Madelyn frantically racked her brain. Delius Eschaton-he’d been married, but what had happened to his wife?
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said, deciding to keep it vague. No child as young as Delysia would be willing to discuss such a matter in depth. What was more important was the comfort Madelyn eased into her voice, the tender honesty and empathy.
“Daddy…he helped us through,” Delysia said. Her whole body seemed to be shivering. “I miss him. I miss my brother. I miss my mom and my Grany. I don’t want to be here, I want to be home, I want to be…”
She broke down in tears. Even with her manipulation, Madelyn was surprised by its speed. The girl must have been on edge the whole day, just waiting for something to set her off. Knowing her timing must be perfect, Madelyn let Delysia cry just long enough before wrapping her shoulders in a hug.
“There now,” she said. “Cry if you must. I know how you feel. I miss my husband. I worry for him, too. For all he knows I’m hanging upside down from chains in one of Thren’s hideouts. If only I could feel him in my arms again.”
“I heard others talking,” Delysia said. “They said they’d send someone so he’d know.”
“But are you sure?” she asked, letting her face harden just a little. After a moment, Delysia shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I guess I’m not.”
Madelyn let the silence return. She’d finished two thin braids, so she began tying them together, high up near the top of Delysia’s head. Lacking material, she tore a bit of her own dress and used it to tie the braids firm.
“Your brother is all you have left,” she said, injecting a combination of curiosity and worry into her voice. “Do you know where he is now?”
“He’s apprenticed to some wizard,” Delysia said. “I could never pronounce his name right. Malderad? Maldrad? Something like that.”
“Yes, wizards often have funny names,” Madelyn said. “They think it gives them an air of mystery, but mostly it just makes them look like fools.”
Delysia giggled softly.
Madelyn chose that moment to pull back her hands and set them on her lap. The sudden stop made Delysia turn to see what was the matter.
“I could take you to him,” Madelyn said. “Surely you heard among the whispers who I am, Delysia. I am Lady Keenan, and wealthier than the king. It seems cruel to keep you hidden here when your brother is out there alone and in danger. What if he returns to Veldaren? What if the thief guilds send for him too?”
Delysia twisted her fingers together, then grabbed her elbows and shivered as if she were cold. Madelyn paused a moment, then drove the final nail home.
“Delysia, does he even know your father’s dead?”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Someone should tell him,” Madelyn insisted. “I think it should be you. Come with me.”
Delysia’s eyes widened as if she were waking from a spell.
“I’ll get in trouble,” she said. “Grany put me here, and here’s safe. Who will I stay with, and what if Maldrad doesn’t want me? I can’t.”
This was it. This was the moment. Madelyn stood and crossed her arms, acting every bit the scolding parent.
“You can and you will, Delysia. I must return to my husband. You must return to your brother. Isn’t that what you want? Forget what others expect of you. They don’t decide your life. That isn’t their right. I will ensure everything goes well for you, all for being a friend to me in my dark time. Help me, Delysia. Please. I’m asking you.”
Delysia wilted under the barrage of words. She slowly nodded.
“You promise to take care of me?” she asked.
Madelyn smiled her sweetest smile.
“I promise,” she said.
“Fine. Everyone else is asleep except me. Bertram was to help me with my nightly duties, but he’s so fat he dozed off in his chair. I don’t know if the door’s locked.”
“Only one way to know,” Madelyn said, taking Delysia’s hand. “Lead me there.”
H aern scratched at his mask, wishing he had found something smoother to wear. When finished, he wrapped his cloak tighter about him. Other than his blonde hair, he was a mess of gray lurking in the shadows. The temple was before him on the other side of the street. Haern hid beside a shop set up to take advantage of the temple’s traffic, selling a multitude of sweetcakes and treats that got devoured after every service.
Looking at the temple, Haern wondered how the abyss he was going to get inside. He saw no windows, just rows and rows of columns. The columns themselves were too smooth and wide around for him to scale. The giant front doors were closed. They were unguarded but most likely locked and barred from the inside. The roof was triangular, sharp in the middle but nearly flat at the edges, created by a clever interlocking of additional tiles. Two statues loomed on either side of the short white steps leading up into the temple. The left was of a noble-looking man in armor holding a set of scales. The right was a young woman with her arms raised to the heavens as if singing in praise.
“Never abandon as hopeless something you’ve never tried,” he whispered aloud. One of his earlier swordmasters had favored that saying. There was only one place left Haern could check, and that was the roof. So to the roof he went.
He’d taken nothing with him but his cloak and his knife, so Haern did what he could. At full speed, he curved to one side and leapt into the air. He kicked off the statue of a woman, vaulting himself atop the other statue. Not letting his momentum slow, he leapt again, his whole body reaching for the edge of the roof where it was flat.
His fingers brushed it, slipped, and then he was falling.
The front of the temple had large inset sections depicting mountains, fields of grain, and a rising sun. Below those carvings was a second edge jutting out just before the pillars began. Haern banged his elbow against the edge, spun in the air, and then grabbed on. A sharp intake of air was the only cry he made.
He swung one foot up to the ledge, glad for once that he was still somewhat young and small. With his feet turned sideways, he had an inch and a half to stand on. More than enough. He stood upon it, his back to the carvings, and looked down at the street. He saw no one. It seemed whatever activities might be normal for the night, they took place nowhere near the temple.
He was about to turn and jump for the roof when he heard a loud crack from the doors below.
“Hurry,” said a woman’s voice just above a whisper.
“I am,” whispered back a younger girl. Haern’s heart leapt. He recognized that voice. Then the two walked out from underneath him, hand in hand. Haern saw the red hair and knew for certain.
“Shit,” he said, realizing where he still was. For all his efforts to get to the roof, Delysia had come out on her own, and now there was no easy way down…
Haern slipped back down to his fingers, took a deep breath, and then tried to fall forward instead of straight down. The higher up the steps he landed, the better. Luck was with him, for he landed on the very top step, giving him plenty of room to roll. His knees still ached, and there was no way for him to remain silent, but that was better than a painful tumble down the sharp edges of the steps.
Knowing time was short, he ran down the steps, chasing after the two women who had hurried north from the temple. As if fleeing, the two ducked between some stores. Haern felt his heart stutter. The way the older woman had led, it seemed like she’d dragged Delysia. Something wasn’t right at all. He sprinted faster, his dagger drawn.
W hy are we going this way?” Delysia asked once they hurried into the alley.
“I think I heard someone following us,” Madelyn said, glancing back toward the street. “We have to be careful. Come closer.”
Delysia realized the woman had taken out her dagger. Why had she taken out her dagger? And if she was afraid of someone following, why was she keeping her back to the road?
“I want to go back,” she said, stepping further into the alley. “I
don’t want to go anymore.”
“I can’t have anyone warned,” Madelyn said. The compassion drained from her eyes. “Your father was always a fool, Delysia. Kindness made him blind, and you’re no different.”
Delysia turned to the run but the alley dead-ended at a thick wooden wall connecting the two stores. She spun back around and put her back to the wall. Madelyn stood in the center of the alley, dagger still in hand. There was no way past her; no way out.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said, tears growing in her eyes.
“No,” Madelyn said. “You won’t.”
Something knocked the dagger from her hand. Madelyn’s mouth opened, and then a dirty boot struck the side of her face. Delysia let out a small cry as Madelyn went down, her hands outstretched to slow her fall. She rolled when she hit the ground, but Haern was already there, scooping up the dagger and kicking her in the stomach.
“How dare you try to hurt her,” Haern whispered, his whole body trembling with rage. He held a dagger in each hand, and he looked more than ready to use them. Madelyn sat on her knees and glared.
“Don’t,” Delysia shouted. “Please, let her go.”
Haern glanced at her, and Madelyn took the chance to run. Haern looked back, clearly debating.
“Please stay,” Delysia insisted, and that was enough to keep him with her.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, sliding both daggers into his belt.
“I was…I was doing something dumb. I’m sorry. I should get back.”
“Wait,” Haern said, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. Delysia tensed, but his touch was soft. He held her there, neither moving, only their eyes alive as they stared at one another.
“Please stay,” he said.
“We’ll be caught,” Delysia said.
She heard the boy laugh.
“No we won’t,” he said, sliding his grip down from her wrist to her hand. Then they were running, her heart hammering, and suddenly she was shimmying up the side of a house and onto the roof.
22
W e’ll be safe here,” Haern said. They sat cross-legged before each other. The city stretched all around them, enclosed within the great wall. He gestured to his right, where the street was safely hidden from view.
“No one can see us passing by,” he said.
Delysia nodded. She rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling both cold and afraid. The past few days were a whirlwind of pain and confusion, and all she wanted was to curl up somewhere warm and sleep. Yet Haern kept looking at her with his blue eyes, so intense in their desperation. He wanted something of her, but what, she didn’t know.
“Why did you come for me?” she asked, hoping to pry it out of him quickly so she could go back to the temple.
“Because I… it’s about your father.”
Delysia winced.
“What about him, Haern?”
Haern sighed and looked away. His mask helped hide his emotions, but it didn’t erase them completely. He was reluctant and embarrassed. Delysia felt her fear hardening in her stomach. Whatever Haern had to say, she sensed she would not like hearing it.
“I helped kill your father,” Haern said suddenly.
Delysia didn’t move. Her thoughts returned to that day, but she remembered no boy. She only remembered tears, the surprised cries of the crowd, and then running far away so she could cry alone. Still, Haern’s ache was too real to be a lie.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you help?”
“Because my father asked it of me,” Haern said. “That’s not all, Delysia. I had a mission, one I failed. You were my target. I was to kill you.”
Delysia suddenly felt paralyzed with fear. She thought back to her talk with him in the pantry. What if she had been a fool to let him out? He’d been stopped on his way to finish the job, and now here she was, helpless atop a roof with no way off other than a long fall.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, praying to Ashhur that the boy didn’t draw his daggers.
“I followed you that day,” Haern said. “You didn’t see me, but I followed. I listened to you pray. It broke my heart. Do you understand? Listening to you cry, listening to you pleading so helplessly with your god, I couldn’t…”
He stood and turned away.
“I couldn’t let myself become such a monster. I’ve come close. I won’t do it.”
Delysia stood. The trouble inside him was so great, and her inner nature won out. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder and turned him back to face her. Tears were in his eyes, wetting the cloth wrapped tight about his head.
“I want to know how to pray like you did,” he said. “I want to have that kind of faith. Your father was dead, and you still believed. I’ve tried, but people died. I feel hollow and fake. What is it you know? What is it you do? Please, tell me, Delysia. I need this. I need something to cling to, otherwise I’ll be lost forever. I’ll become what my father wishes me to be.”
Delysia blushed. She felt so young and foolish, and yet he was coming to her for help? She tried to think of all her father’s lectures. The memory of his kind words and warm smile only hurt her more.
“Give me your hands,” she said. There was one thing she remembered, one moment that nothing could ruin. It was the nightly prayers her father had said with her whenever she felt scared or lost. Tears in their eyes, she knelt, her fingers still interlocked with Haern’s. The boy knelt with her.
“Bow your head,” she told him.
“What now,” he asked.
“Close your eyes.” He did, and then he waited.
“Think of everything you love,” she said. “And pray it safe. Don’t think about to whom you pray. Don’t worry about whether it’ll be heard or not. Just pray.”
Haern opened his eyes and looked at her.
“What if I have nothing to love?” he asked.
The question pierced Delysia’s heart. She’d once asked that same question to her father after they’d had a bad fight. She gave Haern the same answer he had given. Never in her life had she missed her father so much.
“Then you can love me,” she said.
Her body lurched forward. Her mouth opened in shock. Blood seeped down the front of her dress as she fell, a small arrow shaft sticking out of her back.
“No!” Haern screamed, catching her in his arms. All around him men leapt to the roof. Two houses over, a man in a gray cloak lowered his handheld crossbow and approached.
“Stay away from me,” Haern screamed, holding Delysia in one arm and drawing his dagger with the other. Members of the Spider Guild surrounded him, their weapons drawn. None approached, all waiting for the man from afar who’d wielded the crossbow.
Haern glanced behind him, seeing his casual approach. He knew who it was. He begged it wasn’t, but he knew.
Thren leapt across the last gap and landed atop the house. He still held the small crossbow.
“You have disobeyed me for the last time,” Thren said. His voice was overwhelmed with rage. “Rooftop prayers? Hiding away with a priestess? What is the matter with you!”
“Stay back!” Haern screamed again, tears streaming down his covered face. Thren paid him no heed. He walked over and yanked the mask off Haern’s face, not at all worried by the dagger his son held.
“You disappoint me,” Thren said.
Something hard struck Haern from behind. His eyes rolled into his head, and then he collapsed atop Delysia’s body.
Kayla stood behind him, a rock wrapped in leather hanging limp from her hand. Thren nodded, thankful that she’d sapped the boy.
“Carry him,” Thren ordered his men. “Leave the girl.”
Two of them hoisted the boy onto their shoulders and made their way toward the edge of the house. A group of three waited in the street below, catching Aaron when they lowered him down.
“Where are we taking him?” Kayla dared ask.
“These foolish notions need curing,” Thren said as he put away the crossbow. �
�Ashhur is a disease infecting my son, and it seems I am incapable of removing it on my own.”
Kayla followed the logic to its horrific end.
“You’ll give him to the priests of Karak,” she said.
Thren glanced over to her.
“I do not like it either, but it must be done,” he said. “They’ll crush his faith in Ashhur, purify him. I’m taking back my heir.”
At that, he leapt off the roof to join the rest of his men. Kayla glanced back at the girl with red hair.
“Damn it, Aaron,” she said. “I didn’t know!”
Thren had ordered her to follow Aaron about. Once he’d stopped at the temple, she’d returned. Part of her had hoped he’d be gone by the time they returned, and he had, but not far enough. Thren had found him, and even worse, found him with the daughter of that idiot priest Kayla had killed. The blood spilling across the roof was her fault.
She knelt down and touched the girl’s neck, startled by the slow pulse she felt. The girl was alive.
“You owe me,” Kayla whispered as she hoisted the girl onto her shoulder.
She was being stupid. She knew she was being stupid. Her survival instincts screamed to keep her hands clean and let the girl die. But she couldn’t. Once Aaron found out she was the one who had followed him, she couldn’t imagine facing the sorrow and betrayal in his eyes.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “If your god is real, then hopefully he’ll realize I’m down here needing all the help I can get.”
Carefully she climbed down to the street, Delysia’s body slung over her shoulders. The whole while she did her best to ignore whatever torture awaited Aaron within the temple of the dark god.
T hren was one of very few who knew the location of Karak’s temple. Once they were near, he took Aaron into his arms and ordered the rest to return home. The coming day and night would be the most important day in the past five years. His men needed to be fresh, and he was already straining them enough. All because of his son. All because of Ashhur.
“I see through your illusions,” said Thren when he stood before the thick iron gates surrounding what looked to be a luxurious but empty mansion. The image wavered. The fence opened on its own. Thren stepped through, walking along the smooth obsidian path leading up to an enormous pillared building of darkest black. The skull of a lion hung above the door, its teeth stained with blood.
A Dance of Cloaks s-1 Page 28