The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  “You don’t have to hide it from me. I was serious. I have no desire to take your throne. Should anything happen to Marissa, Eliahnna is the next in line, not me. Make a declaration, put it in writing, I don’t care, but believe this with all your heart.”

  A chill surrounded them suddenly. Dark clouds moved overhead, and the air itself vibrated. “Would you aspire to the Obsidian Throne, then? Has Valterys wormed his way into your heart?”

  “What? No!” Taryn glanced at the threatening clouds and back to her mother. “Is that you? You can control the weather?”

  Lliandra sniffed and snapped a wave at the air. The clouds dispersed, moving over the river to the northeast. “Of course. It is my right as the Lady of Light. So you aren’t in league with Valterys? You have no wish to sit on either throne? Or the Weirren?”

  “None at all. I wasn’t bred to be a queen or an empress. My purpose is balance. For all of Aelinae.”

  Mollified for the moment, Lliandra patted Taryn’s hands. “Good. We shouldn’t be enemies.”

  Taryn watched her mother’s retreat with a heaviness in her heart. For Lliandra, there were enemies and allies. No middle ground. At least for the time being, Taryn was considered an ally, but how long would that last? Surely, there would come a time when Taryn stepped over an invisible line and offended not just Lliandra but her father and who knew whom else?

  There was much more to being the Eirielle than learning to control her powers. As the last vestiges of Lliandra’s Mari drifted behind the hedge, Taryn knew exactly where to begin her search—with the Eiriellean prophecies.

  The library in Talaith was the largest in all the seven kingdoms. Somewhere in the scrolls, journals, and scraps of diaries, she’d find clues to her path. She held her hand to the moonlight and examined the runes circling her wrist. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was research.

  She hurried to her rooms and retrieved her journal. Curled up in her favorite chair by the window with Kaida snuggled in her lap, Taryn set quill to paper and scratched out notes, making two columns: one for friends, one for enemies. Thankfully, the Friends column was longer than that for her enemies, but even that list was far too long to bring her any comfort.

  It wasn’t until she’d filled six pages that she realized with a shock she’d written everything in English. Seeing the familiar words and phrases brought a searing pain of homesickness that, instead of trying to shove deep into the recesses of her mind like she always had, she let wash over her. Reveling in the simple joys she’d once shared with Brandt, reminiscing about the life they’d lived, the adventures they had. Smells from her childhood floated to her—a seaside cottage in California, the sharp tang of olives from tapas in Spain, and the earthy loam of Scotland where they’d stayed for several years. Another scent joined the others, that of cigar tobacco.

  Taryn jerked up and stared into the ghostly image of her grandfather. “You were teaching me all along, weren’t you? Guiding me, really. Toward all of this. You clever, clever man.”

  Brandt chuckled and tapped his pipe against his bottom lip. “I knew you’d sort it out sooner or later.” Kaida perked her ears at his voice, her eyes fixed on the place where Brant hovered. “Who’s your friend?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t spend our days following your antics. We’re busy up there. Besides, Nadra and Ohlin block most of what’s happening down here. They have the misbegotten belief that you are better off left alone.”

  “Then how did you know to come here tonight?”

  “I didn’t. Nadra said it was time for a visit, and here I am.”

  His form took on the transparency she’d come to dread. “Do you know what I’m supposed to do next?”

  He shook his head, already little more than mist. “But you’re on the right track, I’d say.” A wispy finger pointed to the journal.

  “Kaida,” Taryn called out to him. “Her name is Kaida,” she said to the now empty room.

  A soft chuckle drifted on the breeze, whispering, “Be well, little dragon.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The day they were to leave Paderau, Taryn met Carga in the kitchen for their usual meal. Afterward, they walked the short distance to where Gris had been buried a few days earlier. A simple plaque marked the grave, citing his name and date of death.

  Taryn knelt over the grave and pushed her fingers into the soil as if to touch the lad one last time. To thank him for his bravery. His sacrifice. When she rose, words scrawled along the plaque. In death may he find the peace that eluded him in life. He will forever hold a place in our hearts. May there be no Light without Dark, and no darkness without light.

  Carga took her hand as they made their way back to the palace. Neither spoke of what Taryn had done, but the Eleri princess approved. The murmuring of Carga’s people sighed in her mind.

  The carriages waited in the courtyard when they returned and Taryn rushed through the palace, giving last-minute gifts to the staff and saying her goodbyes. In her search for Ashanni, she dodged the chaotic loading of trunks and boxes. Lorilee waited by a cart, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation of the trip ahead.

  Anje had given her maids the choice to serve Taryn in Talaith. Mayla would stay at Paderau, because she had a “fella,” as Lorilee put it, and Lorilee would permanently be a part of Taryn’s staff. It was her first step in setting up her household, and she held herself a bit taller with the knowledge, her shoulders back a fraction more.

  She said her farewells, with Taryn giving the duke an extended hug, thanking him for Lorilee and everything he’d done. He’d become like a second father to her, and it was with profound sadness she rode away from the palace. Despite his assurances they would see each other soon, there would be times in the interim she would need his guidance, crave his gentle reassurance she was on the right path. To know everything would work out in the end. She desperately needed to believe it would.

  The caravan traveled from the palace through the streets, passing the market square where only days earlier the Shadow Assassin had attacked Taryn. Tension laced their movements, and the very air snapped with unspent ShantiMari. By the end of the first day, everyone’s nerves were frayed, and dinner that night was a quiet affair. Even the soldiers, who normally caroused and sang, were subdued.

  It was impossible to escape—the responsibility and the guilt. It sat heavy around Taryn’s shoulders like a worn yoke cracked and rusted with age. Unable to endure the solemnity another minute, Taryn excused herself. As she entered her tent, a small man scurried to hide beneath her cot. Taryn set Kaida down on Sabina’s bed and drew her sword from its scabbard.

  She dipped it low enough he could see she was armed. “Come out from under there. Don’t make any sudden movements and you won’t get hurt.”

  He inched his way to the side of the canvas, his shoes scrabbling against the ground. Taryn sent a thread of ShantiMari toward him, entangling his legs. When he didn’t move from under the bed, Taryn snapped a bit of heat at him.

  She heard several curses, followed by a plea. “I’m coming out. Don’t harm me.” He pulled himself from under her cot and stood, brushing the dirt from his pants.

  At least a foot shorter than she and dressed in the livery of Duke Anje, he was no servant Taryn recognized. His greasy hair hung in dark clumps to his shoulders, framing a face with eyes that looked like little bits of coal stuck too close together.

  She held Ohlin’s sword at his chest. “Who are you and why are you in my tent?” Kaida tumbled from Sabina’s bed to sit beside Taryn, a low growl coming from her throat.

  The little man put up his hands in surrender, amusement clear in his voice. “Please, Your Highness, I was just making sure everything was arranged for your comfort.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Normally I would say yes, but in this case I’m not.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, then touch my sword and swear.” She flicked the
sword closer to his face.

  His eyes grew large and sweat ran down his cheeks. The mirth disappeared from his voice. “Your Highness, none but you can touch the blade.”

  “If you are true of heart, you may touch it with my permission.”

  He watched her closely, his nose twitching erratically like a rat on the scent of his favorite cheese. “Now who’s lying? I’ll do you one better. Ask Prince Rhoane. He’ll vouch for Ebus.”

  “Prince Rhoane sent you?” Silently, she called Rhoane to join them.

  Within moments, she heard his footfalls coming closer. He entered her tent, swearing at the intruder. “Ebus, you fool.”

  Taryn barely suppressed her shock. “You know this man?” Ebus moved an inch to his left, and she put the sword back to his chest. “Stay.” He froze, a look of irritation in his eyes.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Taryn, this is Ebus. He is working for me, undercover, to help flush out the Shadow Assassin.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” A bitter hurt stung her words.

  “He is supposed to be invisible. You were never meant to know he was anywhere near you.” Rhoane looked pointedly at Ebus.

  “You said she’d be dining with the others. She surprised me.”

  “Why is he in my tent?”

  Kaida growled and snapped at the man. A foot-high ball of fur couldn’t protect her as well as the steel of her blade, but she loved that Kaida thought she could.

  “He was checking to make certain your quarters were secure before you retired for the night. I sent him here,” Rhoane explained.

  Taryn lowered the sword, and Ebus took a deep breath. “It’s about time.” At Rhoane’s scowl, he said without much enthusiasm, “Thank you, Your Highness. If I may?” He gestured to the doorway.

  “Not yet. If you are going to be my spy, there are a few things we need to get clear. You are to never, ever enter my private sleeping quarters again without my consent.” She reached out to touch his forehead, and he flinched. “Come here.” She put a fingertip to his temple, feeling the thrum of Shanti, but it was off. Like Sabina’s, twisted somehow. “You can speak to me in your thoughts.” She allowed a slight opening in her mind for him. “Act as if we’ve never met.”

  “As you wish, Great Lady,” Ebus said. His little pointed nose twitched, and he added, “If you’d like a little privacy, I could duck out and make certain no one entered.”

  “Leave, Ebus.” When the man left, Rhoane apologized for the intrusion.

  She threw her sword on her cot. “Why keep it from me?”

  “I did not want you to worry. Ebus is able to see this assassin when others cannot, and right now, that puts us at an advantage.”

  “As long as he doesn’t try to sneak in here without telling me, I guess it’s okay.” She yawned and sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m exhausted.”

  Rhoane sat next to her, rubbing her back. “Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we will be one day closer to the Crystal Palace.” He kissed her forehead and then scooped up Kaida, setting the pup in Taryn’s lap. “I do not mind saying, I envy that beast.” After another light kiss for her and a pat for Kaida, he left the tent with a promise to send in Sabina.

  The grierbas pup snuggled next to her, warming her, but instead of her anxiety decreasing, it amped up. Seven more days on the road until they reached Talaith meant seven sleepless nights filled with stress and apprehension. Even with Ebus around, the assassin could find his way in if he wanted. Darkness was his cloak.

  She sat up, heart pumping against her chest. The assassin had pulled shadows over himself the same way Valterys had at Ravenwood. That’s how he was able to disappear seemingly without a trace. She paced her room, testing her memory to recall exactly how Valterys had done it. She’d been in another room, fevered and delirious; if she’d been near him, maybe she could recreate the effect, but without knowing exactly how he’d used his Dark Shanti it would be dangerous to try.

  Sabina flung the tent flap aside and strode into the room. “If I never have to travel in a carriage again, it will be too soon. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is.”

  “You could always ride with me. I’m sure there’s a spare horse to be found.”

  Sabina scrunched her nose. “Not until I’m better at riding. The few times Hayden’s tried to teach me haven’t ended well.” She rubbed her backside. “I’ll just take more pillows for tomorrow.” Sabina flopped on Taryn’s cot, a hand over her eyes. “Gods, but I’m exhausted.” She propped herself on her elbow, and a frown made delicate creases in her burnished skin. “Do you know, I saw Celia just now. That fool girl is going swimming. In the lake. At night. Gah!”

  “Well, the girl is odd,” Taryn agreed, mind racing. Why the hell would Celia sneak off at night?

  Sabina lay down again, covering her eyes once more, and mumbled about the idiocy of some people. Despite her prowess in the ocean, Sabina had a mortal fear of swimming in a standing body of water.

  Taryn placed Kaida on Sabina’s abdomen. “Look after her.” She grabbed her sword and looked back at her friend, cutting Sabina off before she was able to respond. “I’ll be back soon, but please stay here. And don’t tell anyone I’ve gone.”

  And then she was out of the tent and making her way through the camp with as much speed and care as she could afford. Light from the many fires gave an ethereal glow to the area, making the surrounding woods look even more ominous. Her ShantiMari spread around her, probing for Celia’s presence. When she felt a prick against her power, she pulled back, shrouding it from anyone who might be near. Low voices came from her right, and she turned in their direction.

  Celia stood on the edge of the lake, her cloak billowing in the breeze. It was too hot for a heavy cloak, or even a hood, for that matter, but Celia wore hers low over her face. She spoke rapidly in that manic tone she’d had the other night—half giggle, half hysteria. The hairs on the back of Taryn’s neck rose, gooseflesh covering her arms.

  Alone on the shore, Celia spoke as if to another. Taryn strained to hear the words, but they were a mumbled mass that tumbled over itself, incoherent. Then Celia stood on tiptoe and bent her head as if being kissed. The moan that came from her was of passion, shared with a lover.

  Taryn stared hard at the air in front of Celia. She could make out no ShantiMari, no telltale threads to give away the mysterious invisible visitor.

  The girl’s cloak slipped to the ground, revealing her nakedness. Deep blue marks covered her body, shifting and settling with her movements. They flared as if being seared into her skin, and the smell of rotting flesh caught on the wind. Taryn gagged, but Celia paid the burns no mind. She writhed and undulated in the air, her body several feet above the ground. Whatever the creature was, it possessed Celia completely.

  A twig snapped to her left, and Taryn froze, her heart pounding in her throat. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ebus crouched low, his eyes intent on her, a bit of broken branch in his hand. She motioned to the shoreline, and he nodded, indicating he, too, saw what was happening.

  She slowly unsheathed her sword, but Ebus made a cutting motion with his hands. Then put his fingers to his lips. She replaced her sword and sat, hunched in the thicket, sweat coursing down her temples to her neck until Celia and her invisible lover were finished.

  Long after Celia left, they sat there. Finally, Ebus tapped her shoulder. She’d not heard the man move. He jerked his head in the direction of camp, and she followed, careful to not make a racket. His moves were stealthy, his feet touching the ground only long enough to spring him forward, as if he used the breath of air to cushion the sound. When the firelight brightened their path, Ebus whispered in her mind. A tremor laced his words.

  Go to bed, Great Lady. Say nothing of this to your beloved.

  She wavered a moment, unwilling to trust him.

  There is evil at work here. If you tell the prince what you witnessed, he’ll seek justice, and then we’ll never know who is behind that girl’s possession.

&nbs
p; He was right. Rhoane would insist on interrogating Celia, and they’d be no closer to understanding who or what that thing had been. Their only hope of catching it was to use Celia as bait.

  We have to tell Rhoane something. I can’t see what it is. We’ll need his help, his strength.

  I need time to sort this out. His little black eyes danced in the dim light, his nose twitching. Trust me.

  Those two words… How often had she heard them? How many times were they spoken in deceit or in honesty? This time she had no choice. She withdrew her sword, and the dragon wings flared.

  Swear on my sword that you mean me no harm. That your motives are true.

  A panicked, frenzied look crossed his face. I can’t.

  You can, and you will. Do it or I tell Rhoane this minute.

  Ebus reached a tentative hand toward her sword. It hovered above the glittering dragons for a long moment before he sighed and placed his palm against the pommel. When nothing happened, he looked up at her with surprised relief.

  Swear, Taryn reminded him.

  I, Ebus, swear fealty to you, Great Lady. May my words and actions always be true to your purpose. May you trust I will never endeavor to cause you harm.

  The dragon wings flared again, fluttering against the night before settling back to their immobile stations. A thread of her ShantiMari snaked up his arm, and he snatched his hand back, rubbing it against his waistcoat.

  That wasn’t so bad, was it? Her hands shook as she replaced the sword. It had gone much better than she’d hoped. They were both living, for one. Whatever Rhoane is paying you, I’ll match it. Keep an eye out for the assassin, but follow Celia, as well. I want to know everything she does.

  Ebus nodded and trotted off, making no sound. Taryn returned to her tent and collapsed on her cot. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen the devil tonight, and somehow, he’d seen her, too.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Marissa stood over the sleeping Sabina, a pinch of regret tugging at her abdomen. The mongrel pup watched her with solemnity but didn’t growl or yip to give away her presence. She held Taryn’s journal in her hand. An elaborate scrawl written in a language Marissa wasn’t familiar with covered several pages. She tapped the book against her thigh, debating. No, she couldn’t take it. That would alarm Taryn. It was probably nothing more than love sonnets written to Rhoane, and Marissa had no need of reading those.