Legacy of Souls (The Shattered Sea Book 2)

by D. Wallace Peach

  Minutes later, travel sack over a shoulder, Danzell hiked down to the mosaiced floor, and instead of exiting through the front door, she left through the refectory. For a moment she considered returning the Temple key, hanging it on the peg from where she’d pilfered it long ago, but she never broke her stride.

  So many souls should have weighed on her shoulder, and yet they were inconsequential to her walk down the hillside. They were the chosen few, or if she heeded Laddon’s description, the doomed. Perpetual entombment in a sphere the size of a pea lacked appeal, and she would ensure these few wouldn’t endure their entrapment for long. They belonged with the remnants of her conclave, those who would usher Ezar into the next century. When her life ended, she would be privileged to enter a new host and share her wisdom.

  She adjusted her cowl, her commoner’s leggings and tunic a suitable disguise. The clip-point knife in her belt would skin a rabbit or cut the head off a fish but would never adorn the hip of a princess. Her sword was another matter, so she’d left it in Raze’s keeping.

  When Raze and company had landed in Tegir, he’d tracked her down the same way Nallea had found her, which set warning fires under her skin. Too many people knew of her visits to the Temple. And if Nallea found her, might Benjmur find her as well? Clearly Nallea believed her father’s change of heart. The risks churned in Danzell’s stomach like spoiled food. Someday the young Lady of Kestrel would experience a painful awakening, and Danzell prayed they would all survive it.

  She headed toward the harbor’s north end where the reek of rotting fish was enough to yank the bile up her throat. The Anvrells had chosen the location, and she couldn’t argue. The Flask and Fishes was the last place she’d look for Vales’ nobles.

  Cowl up, she pushed through the inn’s front door into the taproom. Sailors, laborers, and foreigners shy on copper jammed benches at long tables. Few Ezari patronized such a low establishment unless they were desperate. She spied her party in a corner. Raze and Johzar saw her coming, and Azalus and Rydan twisted in their seats for a brief glance.

  A man missing a handful of teeth grabbed her arm, and she showed him her knife. “Mind your own business.” She edged between the tables, and when Johzar slid over to open a space, she climbed over the bench to sit beside him. The man continued to surprise her. Slavers usually avoided anything resembling compassion, and he’d not only crossed the border but wandered deep into enemy lands. She and he formed a strange alliance, Vales slaver and heir to the Ezarine throne. Doomed, but not without its appeal.

  Raze passed her sheathed sword to her under the table. She propped her traveling sack between her feet and rested the blade on her lap. “I entertained a visitor at the Temple.” All four men tensed. “Nallea paid me a call.”

  Azalus frowned. “Nallea? Why is she in Tegir? What did she want?”

  “I’ll tell you if you give me a chance.” Danzell poured herself an ale. “Needless to say, we must avoid the Temple.”

  “Any chance you were followed?” Raze asked.

  She arched an eyebrow at the question. “If anyone had known of my whereabouts, I wouldn’t be sitting here. And I told Nallea only that Johzar is in Tegir.”

  “Did she say why she’s come?” Azalus repeated his question.

  “She and Benjmur are here to find Belizae. Lord Demiris intends to mend his ways with the Anvrells, and rescuing Bel from Johzar is his first step.” She turned her gaze to the slaver. “Apparently Athren sold Belizae to you.”

  Johzar’s handsome eyes narrowed, and he curled a hand into a fist. “I told all of you, I didn’t take her. I saved her fucking life and got myself sold in the process.”

  “Calm down,” Danzell said. “I merely point out that the story she told Raze remains unchanged.”

  Raze ran a hand through his hair. “Which means Benjmur doesn’t want her found. He’s committed to the lie.”

  “Any sign of her?” Rydan asked his son.

  “Nae.” Raze blew out a breath. “But this city is a monster. She could be anywhere, or she might not be here at all. Ships leave King’s Fist for every port including those in the southern seas.”

  Johzar rubbed the aging bruise on his jaw. “I sent messages to slavers here, as well as in Valcore and Yozar. If she shows up, they’ll hold her.”

  A serving boy sidled up to the table and memorized their orders for food, a choice between fried fish and fish stew. Raze ordered another round of ale.

  Danzell’s heart went out to him. None of them said it, but the chance of finding Belizae hovered around remote, at best. If slavers had shipped her to the Far South, Raze would never see her again.

  “Nallea doesn’t know it’s a lie.” Azalus eyed his brother. “She has faith in her father. She wouldn’t lie about Bel.”

  “I believe you,” Danzell said, “which is why we can’t confide in her. I’m convinced that anything we tell her will find Benjmur’s ears. And I’ve only spilled half the story. Benjmur’s finally discovered that my brother is dangerous. He seeks a meeting with me to discuss treason.”

  “We cannot trust him,” Rydan said. “It’s a trap, Lady Danzell.”

  “You mustn’t call me lady.” She smiled at Rydan. He looked tired, the travel and stress wearing on him. “It would be best if you avoided my name altogether.”

  “My father’s right about Benjmur,” Raze said. “You can’t go near him.”

  She sipped her ale and peered at the three of them askance. “What if there’s a way to set a trap within the trap?”

  ~37~

  Valcore crumbled beneath the weight of its clouds. The city’s wide river oozed along squat defensive walls, and steel chains webbed the air between its towers as if they alone prevented the place from collapsing. From the river’s mouth, even the palace looked derelict, cloaked in smoke and rising from the black ruins like a lightning-struck tree.

  The Coral Crown’s slaves rowed upriver. Belizae stood at the bow with the other bonds, wrists chained to the gunwale as their new home glided into view. Her master, the woman with kohled eyes, hadn’t spoken a word to them throughout the journey, relaying orders through her four guards, stiff-lipped women in mail hauberks with daggers at their belts.

  Bel had obeyed with a sluggish apathy. She’d survived the voyage by recoiling into a state of disbelief, trusting that somehow, someone would discover the injustice. Now that she’d arrived, that hope seemed naive. Raze would never find her or take her home…if they still had a home to return to…if he still survived.

  In his arms, she’d been loved for herself alone, a goatherd with an old crone’s soul, and the sorrows of her past had lifted like windborne feathers. She’d found shelter from the world’s hurts and discovered places inside no longer solely our own. As the city neared, her grandmother’s soul wished her to behold her life’s journey, now more than ever, as one of possibility, to find compassion in her pain and craft a laudable life. But Bel hadn’t the strength.

  “Up oars!” the coxswain called as the boat glided toward the quay. The ship thumped into the pilings, and while dock workers made fast the lines, slavers unlocked chains. Bel rubbed her bruised wrist, waiting for orders.

  Her master remained in her quarters until the bustle calmed. Then, she stepped up a short stair to the dock and strode up to the bricked road. A black carriage creaked and rolled to a stop, and a boy hopped down from the footboard, his cheeks rouged and lips painted like a porcelain doll. He bowed and opened the door for his mistress. Before climbing aboard, she snapped her fingers at her four guards. “You know the routine.”

  “Off the ship!” a guard shouted, and Bel climbed to the dock with the other bonded. “Form a line in pairs. Any of you run, you’re dead.”

  Bel assumed a place beside a red-haired woman who’d worn a vicious scowl since leaving King’s Fist. The woman leaned toward her and whispered, “They can’t chase us all.”

  The thought of escape frightened Bel as much as it tugged on her desire. Her heart hammered in her ea
rs, and she didn’t dare respond lest her captors hear. The carriage collected its single occupant, and the coachman clucked at the horses. Bel walked behind the wheels, breath stuck in her chest. The treeless land between the river and gate was a scourge of dirt and scrub, a place without cover to hide. Ahead of her loomed a massive gatehouse below a tower riddled with arrow slits. She’d meet with no mercy, find no escape from Valcore.

  She passed through the arch into a killing field, and then through a second gate, each step another link in the chain binding her to her fate. The woman beside her began to weep, her scowl replaced with an expression far bleaker, one of despair. The city glowered, as menacing on the inside as the out. No harvest market greeted her. No one strolled or chatted in the streets. Men yanked their children along with firm grips on their wrists. Even women scurried past, casting furtive glances in her direction.

  A pair of Ezari slavers in azure cloaks idled at the crossroad, inspecting travelers as they marched in from the river. They stopped the carriage with a raised hand and bent at the waist in formal bows. One held the bridle of the lead horse while the other spoke at the carriage window. He opened the door, and the kohl-eyed woman alit onto the street.

  She scanned her human belongings and pointed a long scarlet fingernail at Bel. “That one. But mark me, she’s pretty, and I won’t sell a ten-year bond for a few silver chits. She’s worth a fortune on her back.”

  “A piece of gold suit you?” the older of the two slavers asked.

  “My favorite color.” The woman held out her hand for the yellow chit and summoned her guards. “Bring that one here.”

  Bel inhaled as a guard pulled her out of line and hauled her to her new owners. The slaver gripped her arm, a leer splitting his face. “You are going to make us rich, girl.”

  Panic bloomed in her chest, fear erasing any vestige of reason. She yanked her arm from his grasp and stumbled backward. He lunged and snatched the front of her blouse. Chaos exploded in the crossroad. The redheaded woman bolted. Guards shouted, and half of the bonds scattered.

  “Get them!” the master ordered, her teeth bared. “Kill them if you must.” Men and women fled, some screaming, too many for the four guards to chase down. “This is your fault,” she yelled at the pair of slavers. “I expect reimbursement!”

  One of the slavers joined in the recovery, thrusting those who cowered by the carriage to their knees. The man with Bel’s blouse bunched in his fist, suddenly let go and sprang from her side. He intercepted a boy attempting to dodge his captors, lost his balance, and fell to the dirt, dragging the boy with him.

  Bel turned and sprinted, overcome by a desperate recklessness. She ran between two buildings, hooked a corner into an alley, and dashed to the other end. A slaver bellowed an order to stop, and she almost laughed. Run, rape, or death—the only one with any chance at a life worth surviving lay in her feet.

  She darted across a street, spun into another alley, her sense of direction twisted. Over her shoulder the slavers roared commands to stop, shouting words she failed to hear for her heart’s thundering in her ears. She barreled through an open doorway and slammed into a young woman. The two of them stumbled into a small table. “Hide me,” she panted. “Please, hide me.”

  The woman stared at her, brown eyes blinking like an owl. She wasn’t Ezari, and her arms cradled a bundle of dirty linens. A slave or servant.

  “Is someone here, Genna?” a woman’s voice called from deeper within the dwelling.

  “Nae, mistress.” Genna bit her lip and motioned to the staircase with a tilt of her head.

  “I shall be off then,” the voice continued. “Finish the washing before I return.”

  “Ai, mistress.”

  The curses of the slavers in the street followed Bel up the stairs. The second-floor hallway doors stood closed, shavings of illumination leaking across the floor. Conversation below stopped her, the slavers inside the home. She paused at a door, and hearing nothing on the other side, slipped into the room. The sunny chamber was furnished with a bed and wardrobe, nowhere to hide for long. She slid under the bed and closed her eyes.

  When the door opened, she tensed, motionless, breathing without making a sound. Slippered feet crossed the floor, and the woman Genna looked under the bed. “You have to go now.”

  “Thank you.” Bel wiggled out from under the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Genna said. “I’m awful sorry, but you must see I’d no choice. It’s my future, you know. They promised so much. Tonight, I’ll be buying my freedom.”

  Bel stared at her, the meaning behind her words slowly dawning.

  “They said they won’t kill you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t of done it.”

  The slavers strode into the room, eyes narrowed, a hard and angry edge to their expressions. No sense in running or fighting, Bel stood there, tears blurring her vision. The younger of the two men slipped a noose around her neck; the other dropped a handful of silver chits in Genna’s eager palm. The servant smiled at her bounty and bowed.

  Bel clung to the banister as she walked down the steps on wooden legs. Her new masters marched her along the barren road to the river and onto a ship. They manacled her wrist to the gunwale. Once the galley had glided into the sea and the oarsmen rowed to a steady beat, the older slaver removed the noose and spared her a drink of water.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “North.”

  ~38~

  Johzar met Nallea’s glower with a slant-eyed glare he reserved for stray dogs and would-be pickpockets. She clamped her fists on her hips. “What do you want?”

  “Nallea,” Benjmur admonished her.

  “You requested a meeting.” Johzar wandered through the inn’s lavish accommodations and paused to admire the view. A storm brewed on the horizon, the season of heat rushing toward winter and weeks of rain. Ezarine cowls would switch from protecting his people from the sun to protecting them from the wet. “I’m here to set a place and time.”

  Nallea huffed. “We are here to find out what you’ve done with Belizae and to deliver her home.”

  Johzar raised his eyebrows at Benjmur, the lie revealed. Secrets held as much power as truth, and the man’s silence told Johzar which of the two Benjmur preferred. He shrugged. “I no longer know where she is.”

  “You’re a beast, Johzar.” Nallea’s face flushed. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll see your kind banished from the Vales.”

  “Nallea.” Benjmur frowned.

  She whirled on her father. “Have you forgotten what he did to me?”

  “Nae, I have not.” Benjmur rested a hand on her shoulder. “But this meeting takes place at our request, remember? Let’s see to the arrangements and finish up what we came to do.”

  Tongue behind her teeth, she dropped stiff backed onto the floral settee.

  “Tonight,” Johzar said. “We’ll arrange for a carriage to collect you at sunset.” He raised an eyebrow at Benjmur’s sharp glance. “Forgive me, but for the safety of all concerned, the final location remains a secret.”

  “Understandable,” Benjmur said, “but—”

  “We’ll await the carriage.” Nallea clamped her arms across her chest.

  The tight smile on Benjmur’s lips scarcely hid his annoyance. “I shall ride with Johzar to the slave markets and see what we can learn of Belizae.” He kissed his daughter’s scowling forehead. “I won’t be long.”

  The inn’s proprietor ordered up an open-air carriage for their ride down the slope. The wind shook loose gold-fringed leaves, and the sea’s damp breath blew up from the harbor. Johzar relaxed into the seat, enjoying the ease of travel compared to hoofing it on his wrecked ankle. He broke the silence between them. “You owe me, Benjmur.”

  “I appreciate your discretion.”

  “Why the lie?”

  “Mere convenience.” Benjmur waved away any concern. “My relationship with Sajem is complex.”

  “And dangerous.”

  Benjmur’s chee
k twitched. “I agree. The man is insane. But you’ve often expressed an unwillingness to consider a broader role. At this point, my business with him has concluded. He’s a menace, and I happen to know he’s in the city. I’d take no offense if he were to pay for his crimes.”

  Apparently, Benjmur hadn’t learned of Johzar’s last encounter with the bald slaver, a tale he’d save for another day. He stroked his jaw and gauged the man seated across from him. Benjmur had built alliances with depraved men, stretched the truth until the edges frayed. He’d betrayed everyone and would ultimately become entangled in his own web. Johzar would ensure that happened. “I’m willing to barter now that I hold some leverage.”

  “What is it you want?” Benjmur reached for the purse at his belt.

  “Your daughter.”

  Benjmur recoiled. The irritation in his eye transformed into undisguised fury, and he clenched his jaw. “Impossible.”

  Johzar chuckled. “Nallea is your weakness, my lord. Don’t let your enemies see that, or they’ll use it against you. I don’t want her, in truth, but I’ve made my point.”

  The governor glared at him. “What do you require in exchange for your services?”

  “For my silence?”

  “Beyond keeping confidences.” Benjmur leaned forward in his seat, closing the distance between them. “I’ll be direct, Johzar. You and I aren’t as different as you imagine. We both enjoy power and wealth, and to achieve our goals, we need alliances with other men of ambition. The Emperor is such a man, and despite my personal distaste, I’m his loyal subject. Help me accomplish his goals, and you will obtain whatever you please.”

  “Slaves.”

  Benjmur leaned back, brow creased. “What slaves?”

  “Change the laws back to what they were. Permit slavery in the Vales.” Johzar kept his expression intentionally cryptic, though he took immense pleasure in watching Benjmur squirm.