemed a crime how Kalea’s filthy feet trod across the gorgeously woven green carpet in the lounge they passed through after stepping under two symmetrically arching staircases in the hall. This was the cleanest atmosphere she’d seen since the convent. At the back of the lounge, the old man led her under a tapestry Kalea never would have guessed hid a small door.
Behind the door waited a library with a low-hanging ceiling. Many shelves were built along the walls, and freestanding ones partitioned the space into sections. The library was also incredibly tidy, though no one lurked around at the moment. From this room, a spiral staircase led into a wide turret. There wasn’t even a cobweb showing under the steps she climbed.
No sign of Bowaen so far.
“Isn’t this the Dax Manor?” she asked. She couldn’t recall any actual indication from the outside that she’d found the right house. It was the first manor along the road the man had pointed down.
“Of course, madam,” the old man said. “The only other manor in town is the Carri Manor, and it’s on the opposite side.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the butler. Now, I don’t want you to worry. Lord Dax and his guests will greet you in here, and I’ll get right to preparing your room for tonight.”
“My room?” Kalea teetered, and his arm tensed around her. She braced her hand on the wall in effort to keep from falling. If she fell, she’d surely take the old fellow with her; he was thin and elderly, after all.
“Oh please, madam, be careful,” the butler said. “I’d be heartbroken if you hurt yourself. Lord Rem would be too. You should’ve seen his eyes as he pleaded with me to go and receive you. Such a genuine nature he has. I went in there to deliver more cream to the tea table when he sent me right back out to open the door for you.”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll be careful. But I have no idea what all the fuss is about, and I’m very suspicious as to why.”
“I understand, madam, and so does he. Someone as simple as me could never explain what’s going on, so you’ll have to bear with me and see what he has to say.” His voice struggled through his panting as he spoke.
“Here we are,” he said as they finally reached the top landing with a narrow, rounded door. “Go on in, madam. Don’t be shy.”
What had she done? So easily, she had let this old man, as kindly as he appeared, bring her into the house, take away her things, and lead her deep into this place. Would she even be able to find her way back in a last minute bolt? There was no guessing who she’d find on the other side of the door—probably sneering, red-gloved sorcerers! But in her dizzy exhaustion, here she was, about to walk in on the-Creator-knew-what.
At least she’d lived a good life. She had come as far as she could and used up her energy. She’d known the love of a magnificent and sweet saehgahn. Even if their relationship had remained chaste in the waking world, the world in her dreams had been the frolic in passion she’d wished for. Maybe she’d see Dorhen again in the Creator’s palace if she died here. As long as it could be quick, she’d be willing to concede, to accept her death.
The butler tapped three times, and swung the door open.
Two men sat hunched over a table, conversing softly. A dirty young man stood behind one of them—Del! He waited beside Bowaen’s lockbox on the floor. Bowaen sat at the table opposite a man in green velvets. His face showed surprise. And…
“Ah, here she is,” a pale-haired man said. He’d been stooped beside an ornate bench with the seat flipped up. From inside the storage compartment, he unfolded a light blanket. Rushing to Kalea’s side, he threw it around her shoulders. “My dear sweet lady, come sit down.”
This huge, round room at the top of the turret was a simple, elegant space, designed with pointed arch windows standing all around. A fine woven rug in the center of the floor brought together the three main elements: the desk, a little tea table, and a large bookshelf with its companion bench against the wall.
“Lord Rem,” the man in velvets said in the background.
The pale-haired one ignored him. “Kalea, that’s your name, come on, I have a cup set for you. I’m glad you made it. I only regret I could help you in no other way and didn’t hear much of you before you reached our doorstep.”
“Do I know you?” Kalea asked.
His arm squeezed around her the whole time as he guided her to a chair at the little table. “Here, sit by your friend.”
He pulled out the chair between Bowaen and the man in velvets, and when she sat, he dropped to a knee and began untying her shoes. He was an elf, just like the butler had implied. Another elf, here in Carridax, and in a lord’s manor.
“Erol,” he said to the butler who stood by, “bring the bucket, please.”
His eyes met hers for a brief moment, flashing the prettiest cornflower-blue she’d ever seen. Who knew eyes could shine like that? Dorhen’s were similar. All elven eyes must be brilliant like theirs. His hair hung long like pale yellow silk. Everything about him glowed, crisp and pristine, unlike Dorhen, who had lived out in the wilds. This elf wore fine silken robes, his features delicate and gentle, like the hands which roved over her filthy feet with a damp rag from the bucket the butler had set beside him. The cool water soothed her aching feet. She could have fallen asleep, but Bowaen cleared his throat behind her.
“Hey, Kalea,” he said.
“Bowaen,” she responded, twisting around to see him. At least she had found him before he finished his business here. Her face suddenly went hot when she noticed everyone else in the room staring at her. “I came to find you,” she said to Bowaen. “I’ve escaped such a—”
“Terrible calamity,” the elf at her feet finished for her. “Oh, forgive me.” He dropped the rag into the bucket and put it back against the wall by the bench before drifting over to the table to pour tea into Kalea’s cup.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he said before pausing, his eyes lingering long on hers, his handsome mouth hanging open. One of his eyebrows twitched. “And there I’ve forgotten to introduce myself again. Dear, so sorry. My name is Remenaxice, often referred to as Rem.” He motioned toward the man in green velvets. “And this is Lord Dax, our host.”
“Is this why you insisted on setting an extra cup, Rem? You know this girl?” the man in dark velvets asked.
Remenaxice smiled. “Of course,” the elf said in a soft drawl.
He turned to Kalea as she attempted to sip the hot, spicy liquid. “Don’t be frightened. You’re safe now.” He slid a tray of powdery biscuits to her; his hand was decorated with many gold and silver rings sparkling with colored stones. “The Creator knew you could get yourself out of that horrible cathedral basement.”
She choked on her sip of tea and covered her mouth to keep from spewing it out.
“He alerted me, and then I alerted the butler. And I’m glad you’re here now.”
“What are you talking about? The Creator?”
Rem motioned toward the biscuits. “Yes. Now be at ease. Lord Dax and this gentleman were talking. He’s our host.”
Lord Dax, the man in velvets, cleared his throat. “I am the host, but sometimes Lord Rem forgets it. He also forgets he’s a guest and doesn’t need to tidy and dust this room.”
“Helps me concentrate,” Rem said, taking a seat opposite Kalea and smiling at her again.
“So”—Lord Dax turned to Bowaen—“you’re the famous runner for the Wistara White Guild.”
“I am, my lord,” Bowaen said. “I’ve brought your order.”
“I’ll see it now.”
Del went straight to unlocking the box. He opened one of the many little drawers and handed a folded piece of velvet to Bowaen, who unfolded the corners and displayed atop his outstretched hands a pendant. The piece w
as sculpted with intricate, weaving vines wreathing the jeweled Dax family crest.
Lord Dax took the whole bundle and used a small magnifying glass dangling from a chain around his neck to inspect it further. “Tiniest engravings I’ve ever seen,” he said after a moment.
Kalea caught Lord Rem smiling at her again. She cleared her throat. “May I ask what’s so amusing, Lord Rem?”
“Oh, forgive me,” he said, and shifted his gaze to the pendant instead. “Has he delivered the correct piece?”
Dax folded the cloth back over, more slowly than Bowaen had revealed it. “Yes.”
“Excellent.”
Noticing Kalea, Rem’s smile dropped. His stare trailed to the platter of biscuits she hadn’t touched. He nudged the platter closer. “You haven’t tried one?”
“I’m not hungry,” she said. In truth, her stomach churned like a stormy sea.
“Oh, dear. Please do not be uncomfortable, my lady. You are my guest and mine alone, and I aim to make sure you leave in a better state than you came. Let me ease your mind. You’ve been through a lot, you’re very hungry, and part of the remedy of easing one’s mind can be accomplished by eating, don’t you think?”
While Kalea stuttered for a response, Dax tucked the bundled pendant into his vest pocket. “Bowaen,” he said, “your reputation as a runner and a swordsman precedes you.”
“None other.” He shrugged, but his face gave off a slight smirk.
Dax leaned forward. “Are you interested in making quite a bit more money?”
Bowaen leaned forward also, laying his arms on the table. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“The money.”
“What about time? And danger?”
Bowaen leaned back and smirked. “Why don’t you come out and tell me what you want, Lord Dax?”
“A missing person.”
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