As they exited the merchant residence sector, Arden slipped her arm around his, almost as though she was unaware she’d done so. Her eyes continued to explore every inch of the city, fascinated at each new turn. The further they went, the buildings gradually shifted from grand opulence to utilitarian in nature. Shops in the working class part of the colony offered wares of the tough, cheaper variety, carrying only necessities, rather than luxury items or aesthetically intricate pieces. The people who lived there had no use for finery. Practicality ruled supreme.
The closer they came to their destination, the tighter Arden held to him. It wasn’t until the hospice facility came into view that her steps slowed, however, and she stopped altogether ten paces from the door.
Darius tried to ease the anxiety in her knitted brows with a kind smile, and touched her chin to pull her gaze to his. “You don’t have to go in, asahana.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shaking her head as she exhaled. “No, I do. If they see I’m afraid, that will only make it worse for them. They might not be our people, but they are people nonetheless.”
“You’re certain?”
“Where you go, I follow,” she said with a firm nod.
The conviction in her eyes was overwhelming. How could she have such faith in him? Vennic caught his attention and gave him an encouraging look, then stepped away unobtrusively.
Arden, a precocious, brilliant young woman, had absolute trust in him. As intelligent as she was, he had to believe she knew what she was doing. Looking at her, Darius knew he would never have the strength to send her away. How could he?
“Could I beg a favor from you?”
Her lips puckered and eyebrows gathered in confusion. “A favor?”
“A ward against misfortune.”
She huffed a little laugh. “A what?”
He bent his head, hovering a mere inch from her mouth. “A kiss for good luck, Arden.”
She giggled, her cheeks flushing pink. “You don’t need to ask, kendala. Those I’ll give without need for explanation.”
One hand at her waist, the other at her neck, he pulled her to him, keeping his thoughts of her only. She was warm, sweet, and softer than silk. Tentative fingers wound into his hair, and, for a moment, he forgot himself entirely. Only when Vennic cleared his throat did he return to his senses, utterly amazed that a single kiss from her could disarm him so quickly.
“If you’re satisfactorily fortified,” Vennic said, “we should probably get to our purpose in coming here.”
Her lashes fluttered as he eased away, her pupils deep, bottomless pools in a sea of liquid sapphires. Dare he submerge himself in those depths? Could he let go of the threads holding him above water and drown beneath her surface? Was it possible to love again when he already lost so much?
“Ready now?” she asked quietly.
“Only at your say so.”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be all right.”
He led them inside the square, four-story building, immediately assaulted by the cloying stench of death and disease hanging in the air. To her credit, Arden didn’t so much as flinch, though he knew she must’ve been battling her past with every step. Muffled wails echoed down from the stairwell, a sound that clawed at the ears like little else could. They stopped inside the door, unsure of where to start.
“Afflicted or visiting?” A female dwarf in a brown shift dress approached them, bearing a tray of filthy rags and water. Her gray eyes spoke of being beyond exhausted.
“My name is Darius Marillion. I’m here on behalf of the yar to investigate the sickness from the mines.” He cut straight to the point, knowing how busy she must’ve been. “I’d like to speak with any patients still capable of conversation, likely those newly afflicted.”
“Oh! Proseika!” Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Yes, of course. Give me just one moment.”
A younger, harried man passed by, and she stopped him, handed off her tray, and sent him on an errand, simultaneously organizing the tasks she’d already given him in a matter of three sentences. She brushed off her hands, but didn’t offer one in greeting.
“I’m Griya, daughter of Gib. I’ve been overseeing the patients here, but we’re very shorthanded. I apologize if I seem terse.”
Following her down the hall, Darius waved it off. “No apology necessary. I don’t want to interrupt your duties, we’re simply trying to help find the cause and potentially a solution.”
She sighed and stopped in front of door, considering it. “Well, I’m not sure what good you can do, but I’ll tell you what I can. Our healers have been trying to uncover those same things for weeks now, but the only direct link between the cases is the mines. It isn’t spreading from person to person, more like they were all exposed to the same thing.”
“Did all of the afflicted work on the newest tunnel?” he asked. “There was something odd about the water source there. Has anyone looked into it?”
“Miners from all sectors have been afflicted, though it didn’t start until that new branch was explored.” She shrugged and turned the handle on the door. “This one worked the loading area for the carts in the midsection of the mines, which was nowhere near there. If you speak softly, you could discuss it with him. The patients are very sensitive to sound and light.”
The door opened to a dimly lit room containing four beds, of which three were empty. In the far right corner, a dwarf lay curled up on his side, the occasional groan escaping him. Griya led them in, Arden close at his heels, with Vennic trailing behind. The scent of stale sweat lingered over the ill dwarf like a cloud, and it brought back grim memories of life in army encampments.
“Karis,” she said softly, crouching near his face, “the proseika is here to speak with you. I know you’re tired, but he’s here to help.”
When he spoke, his voice was cracked and dry, like a field in a drought. “Proseika? For me?”
She brushed the damp hair from his forehead. “For you. Is it all right?”
Karis weakly lifted his head, a dull spark firing in his gaze. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Griya stood, and Darius took her place at the bedside. “We’re looking into this sickness. I was hoping you could tell me something about how you might’ve contracted it.”
“Are you not afraid of this horror, proseika?”
He shook his head. “If I can help the colony, the risk is worth it.”
A sudden, wracking cough trembled through him, and Griya rushed away. After several moments of hacking into his pillow, Karis looked up again. “I’m not sure I can be of any help. What do you want to know?”
“Were you in the new tunnels at all?”
“No cause to wander down there. Handled some of the ore from it, but nothing unusual about it.”
“What about the water?”
“Not as I know, but can’t say for sure. Never asked where the drinking water came from, but it’s possible.”
He thought on it a moment. “How do you get drinking water? Is it pumped in from somewhere?”
The dwarf coughed again, curling up further into himself as he repressed a groan. The door to his room opened, and Griya returned with more rags, a small bucket, and a glass of water. Before she reached them, Arden intercepted her, relieving her of the cup. Without missing a beat, she eased onto the bed beside Karis, angling the drink for his mouth.
“Take your time,” she said as he sipped the water. “Rest if you need to.”
Karis turned his gaze to her, his expression shifting to soft gratitude with a touch of awe. “What light is this that doesn’t hurt my eyes?”
She blinked at him. “Light?” Glancing down at herself, she touched the pendant of iridian crystal he’d given her that morning. “You mean my necklace?”
He lifted a shaking hand to her face, tracing the edges of her jaw with
trembling fingers. “You glow like diamonds by candlelight, threshandi. Who are you?”
His word, threshandi, startled Darius. He’d only heard it once or twice, but never to describe a living being. Arden truly was captivating in that moment. She was both fearless and kind, soothing with a core of unshakeable strength. Watching her as she took Karis’s hand and began to wipe away the grime from his face, Darius could only imagine how she looked to him. Twice he’d witnessed the dazzling illumination of powerful, good spirits, but never one of flesh.
“She’s the Light of Valentia,” he answered. “Arden Marillion.”
She paused and looked at him, and he realized it was the first time he’d given her his name out loud. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, and she nodded a little, acknowledging the moment, turning her focus back to Karis.
“The water? How do they bring you water as you work? Toiling as you do, I imagine there’s a great need for it on hand at all times.”
“Yes,” he said, still gazing at her. “We share canteens sometimes when we can’t get to the barrels.”
She rinsed off the cloth and continued her ministrations. “Did you share with any of the miners from the new tunnels?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t remember. It was only a sip or two if I did.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I can’t remember what I drank yesterday, never mind a week ago.” Arden gave a small laugh, then moved on. “But what about your family? Are any of them ill?”
“No, threshandi. My wife and children are fine. Gods know what they’ll do without me, though.”
“What’s your wife’s name?”
“Della. She works as a seamstress.”
“And your children? How old are they?”
He closed his eyes, smiling as he drifted into memory, his voice growing faint as though he were slipping into a dream. “Lim is nine… Tora… seven…”
She leaned in closer to him whispering in his ear. “Rest now, Karis. Keep your strength to fight for your family. Thank you for what you’ve shared.”
Darius helped her up, and they left quietly so as not to disturb him further. Griya closed the door behind them and turned to Arden. “That’s the most restful I’ve seen him since he came here. He’ll sleep well. Thank you.”
“I wish I could do more for him, but I’m glad he’ll sleep easy.” Arden paused. “He called me ‘threshandi,’ but I’m not sure what that means.”
Griya studied Arden closely, tracing her face with keen interest. “It means ‘one who shines with the blessing of gods,’ though I’ve only ever heard it used to describe our most hallowed proseikas, ones who brought us to our greatest mountain strongholds, or led us to times of peace. You have a stillness to your spirit that brings joy to all you touch.”
Arden flushed crimson. “I’m not… oh my. That’s certainly not easy to live up to.”
Griya chuckled, but her laughter was kind. “He’s very ill, and only getting worse, but that you brought him some comfort is no small thing. Sometimes, those closer to death see things the rest cannot.”
They continued the tour of the hospice, Arden never wavering, even as the patients got worse the further they went, some whose markings were creeping across their skin like shadows past the edges of their clothing. They asked them all the same questions, but the ones who could answer said much the same things as Karis had. Only one directly remembered touching the water in the new tunnel, but it was to wash, not to drink. Disheartened, they called off the quest for answers shortly before dinner. At Arden’s insistence, they invited Ehlren for dinner at the Tinker & Fang, minus the brandywine.
Arden was greeted with a round of cheers as they entered, which she laughed off with good-natured waves and polite refusals of free rounds. Ehlren joined them not long after they found a table, and they settled in to compare notes on what they discovered over the past two days.
“There’s definitely something about that spring that sits ill with me,” Vennic mused over a bowl of vegetable stew. “Something about it stirs a memory I can’t quite place.”
Darius hummed thoughtfully. “I agree, but I’m not about to touch the stuff to find out for myself. There’s no conclusive proof about it either way, and while I’d like to find the cause, there is a limit to what I’ll do to get it. Maybe the yar’s got spare murderers locked up somewhere to try—”
“Darius!” Arden gasped. “That’s hardly—”
He chuckled. “It was a joke, asahana. I’d never suggest such a thing to him.”
Ehlren grumbled over his ale and bread, waving his roasted leg of grabnar. “You know he’d likely try that, so best not even joke about it.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands in surrender. “But anyway, what of the Gordian weapons, Arden? I haven’t heard about anything you learned yesterday on that matter.”
She lit up like the sun at the mention of the topic, instantly gushing about the athenaeum and the hoard of knowledge stored within. “The scribe I spoke with, Argravian, was incredibly well-read on the subject, though more from a historical standpoint than actual creation of the weapons. I learned a great deal about Tyvus Gordia, one of your fellow proseika. His full name is actually Tyvus Morkevith Gordia, and he was responsible for the naming convention of all dwarf proseika after him. Did you know… well, of course you probably don’t, that he adopted his middle name after his exaltation? He was the first to do so, and all proseika after him have gotten one. You already had one of those when you were given the title, so it didn’t apply to you. You remember that mark I showed you on the dagger?”
He nodded, not about to interrupt her in full excitement.
“That’s his middle name, Morkevith, in written form. It means…” She looked at Ehlren. “Defender of life, correct?”
“Yes, but he was using that mark before he was exalted,” Ehlren said. “All of his known weapons, even the first ones in the preserved sketches, have it.”
Arden continued. “His apprentice survived the destruction of Dhagba and was able to save a few of Gordia’s writings, although the secret of the weapons’ creation was lost. What he knew, he passed on to his heirs, of which the smith Thrass Merdavin is one. If anyone would know more about Gordian weapons, it’s him.”
Grinning, he couldn’t help it at seeing her so animated. “Then I suggest we finish our meal quickly. I imagine you two will have plenty to talk about.”
Arden
Arden turned in a slow circle, basking in the fiery furnaces and heavy machinery of the foundry. Everywhere she looked, a new piece of equipment or the glow of molten metal pulled at her, begging her attention. Massive rails overhead continuously fed the gaping maw of the smelter, the loud grind of gears and clank of chains as they swayed with mechanical movement filling the entirety of the space. Bucket after bucket, each large enough to hold a horse, drifted by overhead, dumping loads of raw ore into a crucible so large she couldn’t see the whole of it. To be in such a place as it ran in the full throes of production, her heart sang to be amongst such wonders. Her family’s factories were nothing in comparison to the incredible scale of the dwarven process.
“Thrass should be all the way in the back,” Ehlren said. “That’s where he tinkers. It’s a shack he calls a laboratory.”
Vibrating in time with the conveyer above, she grabbed Darius by the hand and pulled him along after Ehlren. She knew he didn’t have the same fascination as she did, but having him with her made it all the better.
Tucked into the far corner of the foundry, a long wooden building leaned precariously against the stone walls. Part of her worried knocking on the flimsy door might take the whole place down, but Ehlren had no such qualms and pounded on it loud enough to be heard over the noise around them. After a few moments, it opened, revealing a hunched old dwarf squinting at them through goggles the exact same as she wore from time to time.
“What is it?” he said, his words clipped. “I’m very busy.”
“Master Thrass, the yar’s guests would like to speak with you.” Ehlren’s tone did not give the impression it was a request, and she frowned.
“Guests? Guests? No. I haven’t time for guests.” His long, thin fingers, completely unlike most dwarves’ hands, shooed them off. “Go bother one of the other smiths for a tour.”
Ehlren’s face soured, and Darius started to step forward, but Arden cut him off, placing herself between Ehlren and Thrass before tempers ruined her chances for getting more information.
“It isn’t a tour we’re looking for. We’d never bother you with such a triviality.” She reached behind her, under her coat, freeing the dagger from the sheath she acquired the day before. “I have questions about this, and you’re the only one who can answer them.”
The Gordian dagger gleamed orange in the light of the foundry as she held it out to him. His bushy white eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Where did you come by this, child?”
She offered it to him to examine. “It was an engagement gift from your yar, and one I dearly treasure. Would you do me the honor of speaking with me, descendant of Guain?”
His gaze lifted from the dagger to meet hers. “Who are you to have been given this?”
“My name is Arden. Newly bound to Darius Marillion, King of Valentia, proseika to the people of Ogtern Mountain.”
“Ah,” he rubbed at the sparse hairs on his chin. “I’ve heard of you, Light of Valentia. Your work in Aerenhall was quite impressive for a human.”
She blinked at him several times, confused. “You know about that? But how…”
Thrass opened the door fully and bid them to enter. “One of the swords from Aerenhall made its way here after the war. I made some enquiries. Your blacksmith was quite happy to tell me about you in his letters.”
Tempered Hearts (Hearts of Valentia Book 1) Page 23