House of Falling Rain (Eyes of Odyssium Book 1)

by C. A. Bryers

As increasingly loathsome as Rainne was discovering Joht Tavross to be, she couldn’t help but notice something strange in his telling of the tale. “She lost her tephic because of…well, to put it delicately…fatigue?”

  The would-be archsentinel sipped from his water. “Could be. I don’t know.”

  For some reason, Rainne fixated on that aspect. She knew more about tephic than most, and certainly more than Joht. Prolonged weariness had an effect on tephic ability, but a near loss of it altogether? It seemed almost inconceivable.

  “In what ways did she lose her ability?”

  “Well,” Joht began, careful this time to finish chewing before continuing, “she seemed almost sick for a good few weeks there. Like I said, she was tired all the time, but her tephic, that just kept going down, down, down. It wasn’t until I had the others make sure she didn’t sneak out for a few nights so she had the strength to—” He hesitated, appearing almost sheepish. “Well, you read the report. What she did to your Salla. Dig around in his brain a bit.”

  Rainne’s gaze absently fell. When she looked up again, Joht was leaned over his plate, scrutinizing her once more.

  “You looked all meek again for a second.” He bounded back upright. “That’s right, you were acting like that because you wronged someone. Was it Tal—I mean Salla? Not that he didn’t deserve it for what he ended up doing to Ciracelle last night, but what did you do to him?”

  Rainne wet her lips before speaking. “I did what Ciracelle did.”

  Joht’s eyes bulged. “You’re joking, right?” He broke into uproarious laughter, hand pounding on the table, which shook every remaining plate and utensil. “I’m sorry, that’s just funny that his head’s had more through-traffic than an Ijabi pleasure den with all the skin in the shop on sale.” His mirthful smirk faded, and Joht tapped his finger on the table. “Come to think of it, that’s what we should be doing instead of all this question-asking and reconstructing what happened. Just crack his head open and see exactly how he did it.”

  “That would have to be authorized by the Majdi Chamber and conducted under their supervision. We are cut off in here from any of that.”

  Finishing his last bite, Joht set the fork down. “All the more reason to open this place up. Why not let someone outside have a look around and find out what really happened?”

  Rainne looked back to the door of the commissary, envisioning the locked gates in the foyer barring any from entering or leaving.

  “Why indeed?”

  28

  Returning to Adjutu’s Path, Rainne peered through open doors as she went. Lochmore’s assistants were all gathered around a rectangular table in one room she passed, all of them save the one for whom she was searching. As Rainne came to the hall’s terminus outside the Adjutu’s quarters, there was still no sign of her. Doubling back, she leaned into the room occupied by the table full of women.

  He was right, she thought, looking from face to face as the women turned to look at her, some in mild irritation, some in curiosity. Each one was young and attractive, their beauty unique in their own way, accentuated by differing backgrounds and ethnicities, but attractive nevertheless. It certainly painted a convincing picture that Lochmore enjoyed spending time with the fairer sex, at least to the extent that he surrounded himself with them.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for the girl called Iriscent. Have you seen her?”

  The one who spoke from the head of the table was one Rainne knew by name. It was Santerre, the House’s prime assistant. “Downstairs—or she should be, at least. Why are you looking for her?”

  “Well, I—” she stammered and cleared her throat. “I thought to ask her if there were any new developments in her reconstruction of the attack. Her findings might give me some insight into where or on whom I should focus my investigation.”

  Santerre’s brows lowered. “I thought Lochmore already told you who to talk to.”

  “I have spoken to most of them already,” she lied. “No worthwhile information, it seems.”

  The other women looked to Santerre, then back to Rainne.

  Santerre nodded. “Go on, then. She’ll be at the cocoon.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rainne made a brisk exit from Adjutu’s Path. As the length of her dress swished against her legs, a steady, unidentifiable sound grew louder with each step taken. Across the foyer and down one flight of stairs, she stepped into the broken light of the first prison level. Turning left, she spotted the greenish glow spilling into the hallway from the cell she’d visited earlier. The sound she’d heard was no longer a blaring wash of indistinct noises, but rather was something else entirely.

  Music?

  Sure enough, the lilting melody of a woman singing swept toward her, the orchestration behind her swelling, becoming harder, faster, and more insistent. It reached a shattering crescendo, the singer’s voice turning almost into a shrill screech as a wave of thunderous percussion threatened to rattle stones from the walls throughout the prison corridor.

  Rainne approached with uncertain steps. She had only met Iriscent briefly, but Salla had described her as somewhat erratic, leaving Rainne unsure of what to expect. Light from the cocoon pulsed and shimmered more brightly now that she stood just alongside the opening of the cell. Tipping her head forward to look into the room, Rainne saw Ciracelle motionless in the cocoon just as before.

  Standing there in the pool with her was Iriscent, flinging her red braid over her shoulder as she bent over her the unconscious, floating woman. Iriscent’s head bobbed and her body bounced slightly to the rhythm of the music—music so loud it almost felt concussive in this small room that seemed to be acting as a sounding chamber.

  She noticed something, or more accurately the lack of something. There was no sensation of the tephic ward she had felt upon her last visit. It made sense, since the victim was not alone and vulnerable for the time being, but rather undergoing some sort of examination or test. Cautiously, Rainne stepped inside.

  Iriscent took no notice of her, continuing to slide her fingers over Ciracelle’s temples and burying them in her hair. The girl’s pretty face twisted this way and that as if sensing something in her tephic examination she did not like.

  Her hands came away from Ciracelle then, and she wiped them together to remove the excess gelatinous liquid. The woman’s voice howling from the music filling the cell rose to impossible new heights, and Iriscent made a gallant effort to sing along but came up two octaves short. Her eyes flicked up suddenly and found Rainne, the note she had been singing coming apart into a shrill scream. Iriscent toppled backward into the waters of the cocoon pool, eyes wide with shock, chest heaving in terror.

  “I apologize, I am so sorry,” Rainne tried to say, but she was drowned out by the music.

  Iriscent waved her hand, and the blaring music cut abruptly away into a stark silence. She continued to stare at Rainne, swallowing hard as the terror that had flashed across her face began to taper off, but did not depart entirely.

  “I—I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

  The girl’s panting breaths became more even and steady, but her eyes refused to leave Rainne. After several long moments, a measure of color returned to her face, her wits reassembled into some semblance of coherent thought. She shook her head, pushing out a long, whistling sigh.

  “No, it’s fine. I…I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Still, there was a strange wariness about Iriscent, a heightened alertness. When she at last staggered back to her feet within the pool, it was gone, replaced by an uneasy smile. “Hope I didn’t pollute the swimming pool just now.”

  Rainne offered a brittle laugh. “Again, I apologize. There was that music, and you were concentra—”

  “Really, it’s okay.” The red-haired girl gave one last heaving effort to catch her breath. “What can I do for you?”

  Rainne stepped closer, and Iriscent visibly tensed. She paused. “Might I ask if something is wrong?”

  Wiping the sweat from her
brow, but instead streaking her face with slimy liquid from the cocoon, Iriscent climbed out of the pool and pulled down her watertight leggings. “I was tired. Now I’m just all wound up. It’s not you.”

  Rainne wasn’t so certain, but she thought she might as well proceed, lest they continue this awkward dance until curfew was called. “Thank you again for telling me where they were keeping Salla.”

  Iriscent nodded. “Hey, no strain on me. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I am not sure if anyone told you, but I am somewhat part of the investigation into, well, all of this,” she said with a gesture down at Ciracelle’s naked form. “If you do not object, I have some questions. Questions about Lochmore.”

  “Lochmore?” Iriscent looked confused, and a little leery. “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “Perhaps nothing. Probably nothing, in fact.” She paused. “If you will forgive me, there is no other way to say this than to be direct. Do you have a relationship of some sort with him?”

  Iriscent’s eyes widened, mouth opening as if to laugh. “With Lochmore? No, of course not. That…that would be silly.”

  “Iriscent, I am a friend. I will not tell anybody.”

  Slipping on a pair of pants she had slung over a chair, Iriscent shook her head. “I don’t know what rumors you’ve been listening to, but that’s just all kinds of not true. I mean, the guy’s got that whole chiseled jaw thing and all, but no. I mean, he’s got to be twice my age.”

  “To some girls, age is irrelevant.” Rainne sighed. “But if it is not true, it is not true. I will leave you to your work. Once more, you have my apologies for startling you.”

  With that, Rainne left, completely in the dark as to whether she should believe a single word of what Iriscent had told her. Granted, there was a chance Salla was mistaken about what he had seen in the filing room. Since she was only a floor above his cell, she figured now was as good a time as any to ask.

  Rounding the corner to head down the stairs, however, Rainne flinched when she saw a figure descending the metal rungs, coming straight toward her.

  “I was told I might find you down here.” Lochmore stepped into the staggered splashes of light, a winsome smile ready and waiting for her. “I think it’s time we talked.”

  “Yes? About what?” she asked, realizing then she had taken a step backward.

  It made her inadvertently think of Iriscent’s reaction to her sudden appearance, and the strange sense of taut apprehension that had run through the course of her brief conversation with the girl. She caught herself then, wondering. Was Iriscent afraid? Of her? Why? The likeliest case was the most obvious one: she had been startled, and took longer than most to recover. But what if she was afraid for some other reason?

  Lochmore’s boots thumped down the last two stairs. “You’re a clever, beautiful girl, Rainne. But from what I’m hearing, you don’t listen very well. So far, you’ve interviewed Joht Tavross and now, Iriscent Saffora. Neither of whom is of any interest to the House investigation, I might add. Iriscent is trying to reassemble the night in question from Ciracelle’s memories—what we can find of them, at least. Joht’s…well, he’s Joht. He’s a big, sort of dumb lunk that quite simply didn’t do it.”

  “Then who did do it?”

  The Adjutu grinned. “Iriscent is on the trail. She’s close. We’ll know soon enough.”

  “Were you involved in some sort of a secret affair with Ciracelle?” The question was out of her mouth before she could think better of it. “I—I mean—”

  Lochmore’s eyes bulged, but that charming smile of his was quick to return. “You know, I was coming down here to tell you I was disappointed in you. But on second thought, I think I’m impressed.” He let the words hang there, and slowly, he started to nod. “Yes. We…did have some late nights, she and I. Does that surprise you?”

  Rainne blinked, ignoring the question with a backward tilt of her head toward the cell holding the cocoon. “And Iriscent?”

  The smile broadened. “Why don’t we talk in my quarters?” He leaned close, chuckling like a schoolboy. “As you might imagine, this isn’t exactly public knowledge. I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind. No need it has to come out, since it doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to Ciracelle.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  He hid his teeth, but the grin remained. “Look, I’ll take you upstairs, and I’ll prove to you I had nothing to do with this.”

  Slowly, Rainne nodded. “Agreed.”

  Lochmore gestured with a slight bow to the stairs. “After you.”

  “My apologies, but no.” She waved him forward. “After you.”

  With an explosive sigh, the Adjutu began his march upstairs. “I’m sensing a distinct lack of trust here, Rainne. But I’m not worried. You’ll see soon enough, and at that time I’ll be delighted to accept your apology.”

  Once at the top of the stairs, Lochmore led them through the foyer, giving curt nods to students in passing. In Adjutu’s Path, he flashed Rainne another smile.

  She didn’t like this. Lochmore was too calm—far calmer than she imagined anyone might be after having a scandalous secret like his uncovered. Ciracelle and Iriscent could be only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Lochmore’s promiscuity amongst students and assistants. But did it all tie back to Ciracelle’s attack, or was this nothing more than a coincidence, a simple weakness in the Adjutu’s character upon which she’d stumbled?

  Outside the door to his quarters, Lochmore slid the key into the lock and turned the handle. What lay inside was a spacious room, if a little drab and outdated. It looked like any other office, but like the rest of the House, the Adjutu’s quarters stood in a state of mild disrepair. Light fixtures hung with wires sprouting from them like vines, the desk in the center of the room had a broken leg and was supported by a stack of thick books, and the old paintings on the walls were faded and lifeless. Only a desk lamp cast any light upon their entry, and even that pulsed and flickered like the lights in the prison levels.

  “You can probably see why I conduct my disciplinary sessions in the hall outside.” The door closed behind them. “Old prisonkeeper’s office. I don’t use it that much. The bedroom in back is about all I use in this place.”

  “Obviously,” Rainne added, keeping a wary eye on him.

  “I hope you don’t think less of me because of all this. We all have our little vices and caprices. As you can see, the Majdi Order has seen fit to give me little, so I take my joy where I find it.” He shrugged. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “Would they agree if they knew about this?” she asked.

  He seemed to ponder the question, a boyish grin springing to his lips. “I don’t know. Frankly, I’m not sure I care.”

  The silence that followed his statement was awkward, but an unsettling tension resided there as well. Rainne wasn’t sure what there was to say. She supposed she understood Lochmore’s dilemma, doing what he could to make the best of a poor situation. But it all was so unseemly, so wantonly hedonistic.

  “You said you had proof. Some reason for me to think you didn’t have anything to do with Ciracelle’s attack.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He held up a finger, maintaining eye contact for several long moments. “Just a little patience, Rainne.”

  When his finger lowered, nothing had changed. He stood there settling his gaze all over her as she had seen him do on more than one occasion. He made no advance, however, saying nothing in the hollow stillness of his ramshackle office space.

  A few gentle taps sounded from behind.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

  Rainne turned and watched Santerre’s tall, exquisite form step inside.

  “Yes, Adjutu?” In Lochmore’s presence, the usual authority with which she carried herself had transformed into an almost demure acquiescence. “You called for me?”

  “Santerre, I was just having a talk with Rainne here about the
night Ciracelle was attacked. I was wondering if you could tell her what you were doing that night.”

  A bloated pause hung in the air as she sought out his permission through imploring eyes. “I…I really don’t think I should.”

  “Please, I insist. We’re all friends here,” prodded Lochmore, wearing his easy smile.

  Despite his assurance, Santerre remained reticent. “I found Ciracelle, the one we had been calling Tallas, and Joht downstairs. After sending them away, I came here. I was with you for the rest of the night.” She pointed to the door at the back of the room, fighting down a bashful smile that was rising to her lips. “In there.”

  “Thank you, Santerre. That’ll be all.”

  With a nod, Lochmore’s prime assistant left the room.

  He spread his arms from his sides expectantly. “So? I’ll take that apology anytime now.”

  She looked at him as if to ask if he was serious. “Very well, you might not have had anything to do with Ciracelle’s attack. But I do find you rather disgusting.”

  The parted arms fell with a pat to his thighs. “I love women. That’s not a crime by any standard, Majdi or not.” He took a step closer, his unblinking eyes fixed upon hers. “Don’t you experience a secret thrill at someone’s touch on your skin? Even something so slight as a harmless, accidental brush of the fingers? Don’t you sometimes wish it could become more than just a touch? We are simple creatures, you and I. Even for someone like you, all it takes is the right sensation, the right contact to ignite a fire that will make your most primal instincts burn inside for a thousand years.”

  Rainne tried to take a step back, but found that she could not. “N—no. I am nothing like you.”

  Lochmore flashed a wicked grin. “The trembling of your lips and the vibrations I can sense at the core of your body say otherwise, Rainne.”

  In that moment, Rainne knew she had been wrong—wrong about Lochmore and the attack on Ciracelle, wrong about everything. Something was at work here, something she did not understand. It was strange. She had a talent for detecting the use of tephic around her, but if Lochmore was using it to manipulate her, to override her will and make her succumb to him as so many other women had, she could not sense it. Not even a whisper of it lingered in the air separating the two of them in this dusty old room.