As Druam knelt, covered in dirt, his head still twisted over one shoulder, Seanna thought he looked more kingly than Henrik. Some small part of her wished that he were king, so she could be his queen. But that was mere folly and fantasy, for they were only pawns of their births.
Turning away from her, Druam said, "I wish you fair weather and a short journey."
"But Druam, you must try in your heart to forgive me!" Seanna said. If she had a small belly, she would have thrown herself off the bench. Instead, she stood slowly and came to grasp his shoulder. "The gods would want you to find a way to forgive me."
He twisted to stare up at her with those sad, piercing blue eyes, but said nothing. He shrugged his shoulder from her hands and bent to pull a weed from underneath a flower.
"Please, Druam," Seanna pleaded. "You're my only chance at redemption. Without your forgiveness, how am I to recover the blows dealt to me?"
Druam sighed. "You planted sour grapes, and now complain that the wine made from them isn't sweet. Perhaps you should learn from your mistakes, and not beg for mercy from those who will not bestow it."
The rebuke was gentle, but firm, and final. Seanna recoiled as if physically burned. She blinked back tears and left him kneeling in the dirt, surrounded by beauty.
Sir Eric did not ask Seanna what had happened between her and the earl, and she did not tell him. She went to her carriage without complaint, and saw that no one waited for her on the palace steps to wish her farewell. They must be at the docks, she assured herself, but after the bumpy ride from the plateau and down through the city, she saw that the docks were empty save for sailors and whores.
As she boarded the ship, Seanna turned to look once more at the Cascade Palace on the hilltop, its white walls glowing in the sunlight. She had hoped to gain much while there, but the gods had planned a different fate.
No one had come to see her off.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sandu
A SPLASH of cold water shook Sandu from his drunken stupor. He sat up straight, a line of spit hanging from his cheek to the table he'd used as a pillow. Shaking his head, Sandu peered blearily around him. Where'd he ended up? Last he could remember, he'd been drinking and playing cards with the group of palace guards, but they must have taken him elsewhere, for he now found himself in a small tavern with the angry owner standing over him.
"Useless slob," the owner muttered, slamming a mug on the table. Sandu cringed at the loud noise; he had a horrible blooming headache. The owner said to someone behind Sandu, "He's all yours. Stupid Nessa, letting a drunk sleep here overnight."
Slowly, Sandu turned in his seat, blinking at the sunlight streaming in through a window. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw Captain Dirgard sitting at a table a few feet away. Groaning, Sandu said, "Oh, gods. I missed patrol, didn't I?"
"You've had more to worry about," Dirgard said, arching an eyebrow. "Took me ages to track down what had happened to you. Accused of high treason, freed by a lord, and now in bad humors from ale and gambling. I don't blame you for taking to drink."
"How'd you know I was here? Where is here, anyway?"
Dirgard chuckled. "The guards you gambled with told me. Said they left you in a bad state some nights ago at a different tavern. Men I met there told me where you'd ended up next, and so on and so forth until I came here. This is Red Ear Tavern, by the way. Off Cowley Street."
As Dirgard spoke, Sandu began to recall bits and pieces of the last few days. His dreams had been full of nightmares: prowlers and knights that whipped him, a queen that took something from him, though he couldn't give voice to what. He drank and gambled to stave off the ever-pressing horrors, yet they always returned in the place between sleep and dreams. As he grew sober, he would think about returning to Cara, who spoke with Tambrey's voice in his head. He couldn't go through such a rejection again, and so he had buried himself in yet more misdeeds.
Dirgard continued, "As I'm sure you can tell, the owner was not pleased with how he found the place this morning. I was prepared to be furious, too, until I saw that seal in your pocket. I'm not one to go against a lord like Strilu."
"So...you don't think I did it?" Sandu wasn't sure how much news had spread about his supposed guilt. There were bound to be people who believed him to have attempted treason.
"No. You've got an honest face, and you were too earnest about finding your friends. Did you find them? Are they well?"
Sandu had no idea why Dirgard had tracked him down if not to reprimand and imprison him for failing his duties, so he decided to trust the man's motives. "I found Alex. He's the lord, turns out. Cara's there, too, but...I couldn't face her. So..." He waved at the table and the mug. "The result of my cowardice."
"Then I suppose you haven't heard the news."
Sandu's heart plummeted to his shoes. Was he too late? Had something happened?
Dirgard continued, "Your companion – the sulpari, they call her – has quickly become involved with the dangers in the palace. She saved the queen from yet another assassination attempt, this one involving prowlers, and was there when Lord Mavian tried to take Lady Seastone. She is to attend the Masque tonight in case Lord Mavian tries something."
Sandu let out the breath he'd been holding. "I need to go to her. Before the Masque."
"I expected as much."
"But..." Sandu hesitated, unsure if Dirgard would agree to his idea. Dirgard leaned forward, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. Taking this as a good sign, Sandu said, "But I don't think Cara can do it alone. Our enemies will be looking for Protectors and other soldiers, and make efforts to stop us first before they go for the courtiers."
"So what's your plan?"
Sandu quickly explained his rough scheme. Dirgard nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "It's a possibility. From what I've heard, though, Mavian has dark magic. What do we have to combat that?"
A thought butted into Sandu's head, though at first he ignored it. But, as he and Dirgard talked back and forth about the details of their plan, he sighed. Veck it. Twisting his fingers together, Sandu said, "I know a man with magic."
"Who?" Dirgard brought his chair closer to Sandu's, their knees almost touching. "Does his power rival Mavian's?"
"I don't know," Sandu admitted, "but he's contacted me twice now through magical means. And he's seeking Cara. If I tell him she'll be there, he's sure to come; if she's in danger, he's sure to help. He needs her alive."
Another thought struck Sandu. Hadn't Laris mentioned Cara's difficult conception? Maybe he's her father. Wouldn't I have a duty to bring them together?
Dirgard spoke, "If this man has any semblance of power, we need him. Can you contact him?"
For a moment, Sandu said nothing. I'd be betraying Cara, but for her own sake. Is that worse than doing nothing, possibly letting the enemy win, and keeping her from her father? He knew that, were he in her place, he would want to know, would want to meet the man who had abandoned him for twenty years.
At last, Sandu said, "Yes. He gave me a way."
"Good. Then do it. I'll prepare everything for tonight." Dirgard clapped Sandu's shoulder. "Thank you, Sandu. If this works, you'll be a hero."
That thought was more frightening than the cat o' nine tails.
Dirgard held out Sandu's tabard, armor, and axe, and said, "They confiscated this from you, but I managed to get it back. Easier than paying for a new set, eh?"
Sandu took them gratefully. Together with Captain Dirgard, he returned to the Protector's barracks, where he was greeted warmly by his fellows. Seems like Sir Eric hasn't turned everyone against me. While Dirgard explained the plan to the men and delegated duties, Sandu found his haversack. He scribbled a quick message on a small piece of parchment:
Laris Stanthorpe, I have found Cara. She is staying in the palace with our mutual friend, Lord Alexandro Strilu. We expect trouble at the Masque tonight, trouble Cara likely cannot handle on her own.
I want nothing of the reward money. Car
a is my friend, and I will not sell her to you. I only give you this information out of conscience for her wellbeing. Whatever you do with her, wherever you take her after tonight, I ask that I may be allowed to stay her companion.
Sandu Crin
Sandu swallowed the guilty lump in his throat. He rolled the parchment tight and muttered the words Laris had burned into his brain: "Exus marinel causin." As soon as the words left his mouth, the parchment shriveled and burned with an invisible fire, quickly turning to dust. Sandu coughed and waved his hand, but the letter was gone.
Dressed in his heavy chain armor, red cloak, and clean white tabard sewn with the Protector's sun crest, Sandu entered the Cascade Palace. No one had questioned him coming alone, and most nobles' eyes passed right over him as if he were a part of the scenery. He had squandered his morning at the barracks, chatting with his fellows and solidifying his part of the plan with Dirgard. In the pack on his back, he carried the gaudy mask and cheap robes that would be his costume that night.
Sandu showed Alex's seal to a steward and asked for directions. The steward led him up twisting staircases and down long, narrow passages that ran parallel to the sumptuous main corridors. By the time they came out a hidden door near Alex's rooms, Sandu had no idea which direction he could take to make his way out again.
Sandu took two steps toward Cara's chamber, but stopped. His hands sweated at his sides, and a drop of perspiration rolled down his forehead. This armor's hot, he thought, adjusting the forty-pound mail on his shoulders.
His mind filled with whirling images: Tambrey's fury, Cara's hurt, the queen's scorn as she kissed him, Sir Eric hitting him and breaking his nose. Sandu's breath hitched in his throat, and he turned away. Maybe Alex will help me understand what's happening to me.
Sandu knocked on Alex's door. A minute passed before Alex opened it, his eyes bleary. He looked as if he had drunk a keg of wine the night before: his eyes were red-rimmed and dark underneath, his face and lips pale, his hands trembling slightly. When he saw Sandu, he smiled, though not with the carefree grin Sandu knew.
"There you are," Alex said, opening the door wide and allowing Sandu to enter. "It feels like an eternity since you left. Where'd you go? Did you speak to Cara?"
Sandu let his pack drop to the floor. "I got drunk. I'm still gathering the courage to see her."
"You're back in your armor. It fits you nicely."
"What happened to you? You look as if you've been ill."
Alex's lips twitched. "I haven't had any sleep. And I've barely eaten. Bad humors are affecting me, I think."
"Clearly." Sandu stepped forward and embraced his friend. "I hope your good humors return soon. You're deserving of some decent luck after all the problems we've faced together."
"I doubt that."
Something in his tone made Sandu pause. He pulled back, his hand resting on Alex's shoulder. "Why would you say that?"
Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. He drew away from Sandu, sitting shakily in a golden chair. "Renna's dead, Sandu. And when Cara needed my help, I betrayed her."
"You? How?"
"I lied to you both about who I am. What I am. She's only a hundred feet from me, but it might as well be a hundred miles for all the closure she would let me have."
Sandu was perplexed. He played awkwardly with his sheathed axe. "I don't know what you're talking about. Sure, you're the earl's brother, but that wouldn't cause her to hate you so much, would it?"
"I'm more than that," Alex said. "I'm fampir."
"You're having a laugh at me."
"I'm not." Taking a deep breath, Alex closed his eyes. Sandu watched, feeling both intrigued and horrified, as Alex's features contorted. When all was done, a prowler sat before him. With a voice that sounded like burning coal, Alex said, "I've been alive for the last one hundred and seventy-four years." His face returned to normal and he continued, "I was made to be a creature of darkness. At first I thought it would be wonderful: limitless lifetimes to pursue knowledge and gain mastery of our world. Then, I saw my family grow old and die, and my friends, and everyone I ever grew close to, the years stripping away their youth and vigor while I remained. I thought Cara, of all people, would understand me. But she doesn't."
Sandu stepped back, his fingers unconsciously loosening the axe in its sheath. This is madness, he thought. Everything about this is madness. Alex didn't stand or try to stop Sandu as he inched toward the door.
"I understand," Alex said softly. "I do."
Sandu didn't know how to respond. His mind had gone blank, his every instinct screaming at him to Run, run as far as you can. Sandu froze and asked, dreading the answer, "Who made you this?"
"Druam Strilu," came the reply. "He adopted me into his family, promised me the world. The three of us – me, Druam, and Verdon – were going to make this land into a utopia. Druam still believes it to be possible. But now I'm not so sure."
I have to leave this vile city and its undead masters, Sandu thought, his hand seeking the door handle behind him. I have to bring Cara with me.
Sandu said, "I'm sorry, my friend."
Then he quickly opened the door, backed out, and shut it, as if he could shut the newfound truths of the world inside. Before the latch clicked, he thought he heard Alex mumble, "As am I."
Sandu's breath came fast, his heart pumping within his chest to the beat of run, run, run. Stumbling to an alcove in the wall, he sank down and squeezed his head between his knees. He was in no danger from Alex – even his panicked mind knew that – but, oh gods, what had he gotten himself into? I just wanted to pay off my debts and free Father, he thought miserably. And now I'm in a palace of monsters. He saw the queen with a prowler's face, then Tambrey and Cara melding together and screaming at him for his gambling. No matter how he tried to halt the flood of images, they paraded through his head. His heart and breath both quickened, a tumult to match that within his head.
"Sir, are you well?" A young lady with dark skin stopped before him. She was dressed in a magnificent gown, her hair piled atop her head. But her violet eyes were kind as she stooped in front of Sandu.
"My lady," a servant said behind her, "we should return to your rooms to finish preparations."
"I know," the lady said, but she didn't move. She laid a hand to Sandu's wrist, and he shrank away from her touch. To his surprise, she hummed, too low for her servants to hear. A glow traveled from her fingertips to his arm, and then warmth filled his head.
She held a finger to her lips, then stood and drifted away.
The images faded away, and Sandu's breath slowly returned to normal. His hands stopped shaking as he regained his breath. He staggered down the hall. A passing steward looked at him suspiciously, but Sandu ignored him. He had to get to Cara.
The short walk down the corridor lasted for miles. By the time Sandu reached her door, each step was weighted with lead, and his hand, as he pulled it up to knock, was burdened with a hundred chains.
If this was the price of knowledge, Sandu would have gladly exchanged it for ignorance and a pint of ale.
Each thud of his fist against the polished wooden door sounded like a drum playing a death march. If Cara could not bring him the familiarity and warmth he so desperately craved in this moment, then he would have nowhere to go. Nothing to keep him grounded in reality.
A second passed. Sandu took a small step back. Gods, I hope I do right by her.
Before his inner demons could convince his feet to flee, Cara's voice called from within, "Master Hidley, is that you? Come in, please."
Without thinking, for if he thought too much he would turn and run, Sandu opened the door and stepped inside. Cara's rooms were not as nice as Alex's, though they were well-furnished and had tall windows that gave a view of the city stretching out to the sea.
Cara's back was to him as she faced a tall mirror. She wore a simple white gown with draping sleeves and full skirts, with a blood-red bodice over it. Her fingers scrambled with the laces; she cursed
quietly. She hadn't yet looked up to see Sandu reflected behind her.
Sandu took a step forward, and the movement distracted her from the bodice strings. Cara glanced up into the mirror, then down, then up again, her eyes traveling slowly over Sandu's reflection. Her arms went still, her whole body tensing.
"I...I came back," Sandu said lamely. He stammered over his words, "I couldn't just leave you. I'm sorry, I–"
His tongue stilled as Cara turned to face him, the laces falling from her fingers. She stared at him, and Sandu couldn't decipher her look. Was it confusion or disdain? Welcoming or hating?
"I'm glad you're alright," Sandu managed to mutter. He stepped from foot to foot, very aware of the sweat gleaming on his forehead and the long red cloak swishing at his back.
Cara had seemingly forgotten the bodice. She rushed at him, and for a second Sandu thought she might attack him. Then she buried her cheek against his tabard, her arms squeezing around him. "I'm vecking glad to see you," she said through the fabric. "I thought Jagger had killed you."
"I was lucky."
Sandu wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth against his mail. Cara eventually pulled back, her smile slipping. "I'm scared, Sandu. This place...it's a shining city of color and light, and yet...all I've found here is darkness."
"I spoke to Alex...he told me everything. And...I heard about Renna. I'm so sorry, Cara. You spent so long trying to find her, and–"
"She wasn't who I thought she was. I came here to rescue her, but she chose Mavian over us. I don't understand it, but...what's done is done. We can only move forward."
"I think we should leave the city," Sandu said.
"And do what?"
"I don't know. We could form a rustic resistance against the nobles who are just letting the prowlers take control."
"They're fools, not villains. They do wish to get rid of the prowlers, if only for their own sakes. With no rustics to farm their lands or mill their grain, they'd be just as dead as if they were taken by the prowlers. I can help them, I think. In some way."
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