Over eighteen years later, Lisen’s continued wellbeing while secreted away at Solsta, the success of her stay on Earth, the connections made and the lessons learned there that would guide her a lifetime, had justified every risk taken along the way. Eloise marveled at how Lisen had returned from her other-world exile as a fearless driving force compelled to push her way through unyielding obstacles. She would approach the challenges to come without flinching, at least not outwardly, and that was all that mattered in the end—how others perceived a leader’s strength, not the weaknesses hidden deep within.
Time. Time to take my place upon the stage, Eloise thought. Time to place herself in the midst of it all and focus the watcher’s attention on herself and away from Ariannas. She rose and stepped out into the sun. Its warmth touched her skin but failed to reach her soul. She trudged up the hill to the square before the Keep and then to the Keep’s broad stairway. The funeral was over, and although the holders, councilors and other dignitaries were momentarily holed up in their quarters in the old palace, they would soon make their way to the Keep for the reception. Let them come.
She sat down at the foot of the stairs. Just as I pictured it, she thought. The sun high in the sky burning with more heat than customary for a February day and the square quiet for now, waiting as well.
The doors to the old palace opened, as she’d foreseen it, and Nalin Corday stepped out heading towards the stable. He would leave Avaret to reunite with Lisen and her companions, but there Eloise’s vision grew blurry. It was like this for her with the future. Clouds surrounded her loved ones and obscured the picture. She had always been able to see Lisen leaving Solsta, but she’d been unable to see much of anything past that. The presence of her niece, Jozan, blocked Eloise’s view, blinded her to the events occurring now and in the next week or two. Beyond that, Lisen emerged again, apparently safe, no longer blocked by Jozan’s shadow, but, for some reason, still hazy about the edges. It was damned frustrating but, unfortunately, unavoidable; no sooth could see past their relatives.
The old palace doors opened again, and this time a regal woman with long dark hair and a hard expression on her face stepped out. Eloise recognized her—Lorain Zanlot—and her appearance signaled the beginning. Eloise stood up and ascended the stairs to the third step from the top—high enough to be seen but with a little distance between herself and the guards. As Zanlot started up the stairs, the doors across the square flew open once again, and this time several nobles exited the building. Now.
“My lords!” Eloise shouted, feeling reckless and free. Zanlot glared at Eloise as she stepped past the hermit but said nothing. The others looked up to Eloise as they approached, and she allowed the One to consume her. “Within these walls,” she intoned and gestured to the Keep behind her, “a tyrant sits. He has already committed the unspeakable—assassination—and now he will move forward with plans to destroy the hermits. I admit, we hermits can be a frightening lot, so likely many of you will look elsewhere when he rids Garla of its spiritual defenders. But how long after that will he strike out at you? How long will it be before he decides the Council, the governing body of this great land of yours, threatens his power and should be disbanded? How long, I ask, until he steps in to demand full entitlement to your holdings just as he will, by then, have reclaimed our havens as his own?”
Many had paused to listen, and Eloise allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. To her audience, however, she remained forthright and unyielding.
“You shake your heads. You think I’m mad. Perhaps I am. But I have seen the future. If you allow Ariel Ilazer to continue on unchecked, he will destroy the hermits, he will destroy the Council, and, eventually, he will destroy Garla and us all!”
“Come, Hermit,” a young male guard whispered in Eloise’s ear. “No need for this today.”
“It has been written,” Eloise continued, ignoring the guard, “that the deliverer shall come from the hands of the blessed, through the heart of the fire, and bring down the tyrant. And in that day it shall be sister against brother!”
“All right, Hermit,” the guard said, grabbing Eloise’s arm. “Move on.”
“They want to silence me!” Eloise yelled out as she pulled away from the guard. “But I will not be silenced!”
“I will arrest you,” the guard whispered in her ear. “I don’t want to, but I will if you force me to.”
“Did you hear that?!” Eloise shouted out, and the guard grabbed her arm again, this time more brutally. “He’s arresting me! I’m just a poor hermit—” But a familiar voice interrupted her.
“Eloise?”
She looked out into the gathering nobles moving up the stairs and past her, most pretending they neither heard nor saw a thing, and her eyes met those of her brother, Elsba. She watched, frozen with apprehension, as Elsba marched over to where she and her captor stood. Damn, she thought. Why does the Gift deny me access to my family?
“What are you doing with this hermit, Sergeant?” Elsba asked.
No, Elsba. Don’t, Eloise thought. If I’d known, I could have warned him to stay away.
“She was speaking out against the new Empir,” the guard replied.
“You know who I am, do you not?” Elsba asked.
“Aye, my lord. You’re Holder Tuane.”
“Don’t interfere, my lord,” Eloise cautioned in not much more than a whisper, hoping that her brother would allow her the temporary anonymity she required to make this work. “Please.”
Elsba stared at his sister, and Eloise could imagine what he must be thinking. His crazy sister doing what she did best, complicating everything.
“Do whatever you want with her, Sergeant,” Elsba said finally, dismissing the situation with a flip of his hand. “Who is she to me?”
Eloise let her heart smile while keeping her lips impassive as she watched her brother turn and walk away. Long ago, she’d explained the limitations of her power to him. Thank the Creators he’d accepted, if not understood, her need. Because once her identity was known, Ariel would set the watcher on her. The less time spent with that one, the better.
And, once her identity was known, her brother would return for her. For now, he’d allow her what she needed—the brief freedom of nameless incarceration. But he loved her, and he wouldn’t let her suffer if there were something, anything he could do to gain her release. He’d fail, but not because he’d failed to try. He’d fail because the presumed Heir-Empir would never willingly let her go.
“Creators forgive me, Hermit,” the sergeant said softly, “but you’ve spoken treason against the Empir. You must come with me.” He began to tug at her arm more firmly.
“You are arresting me?” Eloise asked as she allowed the guard to pull her down the steps and to the side, away from the guests entering the Keep.
“Yes,” he replied.
Eloise smiled broadly. “Good.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A JUG AND A KNOCK
“And another thing,” the captain continued as he and Lisen zigzagged their way through the crowded streets of Halorin.
“What?” Lisen asked impatiently. He was forever lecturing. Even now, late in the afternoon, as the stench of salt water, the reek of fish and the stink of God knew what else aggravated Lisen’s sense of smell to the breaking point, he drove on.
“The knife training,” he replied. “It’s essential to your survival. If anything happens in close quarters, you must be prepared to protect yourself.”
That morning, he’d told her it was time she learned to fight with the knife, and he’d pursued her back and forth all day across the small meadow he’d chosen for their workouts. The knife, she’d learned, was very different from the sword. The sword provided distance and thus served in both defense and offense; the knife was chiefly a weapon of intimacy and swift response.
“I get it,” she snapped back as she stepped over and around the puddles in the street. It had rained briefly earlier, and the cloudy sky looked like the downpour
might resume any minute. “I’ve told you I get it at least three times today.”
“I don’t think you do. Danger lurks everywhere, and I’m not just talking about your brother.” They never used names out in public—one of the captain’s many rules. “You’re vulnerable and it shows.”
“That’s your opinion. I’m better equipped than you think I am,” she said, stomping purposely in one of the puddles for emphasis.
“And you’re willful,” he went on. “I have no idea how you managed so long with the hermits.”
She had never wanted to tell him the truth as badly as she did now, to tell him that she’d spent the last seven years with a family in a “galaxy far, far away” and not with the hermits, but she stalled and lost her nerve. He was too logical, he feared hermit magic, and he’d never believe her.
“If we were jumped right now, what would you do?” he asked.
“I’d let you take care of it.”
“Bad answer.”
“Well, then, I’d run.”
He laughed. “Not a bad tactic given your inexperience. Which is why you must learn how to kill with the knife.”
“Kill?” She stopped and swallowed hard. Smart-ass Valley girl or not, she hadn’t expected that, not after all his high-minded talk about “pride in the practice” when they’d begun this over a week ago. But I should learn, I suppose. He continued forward, and she jogged to catch up with him.
“You must survive,” he said when she reached him. “You can’t allow some misguided sense of passivity to cloud that one principle. You must survive or Garla won’t, and the sacrifices made on your behalf will have been for nothing.”
She thought of the late Empir, and she shivered.
They turned yet another corner and headed down an alley to the back entrance of the Riverside Inn, a place of laughter and drunkenness and an abundance of unpleasant smells. Lisen expected a pirate with eye makeup and dreadlocks to come half-tripping, half-dancing into the main room downstairs, some representative of the law in pursuit. But that was a fantasy; there was no escape from the chase for Lisen of Solsta. Without Jozan, with her uncanny resemblance to Betsy and her innate ability to ease the burden just at the moment life hit its heaviest, Lisen didn’t know how she would have survived. The captain could enlighten her muscles and reflexes, but it was Jozan who lightened her soul.
They ascended the back steps to the entry on the second floor, bypassing the entrance from the street. The ambiance of the raucous crowd downstairs rose up and spilled out around them as the captain opened the door. Down there the innkeeper, Dorfil, an older woman, short and heavy, with cropped, greying red hair and a hearty laugh which revealed her spare assortment of rotting teeth, reigned over her wild subjects. Lisen suspected that a fair amount of coin had exchanged hands between her guardians and Dorfil for the rights to the large room the three of them shared above the main room of the inn. Lisen admired Dorfil; she didn’t take crap from anybody.
Lisen and the captain reached the door to their room, and he knocked in the day’s code. The door flew open revealing Jozan standing on the other side grinning at them. Abruptly, the captain pushed Lisen inside the room and shut and latched the door behind them.
“My lord, when will you remember to ask for the password?” he barked.
“I knew it was you,” Jozan said as she returned to her cot and sat down. “Who else would knock in that absurd fashion?”
“You must ask for the password,” the captain admonished her for what Lisen thought must be the hundredth-and-first time.
“If someone wanted in, a hard kick to the door would do it,” Jozan retorted. “It’s flimsy, and the latch won’t stand up against anyone with two good legs.”
Lisen stood where she was, fidgeting in her still not-right body, and listened as the other two argued. At least it wasn’t her in the hot seat anymore.
“Nevertheless, my lord,” the captain said with a sigh of exasperation, “any hesitation on the other side of that door after you ask will buy you time to prepare.”
“All right, all right. I promise to be more careful.”
“Thank you.” It was a surly concession at best from the captain as he stepped to his cot directly opposite the door. He wanted his mission to succeed, and this required Lisen’s survival. Lisen appreciated his dedication to keeping her alive, but he did tend to overreact.
“I have errands to run,” the captain announced, setting his sword down on his cot but keeping his knife at his side. “I may not return until late.” He started to leave but paused. “And latch the door,” he ordered as he departed. Lisen dutifully stepped over and followed his instructions as soon as he was gone.
“You are the obedient one, aren’t you,” Jozan commented as she rose from her cot and, barefooted, stepped to the small table in the corner.
“I have to trust someone,” Lisen countered.
“Ah, I’m hurt.”
Lisen remained at the door unsure if Jozan were joking or not. But when Jozan did finally turn and face Lisen, her grin and glittering blue eyes gave her away.
“Come here,” Jozan said, raising her hand, its back toward Lisen, its fingers beckoning. “Sit with me. I have something to share with you.”
How could Lisen refuse? How many times had Betsy done the same, made an offer, a dare even, that Lisen couldn’t decline? So she stepped forward to the table and sat down beside the heir.
“I found this today at the market,” Jozan said as she pulled a jug from the chaos that was her pile of belongings and set it on the table between them. “It’s from my family’s vineyard.” She then produced two pewter mugs, presumably procured from the main room below, and slammed them down next to the jug. “And if the merchant I purchased it from was telling the truth, it’s from one of our finer vintages.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference,” Lisen said with a smile, and Jozan laughed.
“The Tuane wines are like ambrosia,” Jozan boasted. “Whether you can tell the difference or not, you’ll know your palate has been blessed with something quite rare.” And with that, Jozan began pouring the wine into the mugs.
“Oh, that’s enough!” Lisen said as the mug before her began to fill. “I can always have more if I want.”
“If I don’t get to it first.” Jozan raised her full mug. “Go on. Drink up.”
Lisen brought the half-filled mug to her lips and sniffed. The Holts had occasionally allowed her a small glass of wine, at Christmas or at that faculty party they’d hosted this last year. They’d taught her about aroma and color, but in these mugs, she’d never be sure of the color, not to mention how the pewter would affect the smell.
“That’s right,” Jozan said. “Get a good whiff of that sweet perfume.”
Lisen could smell only a hint of sweetness with a touch of vinegar, but with a shrug, she put the mug against her lips and tilted its bottom up to deliver the liquid into her mouth. It arrived with a burst of pungency that rose to her nose. She swallowed quickly and felt it slide down her throat with just a bit of burn and then into her stomach.
“Good, isn’t it?” Jozan asked as she toasted Lisen once again, then took her second swig.
“I suppose,” Lisen replied.
Jozan laughed. “Well, it is, believe me.
“I believe you,” Lisen replied and took a second sip. The burning sensation again accompanied it down her throat. More intoxicating than the wine, though, was how at home Lisen had begun to feel in Jozan’s company. Jozan could draw Lisen out of her homesickness with just a single new reason to laugh.
Lisen continued to sip at the mug, but the level of the liquid remained constant as Jozan kept replenishing the supply. Before long, Lisen found herself feeling warm and jovial, her edges fuzzy and her thinking clouded, but she didn’t care. The importance of everything pressing down on her faded in favor of camaraderie.
“Tell me,” Lisen said.
“Tell you what?” Jozan asked.
“About you. Your life
. It’s got to be less complicated than mine.”
“To you, maybe.” Jozan leaned back in her chair, sighed and rubbed her chin. “Well, my father is a good, honest man. He’s not as tough as my aunt—you know, Hermit Eloise—but he can hold his own.”
“Yes.” Lisen wondered how much longer she could maintain the lie that everything she knew about life came from Solsta. Right now, she, Eloise and Titus were the only ones who knew. Likely only a few would ever know. But it was hard with Jozan because Jozan felt like a friend. “Trust Nalin. And anyone he trusts,” the Empir had told her. And certainly “Nalin” trusted Jozan. No, she’ll think I’m crazy.
“Father never really recovered after Mother’s death.” Jozan paused, her expression thoughtful. “He’s carried on, of course, but Bala and I…Bala, that’s my sister…Bala and I, we see through it.”
“And Bala?” That’s right, Lisen old girl. As long as she’s talking, there’ll be no chance that we’ll blurt it all out.
“She’s three years younger than me and a much better person than I’ll ever be.” Jozan poured herself another mug of wine.
“Then she must be perfect.”
“No, really. She does everything Father asks her to do. She doesn’t do anything he forbids. I’m always breaking the rules, but she…well, she always manages to be the good sister. Father named me the heir years ago, but I think if he ever allowed himself to rethink it, he’d make it Bala.” Jozan nodded as though agreeing with herself.
“You’re too hard on yourself. You don’t see yourself the way other people do.”
Jozan reached out, pushed her index finger down on the table right in front of Lisen. “You haven’t seen me at all.” She stood up and stepped away from the table. “You know how I refuse to ask for the password?” She pointed to the door. “That’s how I am. Set down a rule in front of me, and I’ll flaunt it. I drive Nalin crazy, you know.”
Fractured (Lisen of Solsta Book 1) Page 17