Braid of Sand

by Alicia Gaile

  “It seems your daughter survived the Temple massacre.”

  King Herodes picked at a piece of pear skin caught between his front teeth. Lord Ardelean flinched but didn’t lift his head.

  “Raziela is alive?”

  “And quite comfortable from the sounds of it. It seems the witch has taken her captive and holds her hostage in the Realm of the Gods.” Done cleaning his teeth, Herodes flicked an invisible speck of dust from his black robes before polishing the green skin of the pear on them.

  From where he stood beside Lord Ardelean, Castien could hear the ragged edge to the man’s breathing.

  “Th-that is... I am glad to hear she is not dead.”

  “She’d have been better off dead than to grow up to become a traitor,” said the King without emotion. “She serves her still, guarding the fruits that the demoness stole from us.”

  “She was young when she was sent to the Temple, Your Majesty. Perhaps she has been led astray. We must be sure before anything is done. Perhaps she’s a prisoner. I...” His panting got in the way of his words. Hope and dread warred for dominance until he looked on the verge of fainting.

  “Oh, you can be quite sure she’ll be brought to answer for herself. At the very least, she’ll need to be made to understand what we have endured while she lounged about in the Gardens of the Goddess.” Kephas stepped forward.

  Castien stirred. Not for the first time, he wished he’d encountered Kephas during his years in the Academy. Maybe fewer teeth in his straight, white smile and a permanent crook in his nose would’ve made him less inclined to strut around like a peacock.

  “Decide the girl’s fate while I go back and fetch her,” he gritted out. Time moved so differently between this realm and the other. If he waited too long, Raziela might lose another decade or more.

  “Forget the girl. What we need is access to that garden. Feeding our people must be our first priority.” Kephas looked around, daring anyone to accuse him of being self-serving.

  “Never mind the food, there’s only one thing there that matters.” Herodes sat up straighter on his throne. An expectant silence answered him, and he smiled thinly, pleased to have everyone’s rapt attention. He stared at an empty space on the wall and gave a laugh heavy with self-contempt.

  “Nice to see that none of you waste your time with childish stories and backwoods religions. My wife was a true believer in the old faith. Even now, I can hear her telling the boys stories about the Garden of the Gods and the mystical wonders it contained. Chiefest among those was the Tree of Life, Vitales. That was the magical cure Phareman nearly beggared this kingdom trying to find. If legends are to be believed, eating from the tree can grant a person immortality. Whether that’s just fanciful elaboration, I guarantee its seeds would have the power to restore all that the famine took from us. That is the prize, boys. If the Garden is real, then so is Vitales. Raid the gardens if you want. Burn the temple—I don’t care, but I want that tree brought back at any cost. Once our people have fed from it, then we can put an end to this war.”

  “What war? I thought we were just waiting our turn to shrivel up and die off.” Castien’s switchblade smile flashed.

  “We are fighting for the right to survive! Vitales would give us the edge that we need.”

  “Even if all parties become immortals that still leaves the human race up against a being who can control every element of land and sea. And if none of us can die, picking another fight sounds like a colossal waste of time.”

  “You’re lucky he doesn’t lock you up for treason, you ingrate! The Tree was within your grasp and you let it slip between your fingers.” Kephas was pacing with fury.

  Castien sucked on his tooth while Kephas pauses long enough to study him.

  “You had no idea it was there did you? Naiara paraded one of her little dancing girls in front of you, and you went sniffing after her without a second thought.”

  No one else in the hall was quite brave enough to laugh in Castien’s face, but the atmosphere in the room changed. They were all weighing him and finding him wanting. Castien said nothing. He didn’t care what they thought.

  “You want the girl? Fine. I’ll bring her back. You want the tree, I’ll do what I can. But don’t think for one second that this will save us. If you want to push us over the brink into annihilation then so be it. What comes next is on your heads.” He pushed away from the wall.

  “Not so fast. What makes you think you’re going back? You’ve already been compromised. How do we know you won’t just see to your own interests?”

  “Seeing to my own interests would mean getting as far away from this mess as fast as I can. I have an old score to settle. You wouldn’t understand.” He clenched his fist so that his scar rippled.

  Wrinkling his nose at the reminder of Naiara’s power, Kephas folded his arms.

  “I know I for one don’t trust you not to make off with that girl and leave us all to starve. You may have a reputation for achieving the impossible, but this time you’re going to do it with me and my men.”

  Kephas drew himself up with haughty confidence. The promise of violence radiated from him and Castien didn’t trouble to hide his contempt.

  The Prince would never volunteer to come if he thought they faced an army. Against one misguided priestess though, he intended to prance around with his shiniest armor on. Castien nearly smiled at the thought of what Raziela would do to him if Kephas had the stones to go toe to toe with her.

  “You have one hour. Gather whatever you think you’ll need and meet us at the Dancing Goat.”

  Kephas’ lower lip protruded at the mention of the inn. Castien smiled, waiting for him to back out.

  “Why there?”

  “Because while you’re deciding which brooch goes best with your armor, my team and I will be devising the best strategy to get in and out of the Realm of the Gods without bringing the vengeance of Naiara down on all our heads.”

  “Why would I not be included in this planning meeting?”

  “As we’re the ones who’ll be doing most of the work, we’ll decide how we want to set about doing it.”

  “I’ll have you know that I—”

  “Add nothing of value to this mission whatsoever. You’re a liability and an irritation. I won’t stop you from coming, but I won’t pretend you’re going to be of any use.” A few brave souls in the audience tittered.

  “You watch your mouth when you speak to him!” King Herodes thundered while Kephas tried and failed to wither Castien with a look. Castien plucked a stray hair from Kephas’ shoulder.

  “I’d listen to your father if I were you.”

  HIS TEAM WAITED FOR him at the Dancing Goat. Thamar straightened from the post she was leaning against when he entered. She’d changed her hair since he’d last seen her. Rather than the braided horse’s mane, she’d shaved one half of her head and left the other side to hang to her shoulders. It was different, but it complemented her striking features, and as usual, every article of her black leather outfit had been chosen to emphasize she was both a warrior and a woman. No one wore danger the way Thamar did.

  Castien barely glanced at her.

  “Kephas will be joining us shortly,” he said tersely. He cast a cursory sweep around the room for potential threats before seating himself on a stool that didn’t feel sturdy enough to support his weight. Osee snorted and looked around the crowded inn.

  “Mr. Too-Important-To-Wipe-My-Own-Ass is coming here? Well now, that’s something I can’t wait to see.”

  Armelle looked pained, but Osee nudged her elbow where it lay on the round table.

  “Eh, don’t worry about him. I bet he won’t get five words out before someone uses his face to replace that old dartboard over there.” Her mouth quirked as she conceded the point. The Crown Prince had enemies lurking everywhere.

  “So what’s the job?” Barak interlocked his fingers and stretched them in front of him until they cracked.

  “We’re bringing back the T
ree of Life.” Castien gave them a moment to express their shock and then added, “No casualties.”

  They regarded him with varying degrees of disbelief, so Castien filled them in on only the most relevant details.

  “There’s only one priestess. How could there be casualties?” Thamar shrugged and exchanged looks with the others for confirmation. Barak chuckled his agreement before draining the tankard of whatever the innkeeper was trying to pass off as beer. Castien tensed.

  “Don’t underestimate her. She’s...she’s not what you expect.” Thamar’s head swung around at his hesitation.

  “There’s one of her and five of us,” Osee said, looking at each of them as if he was seeking confirmation. “Unless she’s a giant with the strength of ten men, I think we can take her.”

  Castien tried not to smirk.

  “Is there something we’re not understanding about the situation?” Armelle narrowed her eyes at the dismissive sound he made. Of the five of them, she was the only one who never let her ego get in her way. The resident marksman of the group, she missed nothing, accounted for everything, and her accuracy gave him an inferiority complex. Having saved his neck on more missions than he could count, Castien always treated Armelle with all due respect.

  “Naiara has lied to her about the reason she’s been stuck there. She has no idea what’s happened to our world.”

  “You don’t have to worry. None of us plans to scare her,” Osee swatted away Castien’s concern as nothing more than a pesky horsefly. Castien winced and glanced around for Kephas.

  “When you see how she lives you’ll want to hold it against her. Believe me. I did.” The memory of the Shadow Striker rearing up inside him when she found him in the orchard brought a rush of shame he tried to swallow back. “But she’s an inmate in a gilded prison. She won’t realize it until we free her, and then she won’t thank us for it.”

  He heaved a deep breath. She would hate them for showing her the truth, and the brunt of her anger would fall squarely on him. But hatred he was used to. They’d shared one unspoiled day together, and that would have to be enough. Soon she’d find out he was the embodiment of everything she’d been training to defend against.

  Freeing her might be the most heroic thing he’d ever do. She would hate him for it, but he would never forgive himself if he left her there.

  ONE HOUR TURNED INTO two. Castien and his team stood outside the Dancing Goat watching the streets for any sign of the High Prince and his guards. Each second that passed rubbed Castien’s nerves raw.

  “Do you have another vitamin? I took two this morning, but I’m still hungry.” Seated at a table nearby, a man in a red coat with thick shoulder pads mopped his forehead and extended his palm to his companion seated across from him. Sighing, his friend pulled a small white bottle from his jacket pocket and shook out a bright green pill.

  Castien glowered at them. They might as well eat rocks. They’d do more to fill their bellies and probably had the same nutritional value as the placebo pill peddled by SIAR Labs to keep grumbling to a minimum. Both men took one look at the mark displayed down the length of his arm and abandoned their seats.

  “Where is he?” He asked through gritted teeth.

  “Probably trying to match his rings to his belt buckles,” Armelle said with a pointed look at Thamar. “If you’re so anxious, go get him. We’ll meet you at the stables.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Thamar sprang to her feet.

  If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have known better than to leave her that kind of opening. The others muttered amongst themselves about needing to get their horses and weapons in order before scattering into the street.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, Cas.” Thamar grinned.

  “Fine. Let’s go.” The edge to his voice was a clear threat to back away. She ignored it.

  He turned on his heel and hoped she wouldn’t try to keep up.

  “I put in for a position with the King’s Guard,” she called to his back.

  That surprised him enough that he almost stumbled over a pothole. He turned his head, waiting for an explanation. She scuffed her shoe on the street.

  “I’m not a fool, Cas. I can see that I’ve been hurting the dynamic of the team. Besides, I thought if I was in another unit you wouldn’t feel so bad about—”

  “Thamar...” he let his silence speak for him. She drew in a long deep breath, held it, and then let it out in a low rush with a stiff nod.

  “In that case, it’s for the best that I go through with this. Who knows, I might even lead my own team and have an even fiercer reputation than yours one day.”

  Had he been Osee or Barak, she’d have given him a playful tap on his shoulder. Her hand came up automatically, but their eyes met and her fist slowly lowered again. To soften the sting of his rejection, he flashed a lopsided grin.

  “I’ll be shocked if you aren’t leading the entire army within a fortnight.”

  “Thanks, Cas.”

  She was the one who started calling him that—the first small step that had brought them to this. But he respected that she’d taken the decision of how to handle the awkward situation out of his hands.

  A few more twists and turns and they reached the door to Kephas’ room. Castien hammered on the carved teak.

  “We’re leaving without you if you don’t get out here now!”

  No answer.

  Everything inside him went still.

  He threw his shoulder against the door and it burst open. The room was deserted. The black, tufted headboard stretched all the way to the ceiling. It was a garish thing of scarlet blankets, black wood, and gold rivets. The trunk at the foot of the bed was open, revealing a case for daggers. Two of them were missing.

  Castien didn’t let shock slow him. He turned on his heel, calling himself a fool and an idiot with every other step. Halfway back to the courtyard, Osee barreled around the corner.

  “Kephas took the King’s steed. Lorcan and Ilya ride with him. They are headed for Temple Hill!”

  20.

  It was strange how a single day disrupted a schedule that had worked for more than a hundred years. As Raziela went through her routine, she became increasingly aware of the silence. It stalked her. No matter how she clattered pots and pans in the kitchen preparing breakfast for herself, it only highlighted the silence the moment she stopped to eat.

  She sought refuge with the dryads, hoping their gossiping and complaining would drive the Shadow Striker from her thoughts. But even their soothing voices just exaggerated the conflicted emotions she was trying to ignore.

  For one day she had been with another human who understood human thoughts and emotions. She had argued, fought, and laughed. For one day, she had lived!

  It was late afternoon and she sat sharpening her dagger against a whetstone. The long, grating sound of the strokes was a perfect complement to her mood.

  “Save your mourning for someone who deserves it. The only ones who should cry over him are the widows and victims he leaves in his wake.” Caprea jolted Raziela from her thoughts as she unfurled from the bark at the crook of the willow.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to lie that she wasn’t thinking about him, but the rush of heat to her cheeks betrayed her. Caprea climbed down to sit beside her.

  “I’m not a sapling, you know. I’ve seen this story play out before.”

  “What story?”

  “A man like that was bred for one purpose: to inflict as much pain and suffering on those around him as humanly possible.”

  “How can you say that? The one time you met him he was bandaging my leg after I cut myself on my own blade.”

  “Why do you think he left?”

  Raziela dropped her eyes, unable to say that it was because she’d driven him off. She didn’t have to.

  “He left so he could get more supplies to destroy this place—and you.” This struck so close to what Raziela feared most that her throat closed up. After several attempts to s
wallow the painful lump, she lifted her chin.

  “He said his world is dying. If he’s right, isn’t it my duty to help? They’re my people too.”

  “They didn’t seem to think so when they tried to burn you in the Temple over a few mouthfuls of food. He is a product of the society that created him. They don’t deserve our pity.”

  “Do I?” Raziela’s nostrils flared. Caprea stilled, her leaves twisting as if she sensed a storm on the air. Raziela’s anger was getting the better of her. She was eager for a fight.

  “Do I deserve help? After all, I’m just another human. What makes me any different from him?”

  “Ugh, don’t try to pretend you’re anything like that man. If you’re looking for a kindred spirit you’re more like Gursel than that fungal spore.” Caprea waved her hand as if she could dispel the tension like a puff of smoke.

  “Gursel?”

  Caprea made a long-suffering sound.

  “Honestly, having blood in your veins must lower your ability to use your brain. Did you think he spent all that time making you trinkets and leashes because he has nothing better to do?”

  An unwelcome prickle worked its way up Raziela’s neck. She had the feeling that whatever Caprea said next was going to rearrange her world. Already a small voice in the back of her mind was whispering, you’re a fool Raziela. A fool.

  “You’ve worn his collar all this time and you never realized he’s made a pet out of you?”

  Relief and humiliation whirled together in a chaotic storm. She had thought Caprea was going to tell her Gursel had feelings for her, but she didn’t like hearing that he regarded her as little more than a dog either.

  “He is my friend.” Her fingers tightened around the grip of her dagger,

  “Is that what you think? You think you’re among equals here?” Caprea’s voice turned brittle. “We took you in, but you’re not one of us. You never were.”

  “Why would you say that?” Raziela’s lip curled at Caprea’s cruelty.

  “You sided with that stinking pile of flesh yesterday in the infirmary. I have clothed you, trained you, and spread my branches to shelter you, and at the first test of loyalty you chose to align yourself with another human. You’re just like all the rest as far as I’m concerned.”