But dare I? Lawri’s life depended on it. So, closing her eyes, bracing for it, Tala plunged her right hand into the wound.
“You fool,” Glade muttered. “What wraiths possess you, girl?”
Wraiths indeed. Holding her breath, she began probing the steaming stew of Sterling’s guts. It was warm inside the man’s stomach, hot even, so hot she nearly jerked her hand right back out. But gritting her teeth, she resolved to finish the job. As she worked the hot, squirming lumps of his intestines and vitals aside, she was glad Sterling was dead. The Bloodwood had obviously planned for her to attempt this gruesome search whilst the man was still alive.
After several excruciating moments stirring Sterling’s guts, a growing feeling of dread began to grow within Tala. The futility of what she was doing hit her. Despair crept upon her with the swiftness and ease of a serpent. And just when she was about to abandon her search, she felt it—a solid tubular object. At first she thought it was just another bone, a rib, perhaps. But this bone was not attached to anything and fell into the palm of her hand so snugly it nearly made her shout in surprise.
She pulled the object forth almost triumphantly and held it out for Glade to see, arm slick and steaming with globs of red. The thing in her hand glowed green through all the blood, and for a moment Tala thought she had pulled forth one of the fabled angel stones itself. But as she uncurled her fingers, she could see that it was not a bone, nor a stone, yet rather a small vial filled with a green, luminescent liquid. It was then that Tala felt the unseen eyes greedily boring into her from all around. She turned, pulling the Bloodwood dagger from her belt with her left hand, brandishing it. But there was no one in the room with her save Glade.
He was looking upon her with utter disgust. “What have you have involved me in?” he asked, eyes on the glowing vial. “I will not easily forgive you for making me a party to it. Only one overcome by the wraiths would behave so. You are no lady.”
“It was you who killed Sterling,” Tala said abruptly, disappointed in the meekness of her own voice. Feeling as drained as an empty wineskin, she just couldn’t muster up anything in the way of emotion. “Who will forgive murder?” she tried more forcefully, holding up the vial. “You slit a man’s throat in cold blood and you’re disgusted by this?”
“Lest you forget, it was you who brought me here.” He stepped up to her, anger and desperation in his voice. “We keep this a secret.” His hand lashed out, grabbing her chin in a viselike grip. “All of it. Secret. Neither one of us speaks of it. Ever. Not Sterling’s death. None of it. Do you understand?”
The pain where his hand tightened on her chin was intense. Anger filled her now. Rage. Fury. She struck at him with the dagger, but he effortlessly knocked it away with his free hand. It spun to the floor, clattering softly against the base of the altar. He whirled and snatched it up in a flash. She backed away, turned, and tried to run, but he was on her quickly, latching onto her arm, spinning her around.
Gripping her chin again, Glade forced her face up to his, black blade at her throat.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
For a moment his eyes bored into hers with malice; then they traveled down to the green vial still clenched in her hand. “I helped you find that for Lawri. So now you will do as I say.” He leaned into her until their faces were no more than a hand span apart. “Aye, I killed Prentiss,” he snarled, pressing the blade against her flesh. “He was a useless fool. He needed to die. Your own brother would agree. I did Gul Kana a great service today.” His lips brushed her trembling cheek. “But if you tell anyone that it was I who killed Sterling, then I will kill you as easily as I killed him.”
He released her, shoving her back roughly. “And I will kill Lawri, too.”
“You will not touch her,” Tala growled as she slipped the green vial into her tunic. She hadn’t journeyed this far for her cousin just to have this spoiled brat threaten to kill Lawri.
“And I suppose you think you can stop me?” Glade thrust the dagger out threateningly between them. “I will have no problem gutting her like I just—”
Tala clapped as hard as she could. She connected perfectly. The dagger spun from his hand and to the floor and skipped across the room.
Both surprise and pain filled his eyes as he drew his own blade and lunged for her.
It was instinctive, a reflex, swift and brutal: her right knee flew straight up between his legs with crushing force as she ducked his blow. His eyes bulged as her knee knifed into his groin like a thunderbolt and lifted him off the ground. Just as quickly, he folded to the floor, curling into the fetal position, gulping for air, his dagger no longer in hand. “Bitch,” he managed to spit out between heaving gasps, and then a stream of vomit splattered the floor under him.
He tried to stand, clutching at the altar for help.
“You can find your own way out of here.” She spun and made her way to the door alone, a throbbing pain in her knee, a sweetly satisfying pain that dulled by the second as she hurried from the room.
“I will kill her,” he gurgled as she left him there. “Tell anyone, I swear it, and I will kill her.”
But Lawri was already dead when Tala returned to Lindholf’s room—dead from the Bloodwood’s poison.
“She just stopped breathing,” Lindholf cried breathlessly, devastation on his face. “I’m sorry, Tala, I didn’t know what do to. I watched over her like you asked, wiped her forehead with the cool rags. I didn’t know how long you’d be gone. I’ve been sitting here in despair watching her breaths become more shallow. Jovan will have us hung for this.”
Panic hammered Tala’s heart as she rushed to her cousin’s side. When she felt Lawri’s cold, sunken skin, anguish settled over her like a wintry blanket. Dead! It couldn’t be! After all I’ve been through . . . so much . . .
She pulled the vial from her pocket. The liquid inside still glowed with a feverish green light. Tala uncorked the vial and poured a dab of the serum on her fingertip, its touch cool against her skin. She brushed her finger over her cousin’s pale lips. The green potion instantly dissolved when it touched Lawri’s flesh, then disappeared, drawn down into her skin, leaving behind the fresh, healthy color of life.
“Help me, Lindholf.” Hope roared through Tala’s veins as she wiggled her fingers into Lawri’s lips, prying her mouth open. “Hold her head still.”
Lindholf grabbed his sister’s face with both hands and held her chin up as Tala emptied the Bloodwood’s antidote down her cousin’s throat.
Tala sat back, empty vial clutched in her hand.
Lawri’s eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright in the bed, coughing. “I had a dream!” she blurted excitedly.
Lindholf was wide-eyed. To Tala’s astonishment, all color had returned to Lawri’s flesh, and she looked almost completely healthy, if a bit meager and starved.
Lawri’s willowy arm lashed out, and she grabbed Tala by the hand, lively eyes boring into hers. “I had a dream about you, Tala.”
“Are you okay?” Tala could feel the warmth of life’s blood pulsing through the palm of her cousin’s hand. She was too stunned to cry.
“I’m fine,” Lawri said, eyes darting around the small gray room and its chipped, broken mortar held together with cedar planks, brow furrowing when she spied the chains and irons and hooks high on the walls. “Where am I?”
“In a storage room just off your brother’s chamber,” Tala answered. “Are you sure you feel okay?”
Lawri looked around the room, confused. Her gaze lingered on her twin for a moment, and then she addressed Tala again. “I had a dream about you. You were married to Grand Vicar Denarius.”
“But vicars and bishops can’t marry,” Lindholf said.
“That’s exactly what Denarius said in my dream.” Lawri kept her eyes fixed on Tala. “But Jovan claimed it was high time vicars and bishops be taken in marriage. And then he promised you to Denarius. In my dream you were betrothed to the grand vicar, Tala. I attended your wedding.”
* * *
How art thou fallen from such lofty grace, O Laijon, father of all Mourning? What a great travesty that the hordes of the deceived think thy Mantle of Atonement lies in Amadon with wretches and fools, when it was so clearly bestowed upon your One and Only beloved son, Raijael, your true and pure Dragon Claw.
—THE CHIVALRIC ILLUMINATIONS OF RAIJAEL
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
GAULT AULBREK
20TH DAY OF THE MOURNING MOON, 999TH DAY OF LAIJON
SOUTH OF RAVENKER, GUL KANA
Ava Shay bade him come in. At first he refused. Then, seeing the sober expression of fear and worry on her face, he’d reluctantly pulled open the folds of Aeros’ tent and slipped inside. It was the first time Gault had been alone in the tent with the girl.
She walked in front of him now, leading him into the center of the entry room. The wind of the girl’s passage brought a faint scent to Gault’s nose, the enticing perfume of young womanhood and a freshly washed body. It also carried the smell of recent sex—a familiar aroma that hit him in the chest like an ax. She had lain with Aeros.
The Angel Prince had just received word from Spiderwood that the scouts he’d sent into Ravenker had reported a small band of Gul Kana knights bearing King Jovan Bronachell’s standard camped north of the town. At the news, Aeros had left, taking the Bloodwood with him, leaving Gault alone at his post in front of the tent.
Ava’s sleeve brushed his hand. He jerked away as if stung, then realized she’d been watching him intently from the corner of her eye. Despite his best efforts to remain indifferent to the girl, something about her was growing more alluring every day; his undeniable attraction to her now extended beyond the notion that she was naught but a curious reminder of his dead wife, Avril. His attraction was now approaching lust. He knew he blushed whenever her eyes met his. She was not just watching him now but staring at him with an anticipation of some sort that he could not quite identify.
“What is it?” he asked, wanting to look away from her yet unable to.
She faced him, eyes deep green, eyes that one could get lost in and never desire to be found. She wore a white shift tied about her waist with a thin, black cotton sash, accentuating the suppleness of her figure. Blond hair flowed down her back. In the torrid glow of the tent’s many candelabras, the silken curls about her face danced like flame. “I must warn you,” she blurted in a rush of breath, “as we camped on the outskirts of Tomkin Sty, Aeros and the Bloodwood, they talked of you and me.”
Gault’s blood turned to ice. Tomkin Sty—the village they had destroyed after Gallows Haven. The Sør Sevier army had swelled in ranks to over ten thousand. And more ships would be arriving from Wyn Darrè by the time they reached Ravenker on the morrow. Still, despite all of his success, Aeros was showing signs of impatience. In Wyn Darrè, the Angel Prince’s army had killed only those soldiers who’d fought against them, never women or children. However, Aeros’ siege of Gul Kana was an all-out slaughter. Anything and everything in his way was crushed underfoot, leaving few alive, and those remaining were now his slaves.
His eyes narrowed of their own volition. “And what did they say?”
“Aeros cares not for the way you look upon me.” She dropped her eyes. “Nor I you.”
Gault cursed himself for not being more circumspect in how he had handled himself around Ava. He had never blatantly gawked at the girl in Aeros’ presence, never spoken to her more than briefly. But Aeros had sharp eyes and even sharper instincts. He would be quick to pick up on even the smallest of clues, especially if he had caught the girl looking at Gault in the same way.
She continued tentatively, “Aeros said that you are not a full-blooded Sør Sevier man and your mother was a witch from Adin Wyte. He said that you were less than a bastard. He deemed you unholy. He thinks you will steal the helmet and angel stone from him. He is afraid you might find out the plans a man named Black Dugal has for your daughter.”
Black Dugal! Gault felt all the color drain from his face. He took a step back from the girl and felt his eyes bore into hers. Plans for his daughter? The last image Gault had had of his stepdaughter was of her waving to him from the battlements of Rokenwalder Castle as the armies of the Angel Prince sailed from the shores of Sør Sevier toward Wyn Darrè. He remembered King Aevrett’s promise to keep her safe. She had been scarcely twelve at the time. But those days were over and almost beyond recall, and allowing himself to dwell on them would only ruin the edge he needed to remain alert and alive in the coming days—that is, if what Ava told him was true. Longing for the past was an indulgence best left to the small-minded. He closed his eyes and cleared his head, breathing deep. When he reopened them, Ava’s face was clear as crystal before him.
“How is it you heard them discussing me?” he asked.
“They speak freely in front of me. I fear the Bloodwood plans to kill you.”
“Kill me?”
“I swear it.”
“Perhaps you imagine things,” he said. “A dream, maybe.”
“The wraiths put no such imaginings in my head,” she said with fierceness. There was something dark in her face, a look of rage, perhaps, or cruelty. “I only chose to warn you because I cannot bear the thought of your death.” His questioning her brought genuine hurt to her eyes and genuine concern, too. She had exposed herself to him as a friend. She had wanted to help him. That he acted distrustful had disturbed her.
“You’re right,” he said. “For only the wicked can be deceived by the wraiths.”
She seemed to retreat inward at his words.
“And you above all are not wicked.” He lifted his hand and touched her hair. She didn’t flinch, except perhaps around the eyes. “I wish to believe you. At the same time I hope that there is no truth in what you say. I thank you for risking so much to warn me.”
“I risk nothing,” she said. “I am already dead. I ask only that you kill Aeros for me. But if you cannot slay him, I understand. However, you should at least try to escape from this place. And if so, you should take me with you.”
Gault found that his fingers were still entwined within the blond curls of her hair. But his body went rigid at her words. In all the battles he’d fought these last five years, nothing had prepared him for this. The very thought of Aeros plotting his death stung. But what stunned him more was the last wish of this girl. Fleeing in fear of his own life was something he had never contemplated.
“Aeros showed me the green stone.” She pointed to the gold-filigreed chest set on a rug in the corner of the room. “And the helm. The White Prince thinks you will steal them anyway. So take them now. And take me with you when you escape.”
Ava wanted him to abandon the Angel Prince—abandon his lord. To steal from him too. He could feel the stone pulling at him now. And it’s right there in that chest! He’d felt the stone’s glamour and lure ever since he’d first seen it. But to gain it, this waif wants me to become a deserter, the lowest form of man. And she wanted him to take her with him. But what shook him to his core was the fact that he was now contemplating doing just such a thing. He cursed himself for his own weakness. Is it the striking look of her face and perfection of her body that has bewitched me? He let her hair drop from his fingers, never more ashamed of his own lust.
Then he kissed her. She flinched away at first. But then her lips were pressed into his, soft and warm and open. His tongue searched her willing mouth, finding hers, curling together. Then, realizing what he was doing, he pushed away from her as if bitten. She’s scarcely seventeen! He walked ten paces from her and poured himself a cool cup of water from the basin on the far side of the draped room. He drank deep, heart pounding. Krista’s age! He looked at the girl and saw the hurt and confusion. She’s but a child.
There was a stirring of the air and a flash of light. Gault’s eyes flew to the entry of the tent. Aeros stood in the canvas doorway. The sunlight from outside grazed his shoulders and hair, the glint in his eyes li
ke piercing hailstones. Silhouetted against the brightness of the sun, his face appeared absolutely bloodless.
“You are excused now, Gault,” Aeros said, holding the flap of the tent open.
* * *
I have witnessed the folly of men. Trying to save your own skin will not make you a hero. For every soul has an instinct to survive. Even the starving rat slinking in the sewers of Amadon will fight the mangy cat that stalks it. You are only a hero when you risk your own life to save another. But man is stupid and filled with pride. I have seen men throw away their lives just to prove they were tough or, Laijon forbid, right.
—THE MOON SCROLLS OF MIA
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
JONDRALYN BRONACHELL
20TH DAY OF THE MOURNING MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
RAVENKER, GUL KANA
Jondralyn sat on a lichen-coated rock next to Culpa Barra. Her ears were alert to the cries of the gulls skimming the ocean below. Leif Chaparral stood near them in his leather armor, a black shard against the moonlight, the hilt of his sword a barely visible gleam at his hip. Leif held the king’s standard in one arm, tip planted in the turf, his body leaning against it. The crescent moon was a sharp scythe poised over him. A soft light misted the jagged edge of the cliff not fifty yards from Leif. The cliff overlooked Ravenker and Autumn Bay. The sheer drop plunged heedlessly to the rocks and breakers below. Foamy waves crested the sea in the distance, glinting with a moon-washed glow.
The king’s standard—a banner with a silver tree on a black background—snapped to life in the wind. The small gust also bent and swayed the top of the few gnarled trees that shimmered along the cliff’s edge. The gust was stout enough to pull the spring leaves from the branches and send them spinning away in silver twinkles. Sixty of Kelvin Kronnin’s Ocean Guard stood at ease not a hundred paces behind Jondralyn, Leif, and Culpa. The three of them had ventured to this spot high atop the bluff on the western side of the bay for good reason. Even though it was well past midnight, they’d come here to scout the terrain, looking east over Ravenker and the looming mountain range beyond. More importantly, they were now looking across the bay at the White Prince’s army, camped under the Autumn Range a mile south of town.
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