I sat on a moss-covered rock and pulled my coat around me. Shaianna would be well. Had she died, I would have felt her passing through the bond, wouldn’t I?
The horses pawed at the earth and snickered, but the quiet was thick, as though the restless gods had granted the people of Calwyton a moment of peace.
After escaping the workhouse, I had wandered Brean’s streets for months, stealing scraps and avoiding the worst parts of the city by chance more than skill. The streets weren’t kind to anyone, and to someone like me, raised inside the Inner Circle wall, I might as well have been a lamb in a warg’s den. A delirious sickness almost claimed me once, after I’d eaten something offered to me by a well-to-do woman with cruel eyes. Another time, I narrowly missed the affections of a gang after they had lured me in with promises of food and warmth, but the worst of it came when I was attacked and beaten, left for dead in a gutter. I would have died had it not been for a kindhearted whore who had mistaken me for a pile of rags. After cleaning me up, she too had recognized a way to use a young, naive boy. But my penchant for thievery—a skill I’d acquired on the street and perfected in her company—proved far more useful than my body.
I was the sum of my mistakes. Fifteen years as an Inner Circle brat, so convinced of my own self-worth until my dreams of being a city guard had burned along with my parents. I’d escaped the Inner Circle only to be press-ganged into the workhouse. Five years of torture had followed. A world as different from the Inner Circle as night was from day, a world so horrific my sister had taken a kitchen knife to her heart to escape it—and me. The streets had been kinder; six months on my own, then maybe three years as a thief, and sometimes as an escort when the mood struck, until Shaianna demanded I drink from her cup.
I didn’t deserve Shaianna. She was either the best or the worst thing to happen to me. I’d yet to decide which.
She was truly a puzzle. A frustrating riddle. In one glance, she could be beautiful, joyful, and hopeful, and in the next she’d be cold, guarded, and detached. She reminded me a little of the girls in the coach house, who wore their personalities like masks. The reality of them was far different from the ones they presented to their clients by the hour. But who was Shaianna’s act for? Certainly not me. I doubted I featured much in her thoughts at all. She cared for her cup, and the Dragon’s Eye, and freeing herself from the wretched thief she had mistakenly bound herself to.
I dipped my hands into the bitterly-cold stream, cupped some water, and splashed my face, shocking the fatigue from my system..
If half of Shaianna was an act, which half was true? The laughing woman or the sorceress assassin?
I wanted to see the laughing woman again. The woman who’d lifted her hands to the waterfall, the woman whose smile had warmed my withered heart, the woman who had danced with the Calwyton townsfolk as though she didn’t have a care. Perhaps I was a fool to think such things. She would certainly think me so if I asked her to smile for me.
Movement in the mist drew my eye. She approached through the field with purpose, running her hands over the waist-high grass while her sights remained locked on her target—me. I wondered if she had lingered to kill Tassen and if the same fate awaited me.
She stopped on the opposite side of the stream and regarded the horses. “Stolen, thief?”
I straightened and scratched at my chin. “Borrowed. It’s about time you turned up. Some of us have fabled gems to find.”
Something—I hesitated to say a smile—crossed her lips before she could banish it. She retrieved a dagger from behind her and held it out handle first. “Keep it close, thief. You will need it where we are headed.”
I looked at the blade, clean and sharp. No sign of blood or anything to indicate she had used it to carve through a small army of mages. Her face showed no signs of it either. But in her eyes, a small sparkle of fresh sadness rested there like dew on grass. Or perhaps that was my imagination, for her eyes were as dark now as they had ever been.
I took the blade. “To Arach.”
She bowed her head. “To Arach. And may these so-called restless gods be with us.”
She turned away, leaving me to wonder whether she had heard my prayer or if she also prayed a little when faced with darkness.
Chapter Eleven
“What does it say, thief?”
“You can’t read?”
“Not your language, no.”
We pulled the horses to a stop where the woodland gave way to a patch of clear meadow and the rise of what looked like oddly angled trees. Upon closer inspection, they weren’t trees at all, but stone columns choked by undergrowth.
“It’s nonsense, really,” I said, referring to the scratches etched into a fallen stone. It looked like a gravestone, especially when considering the words, but I wasn’t about to tell Shaianna that. Since riding out of the woodland to where the ruins jutted from the undergrowth, she had stilled and gritted her teeth, causing a muscle to flutter in her cheek.
“We should move on,” I suggested.
She stared ahead at the ruins, signaling we weren’t moving anywhere until I had obediently read the carving.
With a sigh, I recited the words. “‘Where once there were dragons there remains the dance of starlight. Look to the …” I paused and shifted my horse side-on to get a better view of the weathered letters. “It’s difficult to make out. Look to the whisper in the wind, the stirring below still waters, and the rise of ocean waves. Only the realm of man remains, where once there were dragons. See, just some nonsense put here by the moorlanders.”
She gave no sign that she had heard me and kicked her horse forward. Her galloping mare disturbed the field of flowers and butterflies, scattering clouds of pollen and dandelion fuzz into the air.
I let her go until the bond tugged and then geed my horse on. Less wondering about the riddle of her and more treasure hunting.
I found her riderless horse wandering the ruins where the meadow had breached crumbled walls and spilled between monolithic stones.
“Shaianna?” I called and dismounted. I tied my horse’s reins loosely around a tree branch and did the same for Shaianna’s horse.
“Shaianna?” My calls didn’t carry far into the slumbering ruins.
Grasshoppers chittered, and the rich earthy smell of ferns tickled my nose. I jogged over some fallen stones the size of my entire loft and pushed through the blanket of ferns, treading carefully.
“Shaianna?” A little voice of worry declared she had disappeared to retrieve the Eye without me. I probably wouldn’t see her again, and all of this had been for … nothing.
A gentle breeze touched my face, bringing with it the sweet scent of wild flowers and the sounds of sobbing. I jogged higher, over the fallen stone and deeper into the ruins, until the tangle of jungle and stone opened into what must have once been a great feasting hall. The roof had long collapsed, but a few stubborn walls lingered. Shaianna knelt, head bowed, in front of a vine-wrapped pillar. Her all-black attire contrasted starkly against the swathes of grass. It wasn’t until I had hopped down stones to level ground that I realized her shoulders shook and the sobs were hers.
Wading through the grass, I carefully approached. “Shaianna?”
She didn’t cry. She was too much a killer to cry. But when she lifted her face from her hands, real tears glistened on her cheeks.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, and then, with a gasp, she screamed the next words. “How can this be?”
I wanted to go to her, to wrap my arms around her and pull her close, but the shock of seeing her openly sobbing rooted me. She would likely stab me if I tried to comfort her. I hadn’t come this far to mess up by overstepping some intangible boundary.
She braced a hand on the earth and fell forward, as though in pain. I had dropped to a knee beside her before I could consider it might be a mistake.
“There’s nothing here,” she whispered.
I touched the back of her hand, and when she didn’t lash out, I
curled my fingers closed, closing her hand in mine. I’d hoped to soothe her, but her sobs worsened.
“How long?” she asked.
I settled my hand awkwardly on her shoulder. “Arach has been in ruins for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. No one is sure. It’s always been this way.”
She reared up, and I expected her to slap or maybe stab me, but instead, she threw her arms around me and sobbed into my chest. I rocked back, arms out, trying to keep us from falling. Once I regained my balance, I stayed crouched, wondering if it was safe to close my arms around her. I did, but oh so slowly. She slumped into the embrace so that I had little choice but to hold her close as her sobs rippled through us. She seemed so … small in my arms, in this place, and so very alone. She had told me she’d lost everything.
I rested my cheek on her head and closed my eyes. I didn’t understand her, but I understood loneliness. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be alone; that it was a wretched way to live, and that if she let others in, she would smile again. But these were all foolish thoughts for a foolish thief.
We stayed like that awhile. After minutes or hours, her sobs ceased and her body stopped trembling, but she didn’t move from my arms. Her hair smelled of ginger lily and warm leather. I remembered noting that before, but I couldn’t remember when. I pushed aside all thoughts of the madness chasing us and paused in the moment.
Butterflies flittered about the ruins of the crumbled hall. The people of Arach were long dead, but the place was still beautiful, even in its sadness, and perhaps all the more beautiful because the wilderness had reclaimed it.
If she hadn’t realized the ruins were actual ruins, then perhaps she’d been wrong about the Dragon’s Eye too. I couldn’t imagine there was anything of value left in this place. Such things would have been plundered long ago. I should have cared, but I didn’t, not with her so close.
“How did this happen?” she asked quietly. One hand slipped from my shoulder and settled lightly on my forearm. It didn’t mean anything, that shift, but all my thoughts funneled to that touch and how easy it would be to take her hand in mine and lift her fingers to my lips.
“Just boyhood stories come to mind. The restless gods became displeased with the builders of Arach. The Arachians built it so well, with great columns that climbed into the sky and art that outshone that which the gods could create. It is said the gods tried to claim the halls for themselves, but the ruins crumbled around them and they were forced to stalk the moors instead.”
Her thumb stroked lazy circles on my wrist, casting my thoughts into dangerous territory. We couldn’t stay like this.
“And where did you hear this story?” she asked, her cheek still pressed against my shirt, over my heart. “Not in Brea’s Outer Circle …”
She couldn’t see how I had closed my eyes or know how I struggled to keep my voice level. “No. My mother read stories to me and my sister before bed.”
“I would have liked your mother, although I do not agree with her version of events.”
“Then you would have loved the one about how the Inner Circle got its spire. It is filled with dragons and knights. Although the story says the Inner Circle High Guard were the knights, my sister and mother were not convinced.”
“Tell me of the spire.”
“In the tales, all the magic in all the world is locked inside.”
“I would like to visit this spire one day.”
Around and around her thumb stroked. Her words, when she spoke, strummed through my chest, and then there was the fact her other hand had settled on the back of my neck, soft and warm against my skin.
“It’s vast, up close. It towers into the clouds some days.” I stopped and gritted my teeth. I had said too much. Although she had guessed I was born inside the Inner Circle, admitting it felt like I had given away too much of myself—exposing something raw and vulnerable.
A cloud blotted out the sun, casting a shadow over the ruins. With the chill came a cool breeze that swept up the ’lion fuzz and shooed away the butterflies. The moment was slipping. I clung on to it for a few more heartbeats and then reluctantly shifted back and opened my arms. Her thumb stopped its gentle strokes and her body tensed. She looked up, close enough to kiss. Her dark eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I suppose we won’t be finding any Dragon’s Eyes today?” I smiled and deliberately eased farther back, away from temptation.
She got to her feet and watched me rise to mine. I expected her to slot her mask back into place, but her expression remained open.
“It’s here, but it will not be easy to reach. Are you ready, thief?” she asked with a crooked smile, leaving no doubt that her use of “thief” was deliberately designed to irritate me.
“Why yes, princess.” I brushed my clothes down. “The sooner we break the bond, the sooner we can both be on our way.”
Her fragile smile broke and fell away, and something twisted in my gut. More regrets.
I turned away to hide my wince. “Lead on, princess.”
She did, jogging over the fallen stones. When I next saw her face, her mask was back, and any sign of the honesty inside had vanished.
Her Princessness gave me her dagger and told me to dig. This became less amusing when I realized she wasn’t joking and did, in fact, want me to dig a hole with two daggers.
She stood on a fallen column, hand on hip, waiting for me to get down on my knees. I’d seen that look before, right before she asked me to drink from her poisoned cup. She had the cup on her now, tucked in the pouch strung to her belt.
“You dig,” I replied.
“That would be an inefficient use of your musculature. From your build, you are clearly stronger than I am. It makes perfect sense that you should be the one to dig and see if I am correct about the chamber entrance.”
“How convenient for you.”
“This is not about convenience, thief.”
I repeated her sentence, muttering it to myself while mimicking her haughty voice, got down on my knees, and punched the blades into the earth.
“You’ll be free of me soon enough,” she said.
I hesitated, but didn’t look up. My earlier comment about the bond had landed hard between us. It might have even torn down the moment we had shared in the ruined hall and trampled on it. I was as much annoyed with myself as with her. I was getting involved, which any thief worth their fee did not do. It was the tears and hugs that had done it. Unlike her, my heart wasn’t made of stone. Well, I wasn’t falling for that womanly horseshit again. With every stab into the soil, I vowed to keep my distance. This was strictly business, same as I’d told the man back in Calwyton, Tassen. Find the Eye, break the bond, steal the Eye, sell it, and vanish. A simple enough plan, if I could keep my thoughts under control and stop them from wandering back to her.
I dug hard, expecting to twist the blades and ruin them for good, but they didn’t even suffer a scratch. Unearthing a capstone was a good start and got Her Haughtiness excited enough for her to get in the hole with me and dig around the edges with her hands. After freeing what we could and putting our combined strength behind it, we managed to heave the stone aside to reveal a gap large enough for us to crawl through.
“Don’t look at me like that. You go first. Your musculature is far more conducive to small spaces than mine is, sweetheart.” From her look, I gathered she liked sweetheart less than princess and mentally stored that fact for later use. “Well, what are you waiting for? Winter?”
She ignored me and missed my smile as she plunged a torch made from rags and grasses into our measly campfire. She then dropped it alight into the hole and followed behind it, working her body through the gap until just her fingers clung on. And then she was gone.
This would have been a fine time to leave, if not for the bond and the promise of treasure. I took one long look at the ruins. Shadows had gathered in the late-afternoon light. A warg couldn’t fit through the gap, but a mage might. With that thought spurring me o
n, I checked the dagger against my back, wished I’d had time to gather more supplies before Calwyton had burned, and then worked myself through the gap after her. I dangled from the edge, let go, and landed in a crouch in what appeared to be a cramped passageway. In the flickering torchlight, Shaianna’s shadow danced around her and over the rough stone walls.
“I hope you know where you’re going.” My voice carried far down the passageway and disappeared into unknown spaces. A shiver crawled down my spine.
“Have I led you astray yet?”
I didn’t answer and followed close, staying within her torchlight. The air tasted of stone and dust and dried my lips, but there was movement to it, like whispers across the back of my neck.
I wanted to ask if Shaianna believed in ghosts, but assumed I’d get a cryptic answer that would do more to unnerve me than put my mind at ease.
We passed several small annexes that led nowhere, at least as far as I could see with Shaianna’s fleeting torchlit examinations.
“How do you know which way to go?” I asked.
“There is only one way.”
We had dropped into the middle of a passage, so there was the other way to choose from, but the quiet in the passage seemed too thick to break over idle chatter. The deeper we went, the denser the darkness became. The walls moved in, reminding me of another place where doors rang, locks jangled, and walls were just as close. Fear prickled my skin. Shaianna’s torch flickered, bright and alive, but without it, we would be plunged into the dark, just like the times I’d been locked in the workhouse’s cellars as punishment.
I trailed my hand along the wall. Dust and flakes of ancient plaster fell away. Not trapped—not trapped—not trapped. There were no locked doors here.
“How did you know where the entrance was?” I whispered as she slowed and stopped at an intersection.
“I listened to the whispers.”
The whispers. Like on the moor. I rubbed a hand over my neck, brushing off the whispers there too. “How are we going to find the Eye by torchlight?”
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 53