The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  A quick scan of the room produced nothing alarming.

  “Are we looking for anyone in particular, or just out for a stroll?” Baehlon’s baritone rumbled beside Rhoane. He must’ve followed Rhoane from the market, or returned after seeing the princesses safely to the palace.

  “We are searching for someone who is not there. I should not be seen with you.” Rhoane moved away from the big knight to sit at a vacated booth.

  A serving maid approached, hands on hips, a grimace marring her otherwise pretty face. “You got money to pay?”

  He placed a few coins on the table, and she snapped them up before returning the way she came. A few minutes later, she brought a tankard and trencher of food. “You’re far from home, lad. What brings you to Paderau?”

  “Work. How’d you know I wasn’t from here?” He worked his mouth around the contractions, trying for a Southern accent.

  “No one from around these parts wears a hat that tacky. Even the peasants have their pride.” Rhoane hastily removed the offending garment, a sheepish grin on his lips. “You eat your sup, and I’ll see if there’s anyone who needs a hand. You good with a blade?”

  Rhoane suppressed a laugh. She didn’t mean a sword. “A little.”

  She adjusted her bodice and skirts, cringing slightly. “Gods, but it’s hot today. You menfolk are lucky, what with your loose breeches and all.”

  “Whyn’t you wear ’em? Or is there a law ’gainst women being comfortable?”

  “You’re a cheeky one.” Her warm smile hinted at flirtation. “Only soldiers wear trousers, and I’m better at loving than fighting.” She winked as she moved away, her backside sashaying beneath her heavy skirts.

  Two men sat at the table behind him, voices lowered, their words spoken in a rush. Rhoane ate his stew and eavesdropped. His heightened Eleri hearing made their voices as clear as if they sat with him. One of the men, the spice merchant Taryn had mentioned the previous evening, gloated to his friend about the Summerlands princess’s visit that morning.

  “I told her about the embargoes on our goods. She had no idea.”

  “Or she knows but is protecting the empress. Tread lightly, Tabul. She might be a countrywoman, but she’s been with the Talaithian whore long enough we should question her loyalty.”

  Rhoane stretched his body, twisting his back and head until his muscles cracked. The movement allowed him a brief glimpse of the speaker. He returned to his ale before drawing attention to himself, mentally marking the man’s features.

  “She’s no more loyal to the crown than my dog. I spoke to her at length over tea. She’s homesick and desperate for any news of the Summerlands. I’ve sent word to my brother in Talaith. He will find a way to ingratiate himself to her. Perhaps with her help we can lift the taxes.”

  “That harlot is bleeding us until there will be nothing left. Did you see her daughters in the market? Wearing fine silks while we must squat in the dust for pittance.” The man spit on the floor. “The lot of them should be put to the blade.”

  “Shush!” Tabul warned. “You’ll draw the attention of the guard. I have a nice business here and don’t need your radical ideas making trouble.”

  “Wishing that woman and her misbegotten spawn would stop stealing my money is not radical. Forcing the lot of them to suck my cock while I sit on the Light Throne? That’s radical.”

  “Hold your tongue, man! That’s treason, and I’ll have none of it.”

  Rhoane slid from his seat and stood at the men’s table. “I am certain you did not mean what you just said, my friend.” Rhoane’s quiet voice held the strength of steel.

  “What’s it to you, peasant?”

  Tabul stammered an apology, saying to Rhoane, “Don’t listen to him. He’s not right in the head. Words come out that he doesn’t mean.”

  The other man stared at Tabul with a look of murder in his eyes. “I meant what I said. The empress and her lot are worthless bitches. Aelinae would be better off without them.”

  Rhoane grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him from the booth. The first punch connected with his nose in a resounding crack. A thick stream of blood flowed over his lips. The second jab landed in the man’s midsection, rendering him breathless and on his knees.

  “Enough!” Baehlon’s voice broke through the crowd. His huge hand pulled Rhoane away before he could strike again.

  A sickening wheezing came from the man. He stood with the help of Tabul and regarded Rhoane with skepticism. Then his fist lashed out, hitting Rhoane square on the temple.

  The blow dazed him, and he staggered against Baehlon before righting himself. Another punch aimed at his sternum had Rhoane gasping. Tabul pulled his friend toward their table, apologizing over and over again for the trouble.

  “I stand by my words, peasant,” he asserted, the last word said with contempt.

  “Then you shall die by them.” Rhoane reached for his sword, but it wasn’t there. He’d left it at the palace. Before Baehlon could hold him back, Rhoane lunged at the man.

  The tavern erupted at once with tables being overturned, chairs broken across backs. Rhoane attacked the man, each punch aimed at restoring Lliandra’s honor. His fists bled with the beating he gave the other man. Baehlon called for order and was ignored by most everyone in the tavern. When finally the duke’s guard arrived, it took them several minutes to break up the fighting.

  Rhoane breathed heavily beside Baehlon, his split lip swelling and blood dripping from a nasty cut above his eye. For every two hits he’d connected, the other man had made one. At least he looked far worse, Rhoane thought.

  Baehlon gave the tavern owner several gold coins to pay for the damage and dragged Rhoane out to the street.

  “Blood and ashes, man. What was that about?”

  “He insulted Lliandra and her daughters.”

  “And so you thought you’d give him a bit of justice, is that it?”

  Rhoane shuffled alongside Baehlon, his head throbbing from the fight. “Yesterday something unseen stalked Taryn. Today, a merchant wished, in public, for the death of the empress. Yes, I sought justice. Is that so wrong?”

  Baehlon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Rhoane knew his actions were unnecessary. His frustrations had gotten the better of him.

  “Tell the guard to keep watch on him. And the merchant Tabul. If there is an uprising, we need to be forewarned. Also, we should look into something Tabul mentioned. He said Lliandra has placed embargoes on the Summerlands products. If this is true, she is breaking the law.”

  Baehlon grinned as they passed through the palace gates. “Aside from a potential riot, did you discover anything useful?”

  “Yes. Women envy our breeches.”

  “Well, I thought that was obvious.” Baehlon rumbled a low chuckle.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On the morning they were to leave for Talaith, Taryn made one last visit to the kitchens to give Carga a bouquet of wild flowers.

  The cook’s eyes misted when Taryn handed her the small arrangement. “It was very sweet of you to remember me.”

  “You let me breakfast with you every morning—it was the least I could do. I’m only sorry I don’t have anything of real value to give.”

  “Nonsense. You gave from your heart, and that is richer than all the coin in the world.”

  “I hope to see you soon.”

  Carga held Taryn’s face between her hands, touching their foreheads together. “You will.” More murmuring swirled in Taryn’s mind, and dizziness rocked her. The voices trailed off when Carga pulled back. “I am glad to have met you, Taryn.”

  Taryn took the stairs two at a time and ran into Rhoane at the kitchen door. His bruises were healing, but they still looked ghastly. The last thing she ever thought Rhoane would be in was a bar fight, but according to Baehlon, that’s what happened. Rhoane simply said he was teaching a man a lesson.

  “Saying your goodbyes?” he asked, holding open the door for her.

  She stepped
through and shielded her eyes from the bright sun. “I’ll miss her. Do you think we’ll come back?”

  “One never knows where their path will take them.”

  “Don’t start with that again. I finally got my runes to stop glowing. You might get them all excited.” In the morning light, the runes looked like a ghost tattoo on her skin. Less than a month since she arrived on Aelinae, the world was becoming familiar to her, like home. Like she’d always lived there. On the way to the stables, Taryn greeted several soldiers, who waved in return. “You were right, you know. I have acclimated to being here. I feel alive, almost as if over there I was just going through the motions.”

  He helped her onto Ashanni, resting his hand on her thigh. “Life is precious, Taryn. Never take it for granted or waste a moment of it.”

  “I won’t. Not ever again.” When he removed his hand, she longed for its warmth.

  She distracted herself by checking her bags. The sword was once again wrapped in a blanket and tied to her saddle. Protected in the gorgeous scabbard Baehlon gave her for her birthday, he’d stressed the need to keep it hidden until they reached Talaith.

  Hayden pulled his horse up to hers. His handsome leather jacket of burnished brown set off his hazel eyes, giving him a devilish look. “The empress has granted Father and me permission to stay in Talaith until after Harvest.”

  Taryn suppressed a grin. “Really? So I’m stuck with you for, what, three more moonturns? Does the empress hate me?”

  Hayden snapped his reins at Taryn. “Her decision, I’ll have you know, had nothing to do with you.”

  Of course it didn’t. It had everything to do with Sabina and they both knew it.

  The captain of the duke’s guard called out, and the caravan slowly made its way off the palace grounds. A wave of excitement mixed with apprehension washed over her. Once they reached Talaith, she had to make a decision about her future: stay with the others, or forge out on her own. Either way, she couldn’t keep listing through life without a current to carry her. She would avenge Brandt’s death in time, but until then, she needed something to do.

  Duke Anje refused to let her stay at Paderau, either as a cook or a soldier, and so she set her sights on finding employment in Talaith. Faelara kept dropping hints that Empress Lliandra would have a position for her, but that wasn’t a life Taryn wanted to live. Being cooped up in a palace wasn’t for her. She needed her freedom far too much.

  It took the caravan eight days to travel from Paderau to Talaith. They rode through landscapes that changed from forested hills to vast meadows. At the beginning of their journey south, they followed the Silden River, keeping close to its banks until it turned into Lake Oster. In the evenings, Taryn often saw Baehlon and Rhoane head away from camp with long poles in hand, returning later with a string of brightly colored fish.

  The empress traveled in style, which made for shorter rides each day and a longer trip overall. Every afternoon, large tents were set up for her comfort, only to be taken down the next morning. There were well more than two hundred in the group, including Lliandra’s and the duke’s guards, as well as courtiers, nobility, servants, and the like. Taryn longed for the simplicity of travel she’d had on the journey from Ravenwood to Paderau.

  Most days she rode with Hayden, often dividing her time between the soldiers and the princesses. Since the empress refused to let her daughters ride, they were stuck inside a musty carriage. Perhaps in defiance of what Celia had said, Taryn made it her mission to earn their friendship. Even so, she never forgot that they were Marissa’s sisters and their loyalty would always be first to their family.

  Sabina, on the other hand, didn’t share that bond. She was more than willing to spy on Marissa, which caused Taryn to speculate that perhaps there was more to the Summerlands princess than everyone gave her credit for.

  On the afternoon of the eighth day, Talaith hovered in the distance. Perched on a cliff, the Crystal Palace loomed like an overprotective mother, the city walls her all-encompassing embrace. Sunlight glanced off the rock, turning the palace into a great diamond whose light blazed like a beacon welcoming them home. Paderau looked like a village in comparison.

  Hayden rode beside her, quiet for the first time she could remember. When she turned to see what held his tongue, she met his even stare. “What?” His look unnerved her, as if he were studying her under a microscope.

  His smirk gave a hint of mischievousness she’d come to recognize as a sign of trouble. “Nothing. Here comes the Empress’s Household Guard. They will escort us to the palace.”

  Two dozen men dressed in crimson and gold led the procession through Talaith. Their sleek black horses pranced in perfect unison, hooves clacking a staccato beat on the cobblestones. Hordes of people came out to see their empress and her beautiful daughters. The girls waved from the windows of their carriage, trying to catch the many flowers thrown to them. Taryn rode a short distance behind, watching the proceedings with curiosity and envy.

  They passed under several walkways made of lacy stonework that appeared to float from one building to the next. People dressed in an array of colors and fashions were crowded on the bridges and Taryn feared they would collapse. Each home they rode by looked equally magnificent to those in the richest quarters of Paderau.

  If Talaith had a slum, she didn’t see it on the way to the palace. From what Taryn could see, the capital city had no shortage of coin. The men and women wore expensive fabrics of silk or linen. Some even braved the heat while wearing their best velvet. Every now and then, Taryn spotted someone with intricate designs drawn on their hands or faces. They were a rainbow, the inhabitants of Talaith. From palest white to deep ebony, their skin and hair was as varied as their clothing.

  When the caravan crested a road that curved around a square, Taryn drew in a deep breath at the sight of a vast ocean stretching before them, broken only by tiny dots of islands far in the distance.

  “Behold, the Crystal Palace.” Hayden’s voice cut through the cheering crowd.

  Taryn looked away from the ocean and stared in wonder at the massive building. “I thought your palace was big. This place is huge.” The palace stood six stories high, spreading far to the left and down to the beach below. “How many people live there?”

  “Perhaps a thousand, I would imagine.”

  Taryn shuddered at the thought. “I could barely find my way around Paderau; how will I ever manage?”

  Hayden laughed. “I’ll draw you a map.”

  “You know the palace that well?”

  “I used to summer here with my mother.” He looked to the sparkling blue sea. “We’d play down at the beach and swim in the warm water.”

  “Perhaps you and I could go there sometime.”

  “I’d like that.” He gave her a curious smile. “Do you think Sabina would care to join us?”

  “You have feelings for her then?”

  “I find her intriguing. Yes, I like her.”

  “Then I’m happy for you.” She took his hand in hers. “I’m really glad we’re friends.”

  “So am I.” His Shanti slipped up her arm. It was warm with a hint of precision to it.

  Imposing statues lined the drive, staring down at them as they rode into a courtyard that surrounded a fountain with water flowing from the mouths of cherubs and unrecognizable creatures. Gryphons, or lions, or elephants, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps a mix of all three.

  Large doors, the height of three men, stood open, and many of the empress’s staff waited on the steps. Taryn’s gaze traveled up the gleaming walls, past the many windows, to the top of the palace. Pennants embroidered with the royal crest whipped in the wind. Several birds raced across the blue sky, their cries lost amid the din of the travelers.

  A page showed her to a suite of rooms, leaving her alone as soon as she entered. Taryn wandered from room to room, reminding herself not to become too attached to them. In the space of ten minutes, she was doomed. She’d take whatever job she could for the chance to
stay in Talaith. To live in this spacious, expensively decorated apartment.

  After meandering through several rooms, including an office area with a desk and two chairs flanking long windows, Taryn found the bedchamber. She threw her leather satchel on the bed and went in search of a compartment to hide the sword and the seal. Finding nothing suitable, she gave up and tucked the items under her wardrobe, adding several wards to deter any unwanted attention. Since discovering her power, she’d practiced every night, making flames, warding objects, toying with shadows. Always at night. And always in secret.

  Two maids wearing Lliandra’s House colors entered the rooms, directing porters where to put her trunks. They introduced themselves as Cora and Ellie before asking after her needs. When Taryn said all she required was a hot bath and some tea, they disappeared before she could tell them her name. They returned promptly and began unpacking her belongings in complete silence. Their politeness and quiet efficiency was a harsh contrast to the open friendliness of Paderau.

  A messenger arrived and spoke with Cora for several minutes before she returned, informing her that the empress requested Taryn dine with her the following evening. At Taryn’s stunned muteness, Cora repeated the message.

  “I heard you. I’m just a little surprised, is all.” Taryn paced for a few minutes before turning to Cora. “Do you know where Hayden, I mean, Lord Valen, is staying?” Too many damned names. Why couldn’t they just pick one?

  After her bath, she piled her hair into an inelegant bun, much to Ellie’s distress, and dressed simply. The maid led her through the palace to Hayden’s rooms. Along the way, Taryn made polite conversation and discovered, with a small amount of surprise, that without Cora’s stern glare directed at her, Ellie was enchanting.

  Hayden’s valet opened the door and greeted her with a warm smile. “Miss Taryn, how lovely to see you. The ride was not too tiring, I hope?”

  “Hello, Oliver. Not overly so. Of course, having you to converse with only made it that much sweeter.”

  He pinched her cheek. “Charmer. I’ll get Lord Valen for you. Please, wait here.” He disappeared into a room, leaving Taryn to look around at the sumptuous apartment. Several portraits hung on the walls and one in particular caught Taryn’s eye: the duke’s late wife, Gwyneira, posed with her family.