Vengeance Born (The Light Blade #1)

by Kylie Griffin

  The two mentioned were the most vocal about turning back.

  “Varian, there’s something else you need to know.” Zaune shared a look with Barvi. The older scout nodded. “We noticed an increase in the amount of people and animals on the road as we returned. I managed to get close enough to one of the wagons camped on the side of the road last night. The humans were farmers who spoke of traveling to market within the city.”

  “How does this information help?” someone asked.

  “Perhaps we need to think about it overnight.” Varian saw others nod in agreement. “If there’s nothing more I suggest we all get some sleep. Good job, Barvi, Zaune.”

  After arranging for the two scouts to be fed, the circle broke up. Varian remained where he was, watching his people disperse. It didn’t take long for silence to settle over the camp.

  The map drew his attention again. The blank circle bothered him more than he’d let on. They might have found the way to the city but what use was that when they had no idea where Annika was within it? He ran a hand through his hair. They needed to know what lay inside the walls.

  Varian slowly straightened. How many humans went to this market? The increased number on the road suggested more than a few. Depending on vigilance of the guards on the gates, a crowd of farmers, their carts, herds of animals, crates of supplies could provide a potential distraction and be a way in. A Na’Chi with a cloak and a prayer might just pass as human and get inside unnoticed. Blending in with the city would be as easy as hiding in a forest. The kernel of a plan brought a smile to his lips.

  Now, all he had to figure out was how to find Annika.

  THE Inner Chamber was brightly lit and a number of lanterns and candles were ensconced around the four walls. A large wooden table sat in the middle of the room, a few steps away from a fireplace. The chamber was windowless and the stark grey of the stone walls was broken up by a tall shelf of books and several large tapestries.

  Any other time Annika would have been fascinated by the brightly colored, detailed weavings as they depicted activities from daily life—historic battles, Light Blades engaged in training, portraits of various humans—but she barely noticed them as she sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, clutching her pouch on her lap.

  The bag provided her with an anchor even though the muscles between her shoulder blades protested the knot of stress forming there. It took everything she had to keep a neutral expression on her face.

  Her gaze strayed to where Kalan was seating his sister on the opposite side of the table then sat in the one beside her. Annika’s chest ached with a combination of disappointment and anger but what cut more deeply was her sense of betrayal.

  May I present to you… Kalan, the Lady’s Chosen.

  Her jaw clenched so hard she could hear the pounding of blood between her ears. His words outside the chamber now made sense. Reaching back into her memory she realized that the pieces of the puzzle of who he was had been there all the time.

  The refusal to give his name to the Na’Hord when captured, his knowledge of a man she’d believed to be someone else, his hesitancy to answer some of her questions, his commanding presence and air of authority he projected and the respect given him by the other warriors in the Outer Chamber.

  Leather creaked in protest as she squeezed the strap of her pouch. Kalan had deliberately withheld his identity while berating her for concealing hers. Heat exploded low in her gut and surged upward. The hypocrisy of his actions scored deeply. She closed her eyes, feeling hot and feverish one moment, light-headed the next.

  Never show weakness to anyone. Disguise it, purge it, cut it from your heart. Savyr’s voice hissed in her head. If you can’t, then squeeze your mind around it and control it until you can.

  “Councilors, I would like you to meet Annika, the Na’Chi who helped me escape the Na’Reish fortress and saved my life.”

  Her eyes snapped open and she discovered Kalan watching her with wary concern. He’d built their friendship on lies. She dropped her gaze, and drew on every shred of strength she had to get through the meeting. The only way she was going to get through this was if she ignored him.

  Her father had subjected her to years of torment; she could survive a few hours of this without falling apart. Even as she thought it, Annika knew she’d have to deal with the terrible ache surrounding her heart eventually. But not here. She shoved it to the back of her mind and focused on the five pairs of eyes that turned to scrutinize her.

  “The Lady’s Chosen tells us you’re that demon, Savyr’s get.” The gaunt-faced man addressing her was seated directly to her left. Long, silver hair framed his wrinkled face as he pinned her with his brown-eyed stare.

  Annika’s gaze narrowed. So, that was going to be the way of it.

  “Councilor Yance, we forget our manners,” Kymora interrupted smoothly, her face turned in the old warrior’s direction. “I’d like to start this meeting with a prayer of thanks. The Lady has remained true to Her word and returned Kalan safely to us. Then, perhaps a few introductions would be appropriate before we begin our discussion?”

  Yance snorted, an action that earned him a censuring glare from Kalan. “I mean no disrespect, Temple Elect. We’re all unsettled by the situation.”

  “I understand your concern.” Kymora offered him a small smile. “Shall we pray?”

  Annika bowed her head, heard someone gasp and ignored the startled whispers coming from her right.

  “Lady, we thank you for the truth of your words. They bring us strength in our time of need—” Kymora spoke confidently but with humble grace as she prayed.

  Annika thought of Hesia as Kymora thanked Her for blessing them with Kalan’s safe return. She sent her own petition for Hesia’s continued safety among the Na’Reish. How she would have liked to meet Kymora, a woman with a faith as dedicated as her own.

  Kalan introduced each of the Councilors at the end of the prayer and Annika memorized each name and face.

  “In answer to your statement, Councilor Yance, I’m Savyr’s daughter.” She was relieved her voice held steady. “What else would you like to know?”

  “You’d answer our questions freely?” Candra, the woman who spoke, seemed genuinely surprised. Like many of the Councilors around the table, her dark hair was sprinkled liberally with grey, but she was the youngest barring Kymora and Kalan.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Annika met her eyes, her gaze direct. “I bear no allegiance to my father or the Na’Reish. By coming here I expected to answer many questions.”

  “Then answer me this…” The growled words came from across the table, from the man sitting next to Kymora. Blue eyes, the color of a winter sky at midday, raked over her. “What proof do you have that you’re Na’Chi?”

  The raw hostility of his hatred was oppressive, suffocating, and eerily reminiscent of her father’s. Annika’s mouth dried.

  This was Davyn, Arek’s grandfather. Kalan had warned her about him at breakfast. His darkly tanned face was creased with age, a warrior past his prime but still strong if the thickness and width of his shoulders was any indication. She imagined Arek would look like him in another thirty years.

  Candra rapped the table with her knuckles, drawing Davyn’s attention away from her. “Are you blind?” She waved a hand in her direction. “The differences are obvious. Her eyes change color, the pigment in the markings on her body are paler and the patterning is more irregular. She doesn’t have the larger skeleton or musculature of the demons.” The corner of her mouth quirked upward as did one eyebrow. “Nor has she leapt across this table to slit the hearts’ vessel in your throat.”

  Annika stared at the woman as chuckles erupted around the table.

  “Candra is the Master Healer here, Annika.” Kymora’s explanation was accompanied by a smile. “Hence the detailed description of your physical attributes.”

  The women’s easy chatter eased the tension somewhat, although Davyn certainly didn’t share in the humor of the situation. His express
ion remained cold and unmoved and when he glanced back at her, something dark flickered behind his eyes. It sent an icy finger of fear down her spine.

  “Annika’s mother was a Light Blade.” Kalan’s deep voice held a steely edge. “She has her amulet.”

  Annika dug into her pouch and laid it on the table. The Councilor to her right examined it and passed it on.

  Davyn’s eyes narrowed, the light in his eyes particularly bright. “Who was she?”

  “I don’t know. Savyr never allowed me to discover her name.”

  “Surely, at some time, he let something slip.”

  “No, nothing.”

  Davyn shared a look with Yance. Annika shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her scalp tingled and she became aware of a faint, malevolent scent in the air. She inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint its origin. Davyn was the obvious choice but there were others at the table whose expression mirrored his.

  “There’s no doubt Annika’s mother was a Light Blade, Councilors. We all know Her power needs one parent to come from our ranks to produce a Gifted child,” Kalan stated. “Annika has the Gift of healing. Show them your pouch.”

  Annika placed it on the table. His lip curling back from his teeth, Davyn reached forward but Candra beat him to it. The older woman displayed everything on the table, her eyebrows lifting as she examined the tools and made interested sounds as she sniffed the contents of the bags and jars.

  “Where’s your journal?” she asked. “I don’t see it here.”

  “Journal?”

  “Yes, the one for the recipes of your remedies?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When you apprenticed, didn’t your mentor make you write all your learning in a book for later reference?”

  “A book.” The smirk on Davyn’s face caught her attention. It grew as he rose from his seat. Crossing to the tall shelf behind him he pulled a thick, leather-bound tome from it. “You do know what a book is, don’t you?”

  “Your rudeness is uncalled for, Davyn.” Kalan’s voice held an underlying thread of steel. “Annika saved my life. Twice. And is due the respect you would give any warrior.”

  “My apology, Chosen.” Davyn sounded far from contrite. His dark gaze locked on her. “Well, Na’Reish?”

  Annika’s temper sparked. “I’m Na’Chi. And, of course I know what a book is.” She’d seen them in her father’s chamber, in the homes of the Na’Reish. She focused on the Master Healer. “But I’ve never needed to keep a journal.”

  Yance huffed and issued a protest, which was supported by three other Councilors. She drew back, startled by their outburst, and glanced around the table. Their supercilious expressions as they stared down their noses at her reminded her of the Na’Reish lords who’d visit her father. Uneasiness ate at the pit of her stomach.

  “Caring for the sick holds great responsibility,” Candra commented, her gaze thoughtful. “All our healers have to know how to read and write. How else does one learn the hundreds of potions, gels, and treatments?”

  As if sensing her unease, Davyn came around the table, like a lira after its prey. The book thumped onto the table in front of her. A dry, dusty odor tickled her nostrils. Her heart thudded just as loudly in her chest as he flipped it open to a section near the middle and waved a hand at the page.

  “Perhaps you’d care to show us an example of your learning and read aloud the recipe used by a healer to treat… say… Blackroot-fever.”

  Annika’s mouth dried as she stared at the pages of laboriously handwritten markings and beautiful pictures. She ran her fingertips over the colors, awed by the incredible craftsmanship of the scribe then delicately traced the wafer-thin edge of the page. A familiar longing burned in her chest as she scanned the spidery symbols she had no idea how to interpret.

  “Well, healer?” Davyn returned to his seat and folded his arms.

  “Enough, Davyn.” Kalan’s voice was hard.

  Heat filled Annika’s cheeks; first with frustration because she lacked the knowledge Davyn demanded she show them, and secondly with self-directed anger because she so desperately wanted to prove herself to them all.

  “I said I’d answer your questions.” With a trembling hand, Annika gently closed the book and pushed it away from her. “I don’t keep a journal, Councilor Candra, because I don’t know your letters and words. I was never allowed to learn them.”

  Davyn grunted loudly. “Illiterate and a liar.”

  Annika flinched, shocked by the utter derision in his tone, but a heartbeat later heat exploded throughout her body.

  “You go too far!” Kalan leapt to his feet. “You’re dismissed from this meeting.”

  Kymora reached for his arm with unerring accuracy. “In the name of the Lady let wisdom and peace guide us, warriors. Not anger or blind hatred.”

  Neither man seemed to be listening. Annika rose from her seat, the slow scraping of her chair capturing everyone’s attention. Trembling, she fisted her hands, aware that her admission had damaged their impression of her.

  “For what it’s worth, Councilor Candra, I don’t need a journal to remember what I was taught.” Her voice wavered but she kept her head held high, drawing the shreds of her pride around her like a cloak. “My teachings are all up here.” She tapped her forehead and ignored the few who snorted. “Hesia, the human woman who taught me, told me many stories about the courtesy and tolerance of humans compared to the Na’Reish. She held the Council in high regard and spoke of you as respected leaders. She said with your faith in the Lady you could be relied upon to be open-minded and fair. But you’re not the Blade Council she spoke of.”

  Her glance strayed to Kalan. He stood silent, his face an implacable mask, his gaze hooded. What was he thinking? Did he support her or not? Her anger faltered. Perhaps she’d overstepped the mark. It was too late to take back her words.

  Why she was even bothering to care about what he thought of her she didn’t know. She turned her attention back to the other people in the room and raked her gaze over each of the Councilors, unable to stomach their prejudice alone or hide her contempt.

  “If you measure a person’s worth by a single set of standards, and dismiss them because they don’t meet them, then I don’t know if you live up to mine.”

  She turned on her boot heel and left the chamber.

  Chapter 18

  “ARE you hurt?”

  Annika stiffened at the hesitant concern in the voice at her back. She turned slowly, scrubbing tears from her cheeks, unaware that she’d made any noise to alert someone to her distress. She’d learnt never to cry aloud.

  A pair of deep brown eyes stared at her through the bushes. The eyes belonged to a freckle-faced girl no more than ten years old. She was crouched on the other side of the garden bed, dressed only in a pair of green colored breeches and shirt, her cheeks ruddy with the cold.

  “I can get Healer Danna from the hospice iffen you need her.” A worried frown creased her brow, her lilting voice filled with earnest sincerity. “I’m not full-trained yet but I can feel you hurtin’ bad.”

  The child crawled through the hedge to the hidden niche Annika had fled to after leaving the Blade Council chambers. It was the only place, away from prying eyes, she could find before her tears had started to fall. Her small visitor cursed as a branch snapped under her boot and she emerged from the hedge holding it in her hand.

  “Ohh, Mother of Mercy, you won’t tell Master Gardener Pel I did this will you? He spent months tending this gard—” The guilt-ridden expression on the girl’s face froze then changed. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a shocked breath, and Annika knew she’d been recognized.

  “I won’t hurt you. Please don’t scream.”

  Her freckled nose scrunched up. “Why would I scream? That’s such a girly thing to do. I was jus’ wonderin’ if they hurt.”

  “What?”

  A small finger pointed at her face. “Them. Some of the folk over at the hospice have sores on their skin like you
r spots. They’re always complainin’ they hurt.”

  The child was asking about her Na’Chi markings? “No, they don’t hurt. I was born with them.”

  “Can I touch ’em?” More than a little bewildered by the child’s lack of fear of her Annika nodded. A grin broke over the girl’s face and she jumped up to join her on the stone bench, her dark, curly hair bouncing with her exuberant energy. “My name’s Rissa, but my friends call me Bit on account that I’m so small. One day, though, I’m gonna be tall ’n strong ’cause my feet are big for my age.

  “I don’t have no parents so’s I’m not sure whether they were tall but Animal Master Gorlas says big feet are a sign for growin’ tall.” She rubbed her hands together. “One of the tricks of the healin’ trade. Gotta warm your hands afore you touch your patient. Not that you’re my patient, but you get what I mean, eh?”

  The child’s rambling, one-sided conversation brought a small smile to Annika’s face. “I appreciate it. My name’s Annika.”

  “Yeah, I heard ’bout you this mornin’ at breakfast. The whole Barracks was talkin’.” Rissa’s touch was gentle as she trailed her fingertips down the side of her face, her brow furrowed in concentration. She made a sound at the back of her throat, very similar to the one Councilor Candra had made when examining her pouch. “You’re the first demon granted sanctuary ever!”

  Rissa sounded excited rather than terrified and that confused her. Where was the wariness and distrust she’d come to know and expect? Her elders certainly made no secret of their feelings for her.

  “Rissa, why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  Solemn brown eyes met hers. “Afore I was brought here to train, I used to live on the streets. You get to trust your feelin’s about people, and learn real quick to avoid the one you know might hurt you. I don’t feel that with you, ’sides, the Lady’s Chosen would never have brought that sort of person here.”

  Annika closed her eyes briefly, touched by Rissa’s simple honesty and her belief in the truth as she saw it.