“The three of us will go,” Lord Rydan commanded and rose heavily to his feet. “We shall deal with this travesty together and bring Raze and Belizae home. Have arrangements in place for a ship and gather a company of twenty men. We sail at dawn.”
~28~
Danzell stood on the Mariners’ Bridge as the Anvrell’s ship cast off. Oarsmen fought the chop, and plumes of silver spray joined with the morning fog, swallowing the vessel in a cloud of wetness. She envied neither the chill of the water nor the chill between Azalus and Nallea.
She pulled up her cowl and reweighed the risks of airing Benjmur’s deceits in front of his daughter, but Laddon wanted Nallea in Avanoe. Her presence, beyond any other, would work in Raze’s favor. Though Danzell couldn’t fathom the possibility, Laddon insisted that Benjmur loved his child.
The cliffside market bustled with the harvest’s bounty that trundled in from on caravans of slatted wagons. She booked passage on a galley to Tegir for the next morning, assured that her borrowed gold would guarantee her safety. Then with little to occupy her time, she wandered through Windward and across the North Bridge to the Temple of Souls.
Like everything else in Kestrel, the Temple was smaller than the one in Tegir, but that scarcely meant it lacked in beauty. The tower of white marble stood at the center of a tree-rimmed plaza where visitors rested on benches in the windblown shade. A narrow stack of arched windows faced the sea, and flowerbeds flanked the steps with autumn’s russet blooms.
She strolled into a cavernous chamber, its walls lined with wooden shelves and scores of old books. Lanterns hung from the tall columns supporting the upper floors. Tables and chairs lay scattered across the gleaming floor like leaves in a pool of smooth water, and the stairs spiraled through the ceilings. Undoubtedly, the floors above contained banks of glowing souls, all suspended in time.
“May I be of service?” A monk bowed. Tall and black-haired, he might have been Ezari if not for his green eyes and the darker hue of his skin.
“I’m… Zandra. I’m interested in purchasing souls.”
“Eldain. I’m a scribe here. What type of soul interests you?”
“Wise ones, more than one.”
“Ah.” He smiled, a slight cant to his head. “An excellent choice. Allow me to find the appropriate ledger.” The man wandered off to search for a specific book and then led her up the spiral stairs to the third floor. He offered a seat by the window. “How many are you interested in?”
“Twenty. Your twenty wisest souls. No mad geniuses, no warriors, only wisdom.”
Eldain leaned back and studied her. “Not all for you, I pray.”
“Nae. For the future.”
“Why not leave them here and return when—”
“I’m from Tegir. It’s inconvenient to journey so far.”
“Ah, I see.” He thumbed through the pages. “It’s not often we entertain visitors from Ezar.”
“Our Temple has no monopoly on wisdom.”
“No nation does.” He smiled. “Our finest souls are expensive. However, I imagine you’re aware that wisdom isn’t as highly prized as other qualities.”
“I understand.” She withdrew six gold chits from her purse and placed them on the table.
Eldain blinked at the offer and rubbed his goatee. “Who are you, Zandra?”
“A woman interested in preserving the wisest minds of the Vales. Is there a problem with my request?”
“Nae. Simple curiosity.”
“Can you gather what I seek by day’s end?”
“Ai, we leave the doors open until sunset.”
“Good.” Danzell rose to depart. “You may expect me then, Eldain. I appreciate your careful choices.”
Back in the daylight, she sold her horse to a farrier on the outskirts of Sheaves. In a rented room above the Lusty Lady, she slept off the constant travel until the noise from below rendered it impossible to dream. She swung her feet to the floor. “Laddon?”
The blond man appeared by the door. “I’m here.”
“Are you certain this is wise?” She gazed up at him.
“It’s what I would choose.”
“All those souls.” The numbers intimidated her. “All that wisdom and history. All those skills.”
“You’re under no obligation, Danzell. It’s simply my request. Souls may still be gifted. This is not the end. Merely a new beginning.”
“You’re certain of your advice?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
She inhaled, crammed her feet into her boots, and strapped on her sword. The sun balanced on the horizon when she entered the Temple. Golden light lanced the air through the narrow windows, and lanterns burned on hooks embedded in the walls.
Eldain approached her and bowed. “Zandra, as you requested, I’ve gathered and prepared the souls for travel.”
“May I see them?”
“As you wish.” He led her again to the third floor, and at the table opened a wooden box lined with velvet, each slot carefully labeled. “I ordered the box constructed. We seldom handle requests for so many souls.” He wrinkled his brow and sought her eyes. “These are precious. I ask only that you care for them.”
She smiled at the affection. “I shall treasure them, Eldain. Of that, you needn’t worry.”
He returned the smile. “Then we are done but for payment. Six gold chits.”
Without a flinch, she slid the gold across the surface. “May I have a duplicate of the accounting?”
“Certainly.” He descended the spiral stairs, and when he disappeared below, she hurried to the same spooling steps, slipped off her boots, and climbed, daring four flights.
Above the third floor, the monks hadn’t bothered to set the lanterns alight. The narrow windows illuminated the area around them, but the balance of the space faded into grays, softened by the aura of waiting souls. On the seventh floor, she disappeared into the shadows and crept along the vaults. Hugging the box of souls to her chest, she crammed into a sliver of space between a column and the wall.
The sun surrendered to the night, and Eldain called her false name. His footsteps echoed on the staircase as he climbed and wandered the floors beneath her. When he reached the seventh floor, he held a lantern high, casting shadows on the walls. She froze, breath held while her mind cursed Laddon for plucking at her heartstrings and convincing her this was a sound idea. Zandra’s name reverberated, hollow in the empty air. Eldain climbed higher, and then the darkness deepened as he snuffed the lanterns on his descent.
She waited hours, the temple bathed in a golden grayness. The dim glow of the city sky edged through the windows, and when that too faded, she slipped on her boots. Quiet as a spider, she lit all the lanterns on the floor, removed their globes, and set the open flames beneath the wooden shelves.
Her race with time began. She hurried down to the sixth floor, the box of twenty souls cradled in her arms like a treasured child. There she fired up the lanterns and inserted them into the vaults, the wicks high and flames licking the wood above them. The fifth floor, she skipped. The scent of smoke was scarcely noticeable, but time crouched like a beast ready to spring. Heart at a gallop, she set fires on the fourth and third floors and passed by the second, minutes pounding on her heels. She couldn’t risk a discovery, and the first floor had yet to burn.
On the ground level, she left the box on a table, pulled old tomes and ledgers from the shelves, and tossed them into piles. The lanterns outnumbered those above by a score. She lit them all. Some she placed between the bookshelves. Others she emptied of their oil, spilling it over the reams of paper, then setting them afire. Smoke curled in black whorls to the wood ceiling, crept between the rafters to the circular stairwell, and joined the conflagration above.
“Zandra!”
Danzell spun, tension sparking and ready to erupt.
Near the rear corridor, Eldain gaped at her. He’d waited all those hours. Horror warped his handsome face. “What have you done?”
&n
bsp; “I’m setting them free. Trust me.”
“Nae! All these souls. You’re burning them alive!”
“Eldain!” she shouted, edging toward him. Her hand throttled the hilt of her knife. “They don’t feel. I’m freeing them. You must believe me.”
He turned and fled. Danzell sprinted after him, knife in her grip. He paused to yank open the door. She caught his collar and wrenched him onto his back, tumbling with him. His head hit the stone but not hard enough to save her the trouble. He scrambled to his knees, and though off balance, slammed a fist into her jaw. Her teeth bit down on her tongue. She gasped and pounded her hilt into his skull.
Blood in her mouth, she scrambled to her feet, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him through the back door into the night air. She dumped his body in a flowerbed, hoping she hadn’t killed him, and dashed back inside. Her fires burned along the walls. Ruby wraiths danced like fiends in the thickening smoke. She choked on the blackened air and clutched the box of souls. Stumbling blindly through the heat and wheezing for breath, she pawed the corridor’s wall, and burst into the night air.
Eldain sat in the crushed blooms, staring at her, blood smearing the side of his head. “Whoever you are, you had better be right.”
~29~
Raze placed his sword on Benjmur’s foyer table with the delicacy of a blacksmith’s hammer. The steward, an old man with a wreath of white hair, winced at the clatter but kept his lips pinched shut. Two knives followed, surrendered hilt first. Standing at attention, six guards waited for him to disarm, pointy halberds at their sides. They’d likely join him in the salon, a precaution Benjmur would be wise to take. Raze had kept a damper on his temper since parting with Danzell, but even Samoth’s iron control suffered thin cracks under pressure.
“This way.” The steward led him down the corridor and opened the salon’s door where less than a week ago, Athren had tasked him with an impossible assignment, one he would have failed without Danzell…and Laddon. Maybe that was the point of his meeting with Danzell, not to help Raze but to serve her ghost. Raze didn’t care, as long as he left with Bel.
He strode into the room on the heels of four guards, the last two trailing him in. Athren stood beside a chair, and Benjmur rose from his desk. They exchanged no bows, no offers of a place to sit or something to wet his lips, and that suited Raze’s mood fine.
As slow as the sun’s passage, he raised his arm toward Athren, the steel-banded pendant dangling from his hand. “This belonged to Laddon. I discovered it near his body.”
Athren’s lip quivered, and she shook as if her bones disintegrated beneath the weight of his words. He expected her to fall, but she lurched toward him and snatched the pendant from his hand. She clutched it to her breast as she faced Benjmur. “It was his father’s before Laddon claimed it as his own.” Pain contorted her face, and she choked on a sob. “It’s not glowing. Where’s his soul? What did you do with his soul?”
Her grief cut gashes in Raze’s anger, her losses resonating. The world reeled beyond her control, emotions churning in a suffocating swill. “His soul wasn’t captured, Lady Athren. If you wish you may look inside.”
“He’s unbound?” Athren whispered, sorrow stealing even her breath. Tears escaped her eyes, and she sank into a chair.
“How did you find his body so quickly?” Benjmur asked. “I cannot but assume you knew where to search.”
Raze narrowed his eyes, his momentary compassion burned away by reawakened fury. Benjmur had known where to hunt and chosen to guard that secret. Raze faced Athren. “I found him with the help of a woman who speaks with unbound souls. Through her, Laddon led me there.”
Athren peered up from the dull sphere cradled in her cupped hand, as lifeless as her eyes. “Laddon?”
“Sajem killed him, Lady Athren. My family never desired his death, and I was not the first one to discover his body.” He glanced at Benjmur. “Your husband found his remains shortly after your son’s death.”
Benjmur’s chin retracted, the shock as genuine as anything Raze had ever beheld on the man’s face. “That’s absurd. I would have reported it the day I returned. This is an attempt to distract and cast blame at the cost of a woman’s heart. You mean to malign me in my wife’s eyes out of spite.”
Athren’s jaw clenched, tears falling while anger spat from her eyes. “They don’t trust you either, my husband. They say you’re both lying.”
“Lady Athren,” Raze pleaded. “I speak the truth. I can lead a party to the site to recover his bones and the bones of the two killed beside him.”
“Janric and Denie.” She pressed her palms to her temples, eyes squeezed shut. “Your lying. This pendant proves nothing; those bones could belong to anyone. Prove it to me. Prove it or get out!”
“Sajem murdered two people at my freehold and brought another here. Under whose orders?” Raze stepped toward Benjmur, and the guards’ halberds swept down, blocking his way. “Sajem slew Laddon. Find out who pays Sajem to kill, Lady Athren, and you’ll uncover your murderer.”
He paused, dulled the edge of his ire, and faced her scowl. “Laddon told me that as a small child, he twisted his finger in your hair while nursing and once tangled a curl so tightly you had to cut the strand to set him free. He told me his father gave him a butter-colored dog that made his eyes swell, and he cried for a season when forced to give it away.”
The hardness in her face softened, her body sagging beneath the burden of truth. Raze spoke onward, “He told me all he ever wanted to do was paint and draw. That you gifted him with his first colors and bestowed on him the means to create beauty. His last drawing was a sketch of the river and bridge, a view from below the gate tower. Flowers covered the opposite bank. You scolded him for hiding, but he knew you loved his work.”
Her hand rose to her lips, and a sob erupted between her fingers.
“Athren.” Benjmur sat beside her and clasped her hand. “You don’t need to listen to this. It proves nothing and only upsets you. Retire to your room and rest.”
“Nae.” She closed her eyes. “It’s true. I saved the drawing. No one knows about that day.”
“His body is gone, Lady Athren,” Raze continued, “but his soul is free. He is content to observe the world with an artist’s eye and will carry that ability into his next life. He’s not distraught or lost; he’s at peace. He asked me to tell you that he cherishes those memories. I’ve done as you bid me. It’s your turn to honor your word.”
Benjmur stood. “A clever tale, Lord Anvrell, but you provide no proof you didn’t slay Laddon yourself. Or your brother didn’t murder him to clear his way to my daughter. And there is the matter of the Empress’s assassination, a charge you must defend against whether you are guilty or innocent.”
“Sajem killed Laddon.” Raze lowered his voice, fighting for control. “And you were present with us when the Empress was slain. Kyzan’s accusation is a lie.”
“I believe you, but the Emperor demands an accounting, and I’m sworn to obey.” Benjmur gestured to the guards. “Arrest him.”
“Nae!” Athren thrust herself from her chair. “Let him go. He did as I demanded.”
“Athren, the Emperor—”
“Release him!” she screamed in her husband’s face.
“And Belizae?” Raze asked.
“Our guards will deliver her to you.” She faced the armored men. “See to it. I’m retiring to my room, and I wish to be left alone.”
Raze edged aside as she stormed through the doorway. Before Benjmur could countermand her decision, Raze followed her out. She disappeared down a corridor, two guards in tow. The remaining four watched as he strapped on his weapons. In the foyer, he leaned on the wall, waiting for Bel, every nerve on fire.
Time shuffled by, and he paced, tamping down his impatience. He’d discovered beneath Samoth’s placid soul an underlying fury with injustice. It shouldn’t have surprised him. It’s what initially landed the man in servitude and would have entrenched him there had Raze not f
reed him.
The steward who’d admitted him appeared in the corridor, confusion bunching his white eyebrows. “Lord Raze? Why are you still here?”
“You know why,” Raze barked. “I’m waiting for Belizae’s release.”
“She left an hour ago. Through the servant’s yard. I thought she’d joined you.”
Raze bolted through the front door and bounded across the courtyard into the circular roads of Avanoe. He ran to the hall’s rear gate, scanning the cross streets, vigilant for any sign of her. Sentries barred his way, and his frustration exploded. “Call the steward,” he demanded, livid with Benjmur’s games. The Raze of his youth, the reckless one who’d once baited slavers in cliffside taverns, would beat the truth from the man.
“No point,” a bearded guard replied. “She’s long gone. Headed to the harbor, and I don’t think she’s coming back.”
Snarling a curse, he spun and sprinted to the steep shore. He searched the surrounding streets, sat on a crate with a view of the market, and waited. Nothing. She was gone. If they’d freed her at all.
~
Benjmur stood before his cabinet of ancient knives, one of few treasures he’d moved to the Governor’s Hall. Sunlight glinted on an ornate hilt, but he scarcely noticed. He growled at Arrick, his steward. “Is he gone?”
“Ai, my lord. He showed up at the back gate, and the guards reported that she’d left an hour earlier.”
“He’ll be back.” A headache thumped behind Benjmur’s eyes. The supposed discussion with Laddon disturbed him. Raze could have gathered his evidence from a single conversation except for one point—Benjmur’s discovery of the bodies. No one was privy to that information. If the ghost of Laddon had shared that niggling detail, what else had he spilled? Too many people carried around too much knowledge and one way or another that could spoil his plans.
“Shall I send in the slaver?”
“I suppose there’s no reason to dawdle.”
Legacy of Souls (The Shattered Sea Book 2) Page 18