by K Dowling
He moves to stand at her side, holding out his arm for her to take. Nerani tries to appear calm as she frantically wonders what to do. If she allows him to lead her to the church, surely Emerala will see them approaching. She knows that her impetuous cousin will not be able to resist racing down to the foyer of the great cathedral to stick her nose into trouble. She will be all too curious, and her presence will condemn Nerani before the Guardian.
He will know that she is not really the daughter of a merchant.
He will arrest her and throw her into prison for falsifying her identity.
She could be hanged for her crime.
Nerani’s fingers do not cease to tremble even as she slips them lightly into the crook of his elbow. If General Byron notices her hand quivering upon his arm, he does not acknowledge it. Instead, he smiles graciously down at her as he begins to lead her down the cobblestone street.
The morning has dawned in full about them. Sunlight falls in shaft of radiance between the clustered buildings A few sleepy occupants have stumbled out of their homes to begin their morning routines. Nerani does not notice them—she does not hear them—she is only conscious of the stalwart guardian that walks at her side. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she studies his face. He is staring forward into the street, a cryptic smile twitching in one corner of his lips.
She wonders if she should dismiss him in pretentious irritation. She quickly thinks better of it, realizing that even a wealthy merchant’s daughter would have understanding enough to know the type of power held by the general of King Rowland’s Golden Guard. She is walking with a man who commands the utmost from everyone, regardless of class. He will expect nothing less from her as they say their goodbyes upon the looming grey steps of the cathedral.
“Have you graced the island of Chancey with your presence before?” General Byron’s question startles Nerani out of her panic-stricken thoughts.
“No,” Nerani says, and then realizes that her answer sounded far too blunt. Tugging at her petticoat with her free hand, she adds, “I have not yet had the good fortune to travel with my father.”
General Byron nods, biting the inside of his lip. He tilts his chin upward, glancing towards the rising sun. The golden light spills into his dark brown eyes and he pulls them nearly closed, causing shallow grooves to splinter out across his face. The effect manages to only heighten his charm, and Nerani finds her stomach plummeting in an unfamiliar drop in spite of her clutching terror.
Keeping one eye squeezed shut against the sun, General Byron returns his gaze to her face. “I imagine it must have been quite the experience to be stuck onboard the ship for so long.”
“It was rather cramped,” Nerani agrees, pulling her gaze away from the smile in his eyes. The sky overhead is crisp and clear. Her breathing is beginning to normalize as they walk.
“I don’t believe I caught where you sailed here from.”
The question is asked innocently enough, but Nerani feels her insides clench in fright all the same. Her thoughts pitch about wildly in her brain as she searches for a believable reply.
“Rosanda,” she stutters. Her blue eyes remain trained upon the hem of her gown. Don’t be silly. Raise your chin, you are a lady, she admonishes herself silently. A wry voice deep within her adds, or at least pretending to be one.
“Rosanda?” General Byron repeats, the first hint of suspicion tingeing the edge of his words. They are at the first step of the cathedral. Nerani is certain she can feel Emerala’s eyes boring into her from somewhere above—or does she imagine that? Her skin itches. She fights the urge to fidget.
“Yes, Rosanda.” Nerani forces her gaze to meet the general’s. Her breath catches in her throat as she realizes how close he is. His eyes flicker back and forth across her face in uncertainty.
“There are no merchants here from Rosanda this season,” he says confidently.
“Of course there are.” Nerani tries to laugh and fails. His proximity is unnerving. “My father sailed in just yesterday. Perhaps it is not yet documented.”
The guardians are very precise about the documentation of all foreign ships that sail into port. Still, pirates manage to slip in their midst every year. Why could a merchant ship not have gone unnoticed?
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“No new ships docked in port yesterday, documented or otherwise.”
Nerani swallows. General Byron’s arm drops. Her fingers fall back against her heavy gown.
“Who are you, really?”
“I told you.” Nerani’s voice grows strangled in her throat. Perhaps she has not become a skilled liar after all.
“You didn’t. You gave me no name,” General Byron reminds her.
Panic claws at Nerani’s heart. She stands immobilized before him and wonders what her next move should be. She can turn and run up the steps. Once she is within the walls of the church, she will be safe. It will not matter whether or not he discovers her to be a Cairan.
He is staring at her with such intent, waiting quietly for her to provide him with some sort of response. She clears her throat, her mouth falling open. No answer rises to her lips. Fear bubbling in her chest, she turns to run. She does not make it up the first step before she feels her hand catch in his.
“Wait.” There is no trace of menace in his voice, and yet Nerani feels herself tremble all the same. He draws her back slowly, forcing her to turn and face him. Her pearl gown trails down the steps like water. “Why are you running?”
“I—” Whatever Nerani had been getting ready to say dies upon her tongue. The door to the cathedral is wrenched open with an ugly squeal of the rusting hinges.
“Get your hands off of her,” spits an all too familiar voice. Nerani flinches, heat rising into her cheeks. She does not need to turn her head to imagine the picture that General Byron now sees before him—Emerala the Rogue, her green eyes as dark and as wild as her unruly black mane, her lips peeled back in a feral sneer.
“Rogue,” General Byron says, startled.
“Unhand her.” Emerala’s voice is low and dangerous. Nerani glances upwards at the general and finds him staring back down at her. Slow realization steals across his face.
“So you are a Cairan,” he mutters, as if confirming a previously held suspicion. His grip upon her hand slackens. His fingers brush against hers as he withdraws his grasp.
“Yes,” Nerani admits. She takes a shaky step backwards.
“You can’t harm her,” snaps Emerala. “Not once she’s within the cathedral—not once she claims holy sanctuary.”
Silence hangs between Nerani and General Byron as she lingers upon the steps before him. His searching gaze has not left her face.
“Claim holy sanctuary,” Emerala’s voice hisses down at her.
“Sanctuary,” Nerani echoes. Her voice cracks.
General Byron clears his throat, blinking as though he has been startled out of a trance. “No harm will come to her.” His eyes have fallen back into unfathomable darkness. His jaw is locked. His stature is stalwart and cold. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“Of course she hasn’t,” Emerala retorts. Nerani turns and flees up the stairs. Her heart pounds in her ears as she slows to a stop by Emerala’s side. General Byron is still watching them closely, his golden clad silhouette out of place upon the cool, grey steps.
“Emerala the Rogue,” he says. He gathers his hands together in the small of his back. His shoulders are erect. Nerani feels something freeze within her. He knows her name. “You are the reason I came here this morning. I received a tip regarding your whereabouts last night. It came from one of your own people, actually.” He pauses, smiling, and adds, “I suppose there is little honor among outlaws and criminals.”
Emerala’s lips curl into a sneer. “Do you have a point?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then make it.”
Nerani cringes at the defiance that punctuates her cousin’s words. She wishes E
merala would be more respectful. She is already in enough trouble as it is.
“His Majesty has placed a warrant out for your arrest. You are a wanted woman, Emerala the Rogue. The cathedral may keep you safe for now, but watch your step. If so much as one toe touches ground that is within King Rowland’s province, you’ll be mine.”
Emerala offers him a small curtsy. “I look forward to the day, General,” she says with a smirk. She grabs hold of Nerani’s sleeve and tugs. “Let’s go.”
Quietly, and without another look at the general, Nerani allows Emerala to lead her away. She jumps as the great doors to the cathedral fall closed at her back. A cloud of dust is kicked up around her feet. She perches numbly in the foyer, shuffling her feet upon the cold marble floors. A vast multitude of candles are lit. She stares at the dancing flames as they flutter like a silent symphony, and thinks that the very room seems alive. The walls dance between shadow and light.
“Why were you talking to that pig?”
Emerala is suddenly in her face, her angry glare consuming her field of vision. Her curls are outlined in warm orange light.
“I couldn’t help it, could I?” Nerani asks, feeling unnaturally defensive. “How am I supposed to simply dismiss an officer of the Golden Guard?
“I did.”
Nerani scowls. “Yes, and you have a warrant out for your arrest.” She scoffs in disbelief. “A warrant! Roberts is going to be furious.”
“He already knows,” Emerala says, dismissing her cousin’s concern with a shrug. She studies Nerani with conviction. Nerani places a shaking hand upon her cheek. Her skin is burning.
Placing a hand upon her hip Emerala asks, “What is wrong with you? You’re the color of a tomato.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Nerani hesitates before admitting, “He was kind to me.”
Emerala’s eyes widen into perfect circles. “Don’t be mad, Nerani. He didn’t know who you were. He would never have given you a second glance had he known you were nothing more than gypsy scum.”
“Don’t say that,” Nerani snaps, feeling irritation with her cousin taking the place of her nerves.
“It’s true, that’s what he sees us as. Scum. Filth. He wasn’t kind to you, he was kind to the woman he thought you were.”
Nerani sighs. Her hand drops down to her side. “I know that. It’s only that I wasn’t in any danger until you showed up, that’s all.” She did not come here to pick a fight with Emerala. She came here to keep her cousin company. The last thing she needs is for things to be tense between them. She is certain Emerala is already going mad with boredom. The echoing cathedral is lonely and dark and Emerala never did well indoors.
Already, Emerala has lost interest in the conversation. She wanders away, her eyes taking in her surroundings with subdued interest. Her fingers run lazily along the stone garments of a stern looking statue—a saint, maybe, or perhaps a god. Nerani never cared much for religion. All those that claimed to be godly have always scorned her, or meant her harm.
She stares after Emerala. “Where are you going?”
“To the bell tower,” Emerala calls over her shoulder. “The archdeacon has promised to let me help him ring the bells at noon if I stop harassing the nuns.”
Nerani rolls her eyes. The last bit of trepidation falling away from her, she allows herself to follow her cousin farther into the shaded depths of the cathedral.
CHAPTER 14
Emerala the Rogue
It has not even been a full day, and already Emerala is bored out of her mind. It seems the most exciting thing to happen to her is destined to be her brief interaction with General Byron earlier that morning.
She slumps down further in her pew. Her backside is aching. How long has she been sitting here in the dusty shadows? She stares directly in front of her, watching the tinted sunlight fall down in fragments through the stained glass window overhead. It is pretty enough, she supposes, but artwork has never captivated her interest. It is manmade. Stagnant. She much prefers the sea—its surface always glittering in the light, always changing its shape.
Nerani wanted to spend all morning looking at stained glass—all morning wandering from one dusty corner of the cathedral to the other, oohing and ahhing and commenting on the details. It was laughable, really. The hand painted images depicted holy saints and famous legends of the god of the Westerlies—all things that Emerala is certain her cousin knows nothing about.
She sulks, running her fingers through the snarl of curls atop her head. Her stomach growls hungrily. Rob said that he would be back with food, but he never said when. She is getting impatient.
“There you are!”
Nerani’s voice is cringe inducing in the silence that has settled upon Emerala’s ears. It has been nearly an hour since the Elders made their last prayerful round, the smoking ball of incense swinging consistently back and forth. Emerala glances over her shoulder to see Nerani with her hands upon her hips. Her chest heaves a sigh of relief beneath her low-cut pearl bodice. Her blue eyes are wide with worry. Emerala knows that Nerani has been dreaming up the most plausible story to tell Rob when he returned and demanded to know how she managed to lose Emerala once again.
I can’t get very far, Rob, Emerala thinks bitterly. You finally have me in a cage.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“Have you?” Emerala sits up straighter in the pew. “What a coincidence. I’ve been avoiding you everywhere.”
Nerani scowls down at her. “I’m not the one stuck in here, Emerala. I can come and go as I please if you don’t want me around.”
“You can do no such thing. I know Rob made you promise to stay and keep an eye on me while he’s gone.”
“He did,” Nerani admits. “Anyway, he’s back now. He’s been looking for you as well.”
Emerala jumps up from the seat, ignoring her aching backside. “Where is he?”
They find Rob waiting in one of the prayer rooms. The palms of his hands are upturned within his lap. His eyes are closed. He looks tired, as though he has not slept. Emerala thinks as she enters that the prayer room looks more like a cell than anything, with the wrought iron bars and the windowless walls. She supposes it is suiting. After all, the cathedral has become her holding cell in a matter of hours. She frowns at the thought, glaring down at her toes.
“Roberts.” Nerani is shaking his arm lightly. He startles. His eyelids flutter open. “I found her.”
His green eyes drift to Emerala’s face, his brows lowering in consternation. “Where have you been?”
“What do you mean, where have I been?” Emerala asks icily. “I’ve been here—wasting away to dust.”
Rob purses his lips and says nothing, clearly deciding not to pursue an argument. Emerala feels relief rush through her. She is tired of arguing—it seems to be all they do lately. It was certainly all they did the previous night, as he berated her for having climbed the post in the square.
It was none of your concern, Emerala, he shouted. His voice echoed against the barren stone walls. The eyes of the saints followed them as they paced among the low-burning candles. Cutting him down didn’t bring him back to life!
No, she retorted angrily, but it was the right thing to do. You would have done the same, Rob, don’t try to deny it.
She blinks, remembering. She tries to decide if it was worth it. She exhales deeply, her lungs deflating. The air tastes stale upon her tongue. Already, she is beginning to forget what her motivation had been. What has she accomplished? Nothing. But she will never admit that. Not out loud, anyway.
“Roberts the Valiant?”
An unfamiliar man has appeared in the prayer room with them. Unnerving, Emerala thinks, scowling darkly at the stranger. She had not seen or heard him enter. He is tall—uncommonly so—and the buttons of his tight red doublet look as though they are about to pop off.
Rob runs a palm down the length of his tired face. “Hello, again.”
&n
bsp; “Your audience is requested,” grumbles the stranger.
Emerala feels thoroughly confused. She stares back and forth between the man and her brother. Is this the secret he has been keeping from her? It is part of it, anyway—it must be. She is certain that she and Rob know all of the same people, and this man is not one of them. She fidgets; growing excited, and tries to remain still. Next to her, Nerani appears just as lost as she. She chews absently at a hangnail upon her pinky, her blue gaze studying the stranger with unabashed curiosity.
Before them, Rob has risen from his seat. He shoots a sideways glance at his sister and his cousin.
“I have some business to take care of. You two stay here.”
“But you’ve only just returned,” Nerani protests.
“And you promised us food,” Emerala reminds him, wondering if anyone else can hear her stomach growling.
Rob is about to open his mouth and offer a rebuttal when the stranger speaks. “Your sister’s presence is requested as well.”
“Really?” Emerala asks at the same time as Rob. Their gazes meet and he scowls. She resists the sudden, childlike urge to stick out her tongue.
“What about me?” Nerani inquires. Her blue eyes are wide with apprehension. Emerala knows she is dreading being left to her own devices amid the formidable stone cathedral. It is getting dark outside. The light is fading from the stained glass windows. In the darkness, the innards of the church are transformed. The shadows take on different shapes—darker shapes. She would not like to be left alone, either, and she is much braver than Nerani.
Before them, the stranger eyes Nerani impassively. “Are you the cousin?”
“I am.”
“I suppose an exception can be made,” the stranger assents, staring into the shadowed space above Nerani’s head. “Follow me, all of you.”
Emerala and Nerani exchange silent glances as they fall into step behind the strange man and Rob. They are led through an unassuming doorway that sits concealed beyond a vast marble pillar. From there, they descend a dimly lit and creaking staircase. The air is cold against the skin of Emerala’s exposed arms. She shivers, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.