The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  “Did you think I would forget what today is?” He indicated the table, where a wrapped box waited.

  Taryn gently opened it, saving the paper. Inside, nestled on a bed of blue satin, was a small stone. “It’s lovely.” She held it up, squinting in the candlelight. Tiny flecks of silver sparkled within the cream colored rock.

  “It’s a moonstone. It will provide you with comfort when the darkness becomes too much to bear.”

  A small cry escaped her. “Thank you, Baba. I will keep it with me, always.”

  “I’m pleased you’ve made friends.” He touched the book of fairy tales Eliahnna had given her, then the dagger from Tessa. He picked up Myrddin’s gift—a large clear marble that he’d called a looking glass.

  Brandt rolled the ball between his fingers with a somber chuckle. “One of Myrddin’s favorite inventions, this. I’m sure he told you how to call forth an image of those you love, but did he also tell you that it is useful to see what has been?”

  Taryn shook her head. She didn’t fully understand how the marble worked. Brandt demonstrated by asking the ball to show Taryn the entrance of Lliandra and the princesses to the masque. Taryn watched, enthralled, as they entered the Great Hall. The procession was as exciting as the first time she saw it.

  “That’s remarkable.”

  “Yes, it is, really.” Brandt replaced the clear orb in its box. “But don’t let on how impressed you are. Myrddin’s ego is big enough already.” Warmth suffused his words.

  “You and Myrddin were close?”

  “Like brothers.” A wistful smile lit up his face. “We used to terrorize the empress, driving her to distraction. Not Lliandra, mind you, but her mother. We practically raised Lliandra and Gwyneira.”

  When Brandt started to fade, Taryn reached toward him. “Please, stay a little longer.”

  “My time here draws to a close. I love you, darling girl.”

  “I love you, Baba.” But he was already gone.

  She stayed rooted where she was, in the hope he would reappear. When it became clear he wouldn’t return, she shuffled through the empty rooms. Apparently, the best way to avoid having maids fuss over you was to stay out late enough. As she made her way to the dressing room, a glimmer of ShantiMari caught her attention.

  The wards on the cupboard were tattered wisps. Taryn carefully opened the door to make certain the sword and seal remained untouched. Relief flooded through her at the sight of them. In the morning, she’d have Faelara strengthen the wards. After taking care to close the compartment, Taryn retrieved the looking glass.

  “Show me who entered my rooms,” she commanded the ball.

  A slight figure dressed in a dark cloak lit up the clear marble. Taryn couldn’t tell who it was, but the person roamed her suite with authority. At the secured compartment, the figure flinched from a flare of Faelara’s ShantiMari. A minute later, the intruder left Taryn’s rooms.

  It was then she remembered Marissa’s scorched fingertips.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Candles in glass vases hung from branches, giving the gardens a misty glow. Ladies and lords strolled the gravel paths, talking in hushed tones as if not to disturb the ambiance of the night. Valterys kept himself cloaked in shadow, mingling through the crowds, careful not to disturb anyone. Marissa’s suggestion that they attend the masque was originally met with disdain, but the temptation to be near Lliandra, to possibly learn something of her plans, swayed his opinion. If what Marissa said was true, the Eirielle would be there tonight, which only made the evening more enticing. Valterys pulled the darkness tight around him while making his way closer to the empress.

  Lliandra sat in an elaborate chair—the best they could find to resemble a throne, most likely—looking stunningly regal and beautiful. Even after many seasons, she still excited him in ways no other woman could. When she bent to speak with a courtier, Valterys saw the tiny pulse flutter beneath the creamy skin of her throat. He edged closer still. Close enough that he could reach out to place his hands around her delicate neck and squeeze the life from her if he so desired.

  For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to imagine her face as she took her last breaths. A delicious warmth spread from his groin, and his fingers flexed in anticipation. Myrddin stepped beside Lliandra to whisper fervently in her ear, altogether destroying Valterys’s fantasy.

  A commotion on the dance floor drew his attention and he looked up in time to see Zakael storming off with Marissa. In their wake, a striking girl, tall with golden curls and piercing blue eyes, was led away by the duke’s son. A memory seized him of a time long past when Lliandra was carefree, before her crown became a weapon, when she would smile and dance through the night. The girl he saw on the balcony with young Lord Valen could have been her twin. He had no doubt she was Lliandra’s missing child.

  His daughter.

  If memory served, tonight was her birthing day, and yet Lliandra did nothing to acknowledge the girl. Not even a glance or discreet wave. Whatever the woman was planning, he needed to find out.

  Prince Rhoane approached Lliandra, and, to her hearing alone, told her of Marissa’s guest. Despite the mask, Zakael had been identified. The empress remained calm, but her pulse quickened ever so slightly. Myrddin was sent to find the errant princess, and then, as if nothing had happened, Lliandra rose from her chair, and held out her hand for Rhoane to take. They joined others on the dance floor, blending seamlessly into the crowd.

  Valterys hurried from the ballroom and found Zakael with Marissa in the farthest corner of the garden. They argued in tense, whispered tones.

  “Rhoane saw the blisters. I doubt he’ll believe my excuse of clumsiness,” Marissa hissed.

  “He doesn’t know you tried to undo the wards. Act as if nothing is wrong. You’re too emotional. You must learn to control yourself.”

  “Me? It was you who demanded we get near enough that you could see the girl. If not for you, we wouldn’t have been discovered.”

  Valterys let the shadows fall away, and Marissa jumped at his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your mother has sent her watchdog after you. Perhaps you shouldn’t be seen with my son.”

  Marissa’s lovely lavender eyes flashed raw anger for a moment before she inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord.” She turned to Zakael. “We will speak more of this on the morrow.” She stormed away, the gravel path crunching beneath her delicate slippers.

  “Did you accomplish what you came for?” he asked Zakael.

  “I would not have thought it, but by her own admission, it is the same girl as in the cavern. Blood’s oath, what a difference a gown makes.”

  “Stay away from her. Get to the inn, and do not be seen. I must go see to something before we reach Talaith.”

  Zakael quickly transformed into a levon, rising into the air, beating his slender wings hard to catch an updraft. He flew away from the palace toward the city.

  At least the boy had the good sense to listen to his father. For once. Valterys saw the desire in Zakael’s eyes when he spoke of Taryn. The fact she was his half-sister meant nothing to him. If anything, it made her all the more enticing. Their offspring would be more powerful than any mage or sorcerer in all of Aelinae.

  Valterys also changed into a levon and rose high into the air, gliding on an undercurrent while he considered the possibility of Zakael siring Taryn’s child. Rykoto would never allow it. He had plans for Taryn that didn’t include Zakael—or Valterys, for that matter.

  Before the sun rose in the west, he circled above the temple. The instant his talons landed on the snow covered ground, he shook out his wings, transforming back into a man. Summer’s warm breezes never touched the frozen north, leaving this part of Aelinae perpetually in wintertide. He shivered against the cold as he entered the temple, sending flames dancing around the pillars. Next, he went to the altar and knelt, his fingertips touching the ground.

  “Great lord, feel my flames, hear my words. Show me
thy face that I might know your bidding.” While he spoke in the ancient tongue, tiles rose in the floor, making a labyrinth leading to a hole about the width of a gold crown. Through that tiny opening, Rykoto could stretch out to taste the world denied him.

  An image of a man, black hair streaked with flames and lips of blood, appeared against the flames. “My son, what have you brought for me this night? It is midsummer and two moons shine on us.”

  Damn. “My lord, it is not time for your feeding.”

  Flames touched the ceiling, scorching it. “You come here without a sacrifice? My hunger knows no bounds. Be gone with you. Disturb me not until you have fulfilled my desire.”

  “Great Lord Rykoto, the Eirielle has returned.”

  “So my dreams were correct. I’ve sensed his presence this past moonturn. Where is he now?”

  “She is with the Lady of Light in Paderau.” That Rykoto could only sense Taryn, and not even accurately, disturbed Valterys. Nadra must have concealed her well.

  Rykoto’s dark eyes danced with flames. “A girl?” His forked tongue flicked over his lips, smearing blood across his chin. “How sweet she will taste.” The flames quivered against the air.

  Valterys suppressed a shudder. “She will be yours, I promise this.” He placed his fist over his heart, bowing his head.

  “Show her to me.” An image materialized in the fire, and Taryn’s face danced before them. Rykoto moaned in ecstasy. “My desire grows even now.” His black eyes turned on Valterys. “And my queen?”

  “She looks forward to her union with you.” He worried for Marissa only a moment before casting aside his concern. It was what she wanted. She understood the risk.

  “When I possess the steel of Ohlin, the milk of Nadra, and the tear of Aelinae, then you will have your prize. You will be a god with a world to command as you wish.”

  Valterys could hardly breathe. His heart pumped hard against his chest, into his throat. “Thank you, Great Lord. I am ever your humble servant.” He bent and kissed the floor, feeling the heat rise from Rykoto’s prison.

  The god’s face dissolved from the flames. “Fulfill my desire. Bring me the girl.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Valterys stood over Taryn, holding the Seal of Ardyn in his hands. Slowly, he broke it apart, unleashing a flood of evil across the lands of Aelinae. Hordes of creatures charged through towns, killing people and ravaging the landscape.

  Taryn raced to the palace, where she found Marissa standing over Rhoane with the Sword of Ohlin in her hands. When her eyes met Taryn’s, she plunged the sword through Rhoane’s chest. Taryn cried out, but a thread of lavender ShantiMari snaked its way toward Taryn, wrapping around her neck until she couldn’t breathe.

  Marissa’s manic laughter throbbed in Taryn’s head as darkness closed around her. Zakael stooped to pluck Rhoane’s heart from his open chest. With a twitch of his fingers, the still-beating heart burst, spewing blood over Zakael. He licked at his fingers, an ugly grin on his face.

  * * *

  Taryn awoke in a pool of sweat, her hair matted to her head, heart racing from the nightmare. The scent of Rhoane’s blood lingered in her nostrils.

  Rhoane! Her limbs trembled as she repeated to herself that it was only a dream. Rhoane was safe. Most likely sleeping. Unharmed. Her pendant sent flicks of cold against her chest. A tune heavy with drums beat in her mind. A death march.

  She threw the sheets off and stumbled to the cupboard where Faelara’s wards still hung in tatters. With clumsy hands, she opened the door, and there, shining in the dim light, was the sword. The seal was tucked behind the weapon.

  Tears—from gratitude or fear, she wasn’t sure—stung her eyes.

  The door to her rooms banged open then slammed shut, and she froze, eyes wide, alert to the tiniest movement. Someone was in the outer room, heading her way.

  She grabbed the sword and pressed herself against the wall. Heavy footfalls sounded just outside her bedroom. Hands slick with sweat gripped the hilt. She lifted the sword, ready to attack. Rhoane stepped through the door, and Taryn stopped mid-swing.

  “Rhoane? What are you doing here?”

  He took a step back, eyeing the sword half a foot from his head. “You called me.” He tapped his temple. “There was distress in your voice.”

  Her body shook with the release of adrenaline. She lowered the sword, feeling more than a little stupid. “I did? I, uh, I had a nightmare.” Part of his nightshirt hung loose from his leather pants, and his disheveled hair looked very un-Rhoane-like. “I didn’t mean to call you. I’m sorry.”

  Relief at seeing him alive flooded through her with chilling speed. An involuntary shiver brought Rhoane’s attention squarely on her. “Are you sure you are well?”

  “Yes. I think. Mostly, maybe.” She replaced the sword and carefully shut the cupboard door. “If you wouldn’t mind adding a ward or two, I’d be grateful.”

  Rhoane said nothing as he knelt beside her and placed several wards over the closed door. She followed his strands, mentally mimicking what he did. The song her sword sang shifted as he worked. The heavy bass changed to an up-tempo tune similar to one she had danced to last night. With Rhoane. Her fingertips touched her pendant, and the melody quieted.

  When he finished his warding, he stood, leaving Taryn in the awkward position of kneeling before him, her head level with his groin. Distracting thoughts pulled her mind where it shouldn’t be. With effort, she pushed them aside and stood to face Rhoane.

  “Again, thank you.” She glanced at the cupboard, debating whether to tell him about her suspicions. Since that’s all they were, she kept quiet.

  “It will be light soon. You should send for your maids, get something to eat before you meet with Baehlon.” A twinkle of mischief danced at the edges of his eyes. “You want to be at your best today.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She answered his challenge with a grin. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  After he left, she dressed in leather pants and a loose blouse. Instead of calling for her maids, she hurried to the kitchens, losing her way twice before she found the small doorway that led to the cavernous rooms.

  The main area was a hive of activity with servants scurrying in every direction. Taryn stood to the side, not wanting to get in the way, while at the same time trying to catch someone’s attention.

  A young woman ran past with a tray of heavenly smelling rolls, followed closely by a man carrying a salver overflowing with crocks of cream and butter. Her stomach groaned in appreciation.

  “You can’t be here.” A young fellow, not more than twelve by the looks of him, stared Taryn down. “Get back to the performer’s tents. You’ll get your grub soon enough.”

  “I’m not—” Taryn started to explain, but was interrupted by a lilting voice that came from behind her.

  “She is not with the performers.” The duke’s cook stepped into Taryn’s vision. The first time they met, Taryn had thought her pretty but, on seeing her again, realized she had truly underestimated the woman’s looks. Eyes the color of green sea glass missed nothing.

  Taryn again heard the incessant buzzing, like that of a thousand voices speaking at once. The woman shooed the boy and he left. But not before giving Taryn a warning look. With another wave, the buzzing faded and then stopped completely.

  The cook clapped her hands together, making puffs of flour that floated in the air between them. “We did not properly meet yesterday. I am Carga, the duke’s head chef.”

  “Taryn.” She held out her hand, but Carga didn’t take it. Instead, she looked questioningly at Taryn. “Where I come from, you shake hands when you meet.”

  “Ah.” Carga took her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Taryn.”

  “And you, Carga. Do you mind if I breakfast here again? I hate to bother my maids.”

  Carga pulled out a chair and indicated Taryn should sit. She called orders to the boy and settled into the seat beside Taryn.

  The boy brought them t
wo steaming cups of grhom and a plate of food for Taryn. “Thank you, Gris,” the cook said.

  He gave Carga a smile, followed by a scowl to Taryn.

  “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Gris does not trust the upstairs folk. Too many nobles think they are above the rules.”

  “And here I am breaking them.” Taryn watched the boy for a few minutes, noting the slight limp in his walk, the way he favored his left hand over his right. “What happened to him?”

  Carga regarded her for a long breath and said finally, “He was abused. Not for pleasure. For sport. Some nobles think servants are nothing more than chattel, put here to entertain them. Gris was popular in the hunt.”

  “The hunt? Like horses and dogs chasing him?” Her stomach churned, spoiling the few bites of food she’d eaten and souring the grhom she’d drank.

  Carga studied her reactions with calm scrutiny. “I am afraid so.”

  “That’s disgusting. The duke doesn’t know, does he?”

  “I would hope not.” She pointed to Taryn’s meal. “Eat. You will need your strength today, yes?”

  “Yeah. But how did you know?”

  A smile transformed the woman’s face. Gone was the sadness in her eyes. It was replaced with a hint of mischief. “There is nothing that happens in this palace that we do not hear. You are the girl everyone is talking about. The one who trains with a sword and dances with princes, and yet no one knows where you come from or what House you represent. You are quite the curiosity.”

  “Seriously? That’s just great.” Taryn stabbed a sausage with her fork. “These people need a hobby,” she mumbled around a huge bite.

  Carga slid from the stool and placed a warm hand on Taryn’s sleeve. “You are their hobby. They delight in rumor and intrigue. My advice would be not to give them anything to gossip about. I will let you finish your meal in peace.”

  Taryn ate her meal in silence, unsure how to handle the unwanted attention. If she confronted the courtiers directly, that would encourage them to dig into her background. Since that wouldn’t end well for anyone, the best course of action was as Carga said—do nothing. At least not as far as the gossipers were concerned.