Prophet (Books of the Infinite Book #1)

by R. J. Larson

  Ela’s long dark hair was styled in glossy curls that framed her face and throat. A softly draped gold-embroidered blue mantle and a flowing gold-and-blue tunic, double-tied at the waist, accentuated her graceful form to perfection. The most captivating lady present. But she was pale and clearly nervous. Kien ached to hold her, to tease her and banish her distress. “Ela!” He offered her his hand. Her fingers chilled his.

  “Ela,” Beka said, playing hostess, “have you met Ambassador Ruestock of Siphra?”

  “No.” Ela shrank back as if the ambassador were the last person she wanted to see.

  Ambassador Ruestock, however, seemed genuinely delighted. “Parne’s most beautiful prophet, and the Traceland’s talisman! The gods have blessed my prayers.”

  Ela’s grip tightened, almost cutting off circulation in Kien’s fingers. She shut her eyes. Hard. Kien steadied her. The last time he’d seen her react this way . . . she’d been enduring a vision.

  27

  Ela wanted to scream at Ambassador Ruestock. Despicable flatterer. His gods indeed! The Infinite knew what he’d been praying. And so did she. Ela shuddered and pretended the vision didn’t exist.

  The instant the Siphran ambassador made his elegant excuses and departed, Kien rubbed warmth back into Ela’s hands, fretting over her. “Are you well?”

  “Yes.” Ela ordered herself to be calm.

  Kien leaned down and whispered, “You had another vision?”

  Ela shrugged, refusing to discuss what she’d seen. Beka was so kind to her—so excited over the first formal reception she and Jon were giving as husband and wife in their lovely new home—that Ela mustn’t disappoint her. What was about to happen was probably inevitable. Her Creator’s will must be done. Until the vision happened, however, she wouldn’t think of it.

  “Let’s enjoy this evening,” Ela decided aloud. She smiled at Kien, pleased by his reciprocal grin. With Kien hovering beside her for most of the evening, she devoted herself to Beka’s guests. Answering their questions about the treasure cache. The secret room. The Books of the Infinite. And most heartening, about the Infinite Himself.

  More than once, she glimpsed Rade Lantec brooding amid the crowd, watching her. At last, when they’d finished the light refreshments offered by the Thels’ servants, Kien’s father approached and waved Kien off. “Vanish awhile. Go . . . talk to Jon about destroyers. He wants to race that beast of his and you need to advise him—I can’t discuss the matter because I’ve nothing good to say about the monsters.”

  “Jon wants to race destroyers?” Kien’s gray eyes sparkled. He leaned toward Ela. “Don’t let my father chase you away. I’ll return soon.”

  Ela nodded, grateful for the chance to talk with Rade Lantec. He was studying Ela as if perplexed. She offered him a cautious smile.

  “How should I address you?” he asked.

  Traces of Kien reflected in his eyes, showed in his posture, and echoed in the tones of his voice. Ela said, “You may address me as you wish, sir. I understand your misgivings about me.”

  “Do you?” His quizzical expression too resembled Kien’s.

  Ela couldn’t help giving the man a fond look. “Your son is so like you. I . . .” She stopped, fearing she’d say something foolish. “I pray the Infinite blesses you and your family beyond measure in everything you do.” Probably without her. Ela fought to maintain her composure.

  Rade Lantec said, “You sound as if you’re taking leave of us. Are you?”

  She deliberately shifted the subject. “Sir, if I may . . . You’ve avoided Ambassador Ruestock for weeks. It’s wise of you. Please, for your country’s sake, maintain your silence and inaction. Siphra’s queen is a viper. Soon their military will desert her almost completely. Siphra has been judged and will be—”

  Shock widened the elder Lantec’s eyes. “Who told you all this?”

  “The Infinite.”

  “The Infinite.” Acid edged his courtesy.

  Familiar reaction. “Sir, I know your opinion of Parne and the Infinite. And it’s your right to hold that opinion. But if I say the Infinite has judged Siphra and will cast down its king and queen . . . it will happen. Otherwise I’m a false prophet who ought to be punished.”

  Rade Lantec grimaced, one corner of his mouth lifting. Like Kien’s. “And when will this rebellion, this marvel of Siphran sanity occur?”

  “Within the month.” She didn’t want to think of it now. “Simply continue the game with Siphra as you’ve played it until now.”

  His mockery faded. “For one so young, Ela of Parne, you talk and behave as if you’ve been involved in diplomacy for years.”

  “I feel as if I have.”

  Rade Lantec, preeminent representative of the Tracelands, offered Ela his arm. “We don’t agree on everything, young lady, but you interest me exceedingly. Now, tell me about Parne. . . .”

  Soon.

  While Jon and Beka closed the doors and directed their servants in the evening’s final chores, Ela sneaked outside to their huge garden. Surely fresh air would brace her. She descended the stairs and turned onto one of the rock-edged paths. Gravel pressed into the soft soles of her thin, decorative sandals—loaned by the determined Beka. But the gravel’s discomfort was worth enduring for a calming, prayerful walk through the garden.

  Jon and Beka’s garden was as lovely as their home. The season’s first pale lilies were opening, scenting the air. Other flowers Ela didn’t recognize also shone silver-white in the moon’s glow. All around her, bugs whirred and rasped soothingly in the darkness. She felt better just hearing them.

  “Infinite,” she whispered toward the stars, “I know You’re with me. But about this most recent vision . . . can’t I—”

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel in the darkness, hushing her. A low voice said, “Ela?”

  “Kien.” Her heart thudded. He would want to know about the vision, and he mustn’t. He might feel obligated to protect her. If Kien interfered, he could be injured, which was completely unacceptable. She loved him too much. “I thought you’d gone with your parents.”

  “I had to wish you a good night.” He stepped so close that she could feel his breath.

  Too close. He bent and kissed Ela, enfolding her in his arms, almost lifting her off the path. She’d never dared imagine . . . a kiss. His lips. His scent. The comfort of his arms around her. She allowed herself to cling to him. To return his kiss. Oh, he was so warm—mesmerizing! She wanted to linger with him forever. There’d been no hint of this in any vision. Infinite—

  “Marry me,” Kien urged the instant the kiss ended.

  Ela gasped and pulled away. Was this a test? Was she supposed to resist such temptation? Well, she’d failed. She burst into tears. “This is so unfair!”

  “Was my kiss so appalling?” Kien teased, but with a suggestion of hurt.

  “No!” Ela swiped at her wet face. “It’s nothing to do with you. At least, not exactly.” Trying to soothe him, she explained, “If I tell you the truth about your kiss, you’ll become unbearably smug. Oh, Kien, there’s no one else I’d rather marry. I love you, but . . .” Infinite, how could a prophet be so stupid? Babbling and sniffling!

  Kien touched her cheek, looked into her eyes. “If you love me, then why are you crying?”

  “A silver-haired prophet has failed.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t marry you.” Pain nearly stole her breath. Ela caught herself and rushed on. “As much as I love you, it would be unfair of me—even cruel.” Not to mention hopeless, considering her most recent visions. . . .

  “Shh! I don’t understand why you’re so upset, Ela.” He tucked her hand into his elbow, comforting as ever. But his face was very pale in the moonlight. “Let’s sit down.”

  Kien guided her to a bench and waited until she sat. The cold stone made her shiver. As did his sudden formality. He motioned to the space beside her. “May I sit with you?”

  Miserable, Ela nodded and dabbed more tears. “Kien, Pa
rne’s elders say ‘A silver-haired prophet has failed’ because all our prophets die young.” And horribly.

  He hesitated, then said, “Because of this, you presume—”

  “I don’t presume. I know. I asked the Infinite.” Why couldn’t she stop shivering? “I’m going to die young. It could happen at any time. Possibly soon.”

  “But possibly not soon!” Kien sounded angry. Defiant. He wrapped a fold of his mantle around her. “This has you so upset you’re trembling. You don’t actually know when, do you?”

  “No. But it’s the reason you need to take Scythe. I’ve seen him pledged to you. So it must mean my death is near.”

  “Again, you don’t know that!”

  “But what if it is?” She began to cry again. Foolish tears. “Please give me your word that if I die, you’ll return Tzana to my parents.”

  “Whatever happens, she’ll be safe.” Kien gathered Ela in an embrace. “She’ll be my sister-in-law.”

  “No, she won’t!” Ela straightened in his arms. “Kien, I can’t marry you—or anyone. I’ve considered it, believe me. Prophets ultimately become notorious. Hated. I won’t inflict such misery on anyone. You know what most Tracelanders think of Parne’s prophets and the Infinite. Also . . . what if we did marry and have a child? How could I endure knowing I’ll die soon? I couldn’t!”

  When Kien finally spoke again, his voice was despairing. “Why did you become a prophet under such circumstances?”

  “Because once I heard the Infinite’s voice, I knew I couldn’t live without Him.”

  Kien said nothing. Ela continued, “I cannot reject my role as a prophet. I won’t. I love the Infinite.”

  “More than you love me.” Pain and bitterness edged his voice, cutting her.

  “Yes.” Ela wiped away fresh tears. “But if I hadn’t agreed to become His prophet, I wouldn’t have met you. I’m grateful I met you.” She tried to lift his spirits. And her own. “I do regret the black eye. . . .”

  Silent, he hugged Ela fiercely and kissed her hair. She touched his face, wanting to beg him for understanding.

  Before she could speak, Kien stood and walked away, his boots grinding on the gravel.

  Her hand was wet. He was crying.

  After checking on the slumbering Tzana, Ela paced through the guest chamber and prayed Kien would forgive her. At least she knew he would live. Hadn’t she seen him riding Scythe, unconquerable during a future battle? And he trusted the Infinite. She would console herself with that knowledge. Now, however, she must concentrate on what was about to happen.

  “Infinite? This vision must begin to be fulfilled tonight—I realize that. But can’t I reason with these miscreants and persuade them to listen?”

  You may try.

  Ela rubbed her aching head. She would fail at this too. Oh, this was going to be awful.

  Pinning her borrowed mantle close, she stepped through the room’s outer doors, onto the stone terrace. The entire house was eerily quiet and dark. Looking up at the stars, Ela froze in horror. How had so much time passed? When had the moon shifted?

  She sped back inside, kissed Tzana softly, snatched up the branch, returned to the balcony, and shut the doors behind her. At least Tzana would be safe and undisturbed.

  Why hadn’t she taken time earlier to change into more sensible . . . “Oh no.” She’d been so distracted by Kien that she’d forgotten about Beka’s sandals. Ela winced, longing for boots instead. If only she could change a bit of her vision. Tweak it just a little. Perhaps its outcome would improve. Hadn’t the Infinite said she could try? Ela set aside the branch and leaned over the terrace’s wall-like stone balustrade to rummage through the vines below.

  Her fingertips grazed over a chilled piece of metal. Yes, there it was. One of the hooks supporting the latticework. Such a sharp tip on that particular hook. Couldn’t she—

  Two shadows flickered on one of the paths nearby. Ela ducked behind the solid balustrade. No doubt they’d seen her. Heart thudding, she whispered, “Infinite, be with me!”

  Waiting stillness met her entreaty. Ela covered her eyes. Foolish of her to hide. But she longed to escape. Couldn’t these two miscreants be avoided? Infinite?

  Muted footsteps skittered the gravel just below the terrace. Did she hear breathing?

  Ela swallowed, listening to the vines rustle on the latticework. Please, let the perpetrators foolishly use the lattice as a foothold. Let them fall right back on their rumps and give up. Let—

  A low thump sounded directly in front of Ela on the terrace’s decorative stonework pavings. She opened her eyes. The first scoundrel stared at her in the moonlight, loathing twisting his mouth in a grimace.

  “Listen,” Ela whispered, “I’m Ela of Parne. I know you’re looking for me and I’ll go without a sound. Just don’t bind me. I need to warn you—!”

  The soon-to-be abductor knelt, slapped a hand over Ela’s mouth, and shoved her head against the balustrade. “Orders is orders, an’ we won’t have you castin’ spells!” He yanked a long strip of fabric from around his neck.

  Ela squirmed and fought to speak. “Wait! Listen—”

  The man slapped the fabric over her mouth. Wool. Tasting as foul as the vision. He knotted the strip tight, then removed a coil of rope from his belt. After he’d bound her wrists and ankles, he looked around, agitated. “Too easy, this!”

  Easily fatal! Ela made a noise of protest.

  The wretch shook her, muttering, “Quiet, or I’ll bash ya bloody!”

  Yes, and that was the problem. . . . In despair, Ela pieced together the fragments of information from her visions. How could she gain her captors’ trust enough to warn them?

  Her abductor stood and silently motioned to his comrade below. As Ela concentrated on not smelling the awful gag covering her mouth, she noticed the branch lying on the terrace pavings—just beyond her reach. Panicked, she struggled to grasp the precious piece of vinewood. But the scoundrel dragged her upright, away from the branch. Infinite!

  The vinewood glimmered, then dissolved. Before Ela could even wonder, a spiral of heat permeated her bound hands, and the branch formed against her palms. Thank You! Ela clenched the insignia and shut her eyes. Next . . .

  The first miscreant tipped her off the terrace wall toward his waiting comrade.

  Ela’s left foot struck the wall. Stabbed by pain, she shrieked into the gag. The metal hook supporting the terrace’s decorative lattice had impaled the flesh covering the ball of her foot, exactly as she’d seen. Surely she could affect this one little detail! She struggled, desperate to lift her sandaled foot off the hook. Before the impatient man—

  The second reprobate growled and tugged mightily. Ripping Ela’s foot from the hook and from the delicate sandal. Pain flared up her leg. Her screech was muffled in the gag. Now might be a good time to faint. But would she? This part of the vision ended here, with blood trickling off her wounded foot, its stickiness agonizingly ticklish. Ela squirmed. The second reprobate cursed beneath his breath and shook her in his arms. “Stop!”

  Rustling alerted her that the owner of the loathsome gag was descending from the terrace. He noticed the branch’s subdued glow and muttered, “What’s this?” When his fingers passed through the wood, he gasped. Both men stared. The first man whispered, “Carry ’er, Claw.”

  Outrage in his voice, Claw hissed, “Tha’s yer job!” His cohort fled as if Ela were lethal.

  They scurried through the garden, which gave way to trees. Ela was certain she heard Jon and Beka’s destroyers squealing in the distance. She hoped they were well secured. Poor things. They mustn’t interfere. She noticed her captor lagging. He shifted her in his arms. “Hex?”

  Hex halted, turned, and stomped back. “I ain’t luggin’ that Infinite’s sorceress.”

  Now she was a sorceress? If only they knew the truth.

  “I’m droppin’ ’er,” his comrade threatened.

  Hissing through his teeth, Hex took Ela. “No tricks, girl, or I’l
l smash ya!”

  Ela shrank inwardly. Smash? Yes, that was the whole problem. With both men. Their violence and their fearful antagonism toward the Infinite and her. How could she change what she’d seen? She must try. But without speaking? Without moving?

  Hex pitched Ela over his shoulder like a bag of meal.

  Her arms dangled, with the branch bound between her hands. She could whack Hex’s backside if she wished. But that would madden him—the last thing she wanted to do.

  Trailed by Claw, Hex carried Ela into an isolated meadow. Reaching his destination, he stood her upright. Pain stabbed Ela’s injured foot. Sweating, she gripped the branch for balance.

  Four grazing horses waited in the meadow, with another man. A nobleman, his gold pins shining on his dark cloak. Ambassador Ruestock.

  The nobleman approached and bent to whisper in Ela’s ear, “You are indeed the answer to my prayers! My queen has heard of you, Parnian, and demands your presence.” The ambassador caressed her face. As Ela tried to twist away from him, Ruestock crooned, “My honor, my reputation, and my life have depended upon obtaining you for the Siphran court. Be sure you do as you’re told. That Unfortunate sister of yours will pay the price if you fail us.”

  Tzana. He was threatening Tzana! Before Ela could hit the nobleman with the branch, he motioned to his men. Hex lifted Ela in his arms. Her feet brushed against Ruestock’s cloak, allowing her to kick at him. Pain reminded Ela of her torn foot.

  Ruestock chuckled.

  Claw mounted one of the horses. Hex pitched Ela over another. Winded by the impact, Ela wheezed beneath the foul gag. Claw soothed her horse while Hex mounted a third animal nearby. Ela squirmed until she could extend her bound arms and hold the branch before her. The branch faded to plain vinewood as the horses moved from the clearing, following Hex’s low commands.

  Ela watched the shadowed ground jolt away beneath her. She prayed Kien could forgive her the misery she’d caused him—just long enough to protect Tzana.