Hers to Claim (Verdantia Book 4)

by Patricia A. Knight

  “The same thought has occurred to me. Though I have cudgeled my brain, I cannot think of anyone who would be so insane as to threaten the entire city of Nyth Uchel simply to attack me.” Hel pulled the tumbler toward him and ran a fingertip around its lip. “How did Steffania become infected?”

  DeKieran raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. She doesn’t know. It could have been a dozen different ways. That living nightmare you sent us to...” Ramsey stopped speaking and exhaled through pursed lips, swearing softly. “Fuck.” He tossed the contents of the glass down his throat. The decanter clinked on the rim of Ram’s tumbler as he poured another. “The infection overtook her with such virulence I feared she would succumb before I could return to Nyth Uchel.”

  Hel rubbed his jaw and blew out a heavy breath. “Ram…I don’t know what to say. If that had been Nia? I’m sor—”

  “Don’t. I don’t blame you. I should have been able to protect her.” A small silence settled in the room. Ram swallowed the second glass in a single gulp and poured another. He motioned to the volume in front of Hel. “What do you search for in these scratchings of the long dead?”

  “I’ve pulled the old architectural drawings of Torre Bianca. Perhaps there is some hidden room, some place lost to time. Our inspection of the tower walls found nothing.” Hel sipped at his drink, rolling the likor around in his mouth before swallowing.

  Ramsey rocked his chair onto its back legs and drummed his fingers on its arms. “You have examined every bit of exposed stone?”

  “Exhaustively.”

  Long minutes passed.

  “When was the tower built?”

  Hel frowned. “Nuovo Terra Solar 4142. At the start of the First Tetriarch.”

  “So…over four hundred years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough time for many layers of dirt and debris to build up and obscure Torre Bianca’s original foundation stones.”

  Hel straightened in his chair. “Damnation, I’m a blighted idiot.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” With a crooked smile, Ramsey raised his glass in a toast and tossed the contents down his throat. This time, Hel joined him.

  ~~~

  Hel nodded at Maddie as she entered the comfortable sitting-room attached to his and Adonia’s bedchamber the next morning and immediately regretted the action. Some overly-ambitious drummer beat a timpani inside his head. Movement quickened the pounding from one-quarter to triple time. His and Ramsey’s drunken stagger from Torre Bianca back to the castle in the wee hours of the morning had required a joint effort—each held the other upright. Hel hoped Ram’s head punished him worse than his own. “Madelyn, Lady DeCorvus still sleeps. The Goddess willing, she will sleep all morning. How is Lady DeKieran?”

  “She woke briefly last night when Lord DeKieran returned but still slept comfortably when I looked in on her this morning.”

  “Tell Lady DeCorvus I am at the tower. Send her to me when she wakes.” At the maid’s nod, Hel left a peacefully sleeping Adonia. The cold outside air helped to clear his head and the sight of Ramsey, Bernard and a work party of men grouped with shovels and pick axes at the foot of Torre Bianca cheered him. He held only the vaguest memory of directing Bernard to do something last night. It had been years since he’d worked his way to the bottom of a decanter of Pottsdim and, from the pounding in his head, many years would pass before he tried it again.

  As he strode toward the group, Ram and Bernard stood to the side in close discussion. Ramsey looked Hel’s way with something less than a welcome on his gaunt face. “How’s your supply of bootblack?”

  “What in the seven hells are you on about?”

  “Bernard tells me your time-honored rite, those ancient Engalian words I so carefully memorized, you know—the ones to save Verdantia and your gods-be-damned way of life—are nothing more than a list of—”

  The smile on Hel’s face broadened at the ill-disguised annoyance in Ramsey’s voice. “You said it yourself. On that basic level, the words don’t matter as long as you concentrate on the desired result. Rest assured it is my favorite formula for bootblack. I didn’t part with it lightly.”

  “Entertained by that thought, were you?”

  “I find my amusements where I can.”

  Every muscle in Ramsey’s clenched jaw worked but he never shifted from his casual, cross-armed stance.

  Hel finally tamed his ear-to-ear grin and pointed to the work party. “Backing out?”

  “Not when you are in such dire need for results.” Ramsey grabbed a pickaxe and rested it on his shoulder. “How’s your head?”

  “Never better. How’s yours?”

  “Just fine.”

  Hel thought he heard a groaned, “Fuck!” when Ramsey’s blade bit into the hard-pack soil but his own head hurt too much to jibe at the man.

  After several hours of intensive labor, Hel and Ramsey leaned on their picks and watched as the final course of stone began to emerge from the hard scrabble packed at the tower’s base. Both men’s gazes sharpened when deep cuts in the thick building blocks turned into chiseled cursive script and the crew of men worked with renewed frenzy.

  Ramsey snorted. “Of course, it’s in Engalian. Another ancient recipe for bootblack?”

  “No…by the seven hells, man. You were right.”

  “Hurt to admit that?”

  “Actually, yes. But, it happens so rarely I’ll survive.”

  As the broad swirls and angular cuts into the stone revealed themselves, Hel read them aloud.

  Beneath her feet the raven finds them,

  the mighty asleep from ages gone.

  High in her keep the raven binds them;

  to evil’s bane and a new light’s dawn.

  Hel turned to Ramsey. “Adonia. Now.”

  ~~~

  “My lady, there is a messenger for you. Julian Goodman urgently requests your attendance on his wife. The messenger awaits your return with him.”

  Adonia looked up from the remains of a small breakfast she had consumed, un-tasted. Nothing on the plate seemed to warrant more attention than mere consumption. Adonia had looked in on Steffania; she rested peacefully, no signs of the fading, thank the Goddess. Now, she intended on joining Hel at Torre Bianca. The crisis of the last three days had intensified their connection, and she felt the loss of him the moment she awoke alone in their bed. “Julian Goodman? Is he someone important to Hel?”

  Maddie nodded. “Not Julian, so much as his wife, Tessa. Tessa Goodman partnered Prince DeHelios in the rites to re-energize the diaman crystal after the death of Lady Athena. If not for Mistress Goodman, all that remained of Nyth Uchel and those who lived within her would have perished to the soul-wraiths. It is impossible to overstate the debt our people owe her.”

  An upwelling of an unwelcome emotion ambushed Adonia. She’d never before felt the cutting edge of this sharp blade, but she knew the pain immediately for what it was. Jealousy. “So Mistress Goodman would take precedence over my finding the prince at Torre Bianca?”

  “I would think Prince DeHelios would want every courtesy extended to her, my lady.”

  “Is Mistress Goodman pretty?”

  “Surpassing.”

  “And she partnered him for over three years? Exactly how close was the prince to Mistress Goodman?” Adonia mumbled under her breath.

  Maddie’s observant eyes softened. “Oh, my Lady…nothing like what you are thinking. He never took her to the Chambre Cristalle. He never showed her Grotta D’oro, and he certainly never insisted she sleep in his bed nor picked out dresses for her. Theirs was a working relationship of mutual respect, but that is all.”

  “I cannot imagine any woman who received the attentions of Prince DeHelios could remain unaffected.” Adonia busied herself with her tea.

  “Perhaps on Tessa Goodman’s part warmer emotions grew. I can’t say. The prince was never more than pleasantly courteous. I never saw him look at her the way he looks at you—as if dawn has broken an endle
ss night and you are the rising sun.”

  “He looks at me like that?”

  The young servant smiled tenderly. “It brings joy to all of us who witnessed his suffering. For years, he was as frozen as the land.”

  Adonia shoved her teacup and her unbidden jealousy away. “Tell the messenger I’m coming.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Lady DeCorvus, you came...and alone. I didn’t think he would allow it. I am Julian Goodman.”

  Adonia nodded at the unkempt, blond-headed man who opened the door at her knock and ushered her into the neat, isolated home some distance from the castle. The warmed air held the sour smell of corruption. “Sir. Of course I came. All Nyth Uchel owes you and your wife a great debt.”

  “A debt that can never be repaid.”

  The bitter tones of the man’s voice alerted Adonia and she stopped her examination of the well-appointed dwelling with a frown and returned her attention to Julian Goodman. He had closed the sturdy entrance door firmly and turned a key in the door, locking them in. Of middle height and weight, the man’s red-rimmed eyes held something akin to hatred or madness as he turned and faced her.

  A thread of disquiet niggled at Adonia as Goodman removed the key from the lock and tucked it in his pocket. “Where is Mistress Goodman? Will you take me to her?”

  “She’s through this hall. Come.” His beefy hand closed around her wrist, and he strode across the room, jerking Adonia forcibly behind him.

  “Please! Mister Goodman, you are hurting me. Such force isn’t necessary. I’m coming.” He didn’t release her nor lessen his grip.

  With a growl, Julian opened a door at the far end of the hall and shoved her into a frozen bedroom. Condensation from her breath created white mist in the air. The stench of the chamber stung her nostrils and lungs. Even in the frigid air, there was no mistaking the reek of someone dead several days. The filtered light that made its way through closed draperies revealed the figure of a woman on a bed, and Adonia immediately went to her. Her cursory glance at her patient confirmed her thought.

  “I don’t understand. Mister Goodman, your wife no longer draws breath, nor has for some time it appears. I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for her.”

  “Oh yes, she is quite dead. May she burn in the seven hells. He inflicted his twisted lusts upon her and perverted her—made her crave his sort of warped usage. Did he think I would touch her polluted flesh?” Insanity stared at Adonia out of Goodman’s wild eyes. “No one, not a single soul in this vile city voiced a protest at his actions. They didn’t care about his defilement of my wife as long as they were safe.” Goodman’s voice hissed a whisper of menace. “Well, I’ll send them all to the seven hells right along with that whore. It’s too late for him to stop it.”

  A horrid sense of unease assaulted Adonia. This entire situation was…off. “I don’t understand. I am sorry for your loss, but why did you summon me?”

  “Because I am going desecrate you as he did Tessa, and then I am going to kill you.”

  Adonia bolted for the bedroom door. She got as far as the main room before he tackled her to the carpet.

  ~~~

  “Lady DeCorvus went with Julian Goodman’s messenger, Sir, perhaps thirty minutes ago?”

  Hel stiffened at the name. “Goodman…Nia took Sara with her?”

  “No, my lord…she went alone.” Maddie frowned. “Why? Should she not have gone? I thought—”

  “Too much has happened to ignore. Someone within Nyth Uchel betrays us. I don’t like the timing of this, and Julian Goodman bears no love for me.” Hel couldn’t move fast enough. “Find Lord DeKieran. Send him to Goodman’s.” He sprinted out of their bedroom, praying he was wrong, cursing the debilitating hangover that weakened his limbs.

  It took him far too long to get to the Goodman home. His fist pounded on the entry door while he worked the handle. Locked. He heard Adonia cry out. With a roar of anger, Hel ran at the generous front window and, in a burst of shattered glass, fell into the front room of the house. The sight that met his eyes fulfilled his worst imaginings. The unkempt form of Julian Goodman struggled on top of a frantic Adonia, tearing at her clothing, snarling curses. He had her bared to the waist. Julian raised a burly fist to strike her. Spittle and obscene threats spewed from his mouth.

  “No! Goddess curse you, no!” Hel sprang at Goodman and threw him off Adonia, then turned on the sprawled man in fury. The much smaller Goodman was no match for him. Hel pummeled the man mercilessly, reveling in each heavy thud of his fists meeting flesh until bones broke and blood flew from Goodman’s disarranged features. Mindless anger drove his hammering fists.

  A hand fisted the collar of Hel’s leather tunic and jerked him away from the beating he ferociously administered. With a roar of rage, he turned on whoever had dared interfere.

  Ramsey slammed him hard to his back. “Stop it. You are killing him. Get a hold of yourself.”

  Hel lunged at Ram, rabid with fury, and the two men wrestled. DeKieran’s heavy weight pressed him into the hard wooden floor while he twisted and turned.

  “Damnation, man! Stop fighting me. I’m not your enemy. See to your lady.”

  Goddess, Nia. Hel went limp. “Fuck you, you pestilent bastard. Get off me.”

  Ramsey ground Hel further into the floor and growled, “Fuck you for not protecting her, you arrogant, self-righteous, prick. She’s worth ten of you.” Ramsey cautiously released his hold and, with a final shove for good measure, rose. Hel rolled to his feet and went to Nia leaving Ram to deal with a moaning Goodman prone on the floor.

  Adonia sat slumped against a wall, holding the torn pieces of her dress to her breasts with a blank expression on her face. Hel couldn’t name the emotion that shredded him. He didn’t like it. He never wanted to feel it again. Hel sat beside her and lifted her into his lap. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. He couldn’t stop stroking her, checking for physical injury. She felt slender and desperately fragile. Damn you, Julian Goodman. “Ah, Beauty. Did he hurt you?”

  “Bruises. I tried to fight back, but he was insanely strong. I don’t know what I would have done had you not come.”

  The stifled sobs that Nia bit back tore his insides into a seething mass of white-hot rage, and his gaze returned to the bloody pulp of Julian Goodman’s face as Ramsey lifted the half-dead man to unsteady feet. “Deal with him, DeKieran. If I get near him again, I will kill him.”

  Ramsey jerked his head in a curt acknowledgement. “I have some questions to put to him, then feel free to finish what you started.”

  Hel watched until Ramsey half-dragged, half-carried Julian Goodman through the now open door and out of his sight. He dropped his nose into Adonia’s thick, sweet-smelling hair. “Beauty, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tipped her face to his and kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I knew he despised me, but I never realized the extent of his hatred. Goddess,” he groaned and gathered her to him gently. “I cannot find the words to say how sorry I am this happened.”

  She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm and sniffed. “Don’t listen to Lord Ramsey. It’s not your fault. How can anyone predict the behavior of a mad man?”

  Ramsey. The parallels between himself and Ramsey were too similar to be ignored. The outside world viewed both of them as hardened warriors, apex predators with only a superficial gloss of civilized behavior. Little did the outside world know that two fragile women cradled the lives of those two primal males in their delicate hands. Hel refused to dwell on the outcome should he have arrived a few minutes later. Desolation and rage would have ruled him. “You’ve made another champion for life, Beauty. After the miracle you worked with Ramsey’s wife, the rogue would give you his left nut. I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  Adonia’s shoulders shook gently with amusement, and she snuggled further into him. “And what would I do with Lord Ramsey’s left testicle?”

  Hel wrapped his arms tighter and murmured into her hair, “He mig
ht have been a little more eloquent than that. Something about whatever you need for as long as he breathes. Should something happen to me, remember that.”

  “Mmm. Then don’t let anything happen to you.” She pushed away slightly, and her concerned brown eyes found his. “Goodman said something that worries me. He said he would bring down all of Nyth Uchel, and it was too late to stop it. What did he mean?”

  Hel lifted her off his lap and then stood and helped her to her feet. “I don’t know. But I suspect Ramsey will find out.” With a heavy sigh, he regarded her ruined gown. “I suppose your mynx coat will cover you. I can’t take you through town like this, and there is something I want you to see. Are you really all right?” He peered at her intently.

  Adonia straightened, head held high. “Of course.”

  A smile tugged the corners of his mouth at her tart response. Nia might yield to him, but there was nothing wilting about his beloved.

  An hour later, Nia stood beside him, gazing at the base of Torre Bianca. “What does it say?” He read the passage aloud.

  Beneath her feet, the raven finds them,

  the mighty asleep from ages gone.

  High in her keep, the raven binds them;

  to evil’s bane and a new light’s dawn.

  Hel glanced at Nia’s solemn face when he’d finished. “Now we merely need to decipher its meaning and translate that into practical action.”

  “I should tell you something.” Nia dropped her head. Her voice sounded diffident as if she was not sure of his reaction. “When I heal people stricken by the fading, I do so with the aid of Isolde DeCorvus and the First Tetriarch. They come to me on the metaphysical plane and add their strength to mine. It is the only reason I did not succumb to the darkness. I have grown much stronger since. I could probably stand on my own now, but…”

  “Nia…say that again.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  She peered up at him with a tentative smile. “It sounded so crazy when I said it in my mind. How could I expect you to believe I spoke with a dead queen?” She chuckled softly. “And not recently dead…dead for over four hundred years…and not any queen…the greatest of all our queens, Isolde DeCorvus.” Nia closed her eyes and let her head fall back. “She calls me, daughter of my blood. I suppose that resolves any question of my lineage.” She opened her eyes, and her gaze held his with growing wariness. “Every time I began to say the words, I imagined that look on your face—the one I see right now.”