Braid of Sand

by Alicia Gaile

  The largest of these was a lovely peach-colored quartz building, with sweeping balconies on each of its three floors and endless rows of arched windows. It was known as Waverly Hall. For all its sprawling size, it’s architecture was tasteful and elegant—not like Siren House next to it which had been painted seafoam green and had mother of pearl mosaics of swimming mermaids and leaping dolphins along the outer walls. The iridescent sheen on its windows gave the appearance of bubbles. The entire thing was a study in frivolous whimsy, and the sight of it offended Castien on a fundamental level.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

  Raziela stopped walking to stare at Siren House. Castien gritted his teeth.

  “It looks like something out of a child’s fantasy. Why am I not surprised it appeals to you?” The sensation of having two millstones grinding his brain into meal loosened the leash he had on his self-control.

  Even though they were under open sky his words seemed to sucked all the oxygen away from their group. A towering inferno of anger blazed to life behind him, radiating from Raziela.

  He held perfectly still, half expecting her to snatch one of his teammates’ daggers and hurl it into his spine.

  “Why does it not surprise me that you can’t appreciate something beautiful without wanting to tear it down?”

  Barak was overcome by a hacking cough. Armelle inspected her fingernails. Thamar gasped, and Osee grinned like a cat that had just discovered a burrow filled with mice. He held up one finger and ticked off an invisible tally mark. One point to Raziela. Castien winced.

  Clustered around the front steps of Waverly Hall were a group of elderly ladies sitting around repairing worn out fishing nets. Their faces were weathered and burnt from a lifetime overexposed to sea salt and sun. Their heads were all shaven or covered with brightly colored scarves.

  “And what honors and accolades have you come to fling at my feet today?” asked a woman sitting in a rocking chair off to the side. As one, every member of Castien’s team went down on one knee and laid a fist across their hearts with a murmured, “Lady Pomona.” She flicked her fingers as if she were brushing dust from the ends of her chair, and the four of them stood up. Castien planted his feet, swaying a little from the pain in his head. He took a breath to steady himself and dipped his head in a brief greeting.

  “For once, Mother, I come bearing news you might consider worthwhile.” He reached behind him to drag Raziela to his side. Her bicep hardened to the consistency of a stone beneath his fingers. He hoped she didn’t struggle. His headache couldn’t handle the effort it would take to restrain her.

  Lady Pomona gave a long, rattling sigh and straightened in her chair.

  “If you tell me you’ve entered into slave trading I may very well throw myself off a cliff.”

  His mouth twisted.

  “This is Hagan Ardelean’s daughter.”

  All activity ceased. Lady Pomona speared Raziela with a look. Raziela lifted her chin and sent back a glare designed to incinerate the lady where she sat. Lady Pomona smiled.

  Castien’s eyebrow shot up. Getting a smile from his mother was like shucking an oyster to reveal a pearl. It took more luck than skill, and more often than not he just wound up cutting himself for his efforts with nothing to show for it.

  His mother settled back in her rocking chair.

  “What game are you trying to play? Everyone knows she was sent to the Temple of Naiara to pay the price for her father’s crime, and the Temple crumbled into the earth ten years ago.” There were murmurs of agreement among the ladies gathered around her. The oldest woman squinted until it was hard to tell where the seams of her eyes were among the wrinkles fanning out around her eyes. Her nostrils flared with distaste and she made a small hiss as she took in his scar.

  “If you cannot be civil, you may all find someplace else to finish your work,” Lady Pomona’s voice cracked like a whip, and the woman ducked her head, a turtle seeking refuge inside its shell. Exchanging chagrined looks, the women meekly gathered their belongings and sidled away from the porch.

  “Raziela served Naiara faithfully, and Naiara protected her.” Castien spoke as if there had been no interruption.

  Raziela jerked her arm out of his grasp. He released her before the motion could jostle him, but he still had to stifle a hiss.

  “The Temple was never destroyed. It was transplanted to a place where humans could never steal from it again.”

  Alertness sparked in Lady Pomona’s eyes before a cloud of suspicion dimmed them again.

  “What do you hope to gain from spreading such lies? If Herodes hears of her, he will have her silenced faster than you can break a mother’s heart.”

  “He already knows of her. Kephas followed me to the Temple. He stole from the Garden, and once he musters up the courage, I’m sure he intends to go back and raid the Sacred Grove.”

  Raziela’s breath whistled out of her. At the mention of Kephas, his mother’s face went still as glass. With regal dignity, she rose to her feet.

  “Your brother did always make up for his lack of restraint with selfishness.”

  Raziela’s nostrils flared at the confirmation that he, Kephas and the King shared blood.

  “What a shame you find so much disappointment in both your children.” Some of his patience slipped. This was an old game. His mother detested the man fate had made of him. Even though his earnings ensured that she lived in relative ease and comfort after her public separation from his father, it hurt her to hear the stories the rest of Phalyra whispered about him. He saw to it that her reputation didn’t suffer because of the missions he chose to take on, but she still endured sidelong glances and pitying looks for giving birth to two of the most despised men in Phalyra.

  “Assuming your story is true, why did you bring her here? You may be my son, but I am not about to endanger the lives of everyone living in this building to protect a girl I’ve never laid eyes on before.”

  “I assure you, madam, that I have no intention of hiding under a table like a dog afraid of a storm.” Raziela squared her shoulders in a clear dare for either of them to disbelieve her. Castien and his mother regarded her with equal measures of approval.

  Lady Pomona cleared her throat and tapped her chin.

  “I see why Naiara spared her. She has teeth, this one.”

  “She will have to stand before the King. I thought you might have something suitable for her to wear.”

  Abruptly, the hard edge to his mother’s expression dissolved and she gave a short bark of laughter.

  “There’s a spark of me in you after all!”

  Castien’s mouth relaxed into a crooked grin. Abruptly, genuine affection hung in the air between them.

  Thamar scratched the furrow between her braids with the pad of her middle finger. It was subtle, but it had the same effect as if she’d cleared her throat.

  “Uh, Cas, in case you haven’t noticed, Raziela is taller than your mother. There’ll be more than half-a-foot of space between the hem and her ankles.”

  “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Lady Pomona said with a conspirator’s smile. Castien’s shoulders relaxed hearing his mother agree to help.

  As it turned out, Raziela looked to be the one he should’ve been concerned about.

  “I will go before the King as I am, if it’s all the same to you. I have no intention of trying to seduce him or whatever it is you expect me to do.”

  Castien cringed, but his mother let out another hearty laugh. She waved a dismissive hand toward Armelle and Thamar, who exchanged wry glances before slipping off into the house.

  “Glad to hear you have morals girl, and I assure you, I am the last woman alive who would send you to seduce the King—after all he is still technically my husband.”

  Raziela’s head rocked back on her neck.

  “You’re married to him?”

  “You thought I went through the pain and suffering of delivering this delinquent and his older brother without the assurance
of a committed father and husband?”

  “It happens often enough. If you are married to the King then why aren’t you at the palace? Why do you live here?”

  Castien’s mother reached out to touch what remained of the braid that slid over Raziela’s shoulder to lie against her chest.

  “The night the King sent those marauders to ransack the Temple brought changes for all of us.”

  24.

  Raziela didn’t know what to make of Lady Pomona. She was regal and dignified while still being coarse and blunt.

  “This will take some doing, but I’m in the mood for a project.” She walked around Raziela, looking her up and down as if she were a horse at an auction. “Besides, it’s not often this one can bend his pride enough to ask for my help.” She touched Castien’s shoulder and he swayed before pressing the heel of his hand to his head. The larger of his two male companions, Osee, gave a knowing chuckle from behind them.

  “Nothing to do but ride it out from here, Boss.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Lady Pomona put a supporting arm behind Castien.

  “I’m no doctor, but he took a pretty bad knock to the back of the head from a flying rock during a goddess tantrum. I gave him some findolaprin, but by the looks of it, the effects have started to wear off.”

  Lady Pomona would have sent battle-seasoned soldiers running across the battlefield in retreat if she fixed them with the same look she shot Osee just then.

  “Findolaprin? You fed him some of that rat poison? I thought you were his friend.” She laid the back of her fingers against Castiens cheek in an age-old maternal test for a temperature. Osee shrugged.

  “It was either that or try to carry him down Temple Hill on our shoulders, and I’m sure you know how well that would’ve gone over.”

  “Very well. You, girl, help me get him into the house.” She snapped her fingers at Raziela, who drew herself up to her full height. The thought of letting him lean against her was abhorrent.

  “The only help she’s interested in giving me right now is into an early grave,” Castien said through gritted teeth. “Not that I blame her. This time I am responsible for destroying her sanctuary.” His mother frowned between them, but she shouldered his weight herself and gave a sharp jerk of her chin to indicate that Raziela should hold open the door.

  “I look forward to hearing that story once we get you both inside.”

  An irrational fear gripped Raziela at the thought of entering the large house. What if they locked her inside? What if even now she was walking into a trap? The two women in Castien’s band had been gone several minutes, long enough to procure chains or ropes to subdue her with if that was what they were after.

  “Tell you what,” said Osee in his slow drawl, “You ladies look like you have everything in hand. Why don’t Barak and I check in with the local gossips while you and your mother play dress-up with your new doll.” He winked at Raziela. That wink settled her. It told her that he knew how she felt being made a pawn in their game against the King, but it also eased the knot in her belly. Surely, he wouldn’t wink at her if she was about to become their prisoner.

  “Raziela, will you go inside?” Though he was leaning on his mother, Castien held his hand out to her. Raziela stared at it, her mind racing. Her chest burned as though it contained a phoenix battering its wings to get out. He wasn’t pushing or threatening. He was offering her the choice. Goddess curse him! If she wound up a prisoner, she would only have herself to blame.

  She didn’t take his hand.

  Instead, she turned to his mother.

  “Do you pray to the Great Mother, Lady?”

  Lady Pomona fixed Raziela with the great, dark eyes she shared with her sons.

  “I pray to Naiara every day, dear. I believe it’s the reason why there’s still some good left in my son.”

  Castien made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, reminding them he could hear them.

  With a nod, Raziela walked stiff-backed to pull open the door. A grand marble staircase with sculptures of satyrs on either side of the curved banisters greeted them. At the top of the stairs was an enormous bronze plaque depicting a weeping willow. A faceless figure knelt against its trunk with a hand cupped beside its mouth. Raziela stared.

  “You like it?” Lady Pomona asked. “There is an old saying that was a particular favorite of my mother’s: whisper your secrets to the willows and they will carry them forever inside its bark. Willows are the defenders of truth. That’s why my ancestors incorporated it into our family crest.”

  The color ran from Raziela’s face. Her heart pounded so hard her chest ached. All his pretending that he knew nothing of the old beliefs and yet she was staring at proof that he’d been surrounded by them his entire life. She’d found his butchered blessings endearing. Now she realized they were his cruel idea of a joke.

  “You knew?”

  “I hadn’t heard the phrase in a long time.”

  Castien shrugged off his mother’s hand and supported himself by leaning hard on the railing.

  When they reached the landing, he and his mother turned right down a corridor toward a gilded door at the far end. A large arched window opened onto the sea. Raziela paused to take in the view but had to press her hand over her nose. The smell was awful! It was worse than Gursel’s breath when bits of fish got stuck and rotted between his teeth. This was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  Castien touched her elbow. She jumped at his silent approach and pulled her arm out of his reach. How were they not gagging from that terrible smell?

  “You get used to it after a while,” said Lady Pomona with a look as though she’d swallowed a lemon whole. “Now if you’ll be kind enough to step inside, I believe my son intends to stay upright until his legs give out just to impress you.”

  Castien’s head swung around indignantly, but that proved to be more than his body could handle. His legs buckled. Raziela managed to step into him in time to catch him before he hit the floor. He groaned.

  “Don’t think this means I forgive you,” she breathed against his cheek as they shuffled together through the door. His body shook with a low chuckle.

  “I know. You’ll dome the honor of waiting until I’m at full strength before you cut me down.”

  When she stepped inside, she was greeted by the sight of a white-painted canopy bed draped in shades of purple and gold. There was a silk screen off to the left where she could see Armelle’s silhouette monitoring the water levels in a long, clawfoot tub. Thamar sat on a chair waiting for them, and she sprang from her seat to help Castien, but he waved her away and shuffled the last three steps unassisted to fall unceremoniously across his mother’s bed. Lady Pomona clicked her teeth impatiently, but she directed Thamar to draw the sheer curtains around the bed to block what little light they could.

  “I can’t believe that imbecile gave him findolaprin.”

  “What’s findolaprin?” Raziela asked finally. It wasn’t Castien’s health that concerned her, just a need to understand the hazards of the new version of her old world. Lady Pomona’s mouth pulled into a severe line.

  “If what he says about you is true, you’ve been gone a long time. Do you remember SIAR Labs?”

  Raziela shook her head.

  “Huh, your father was a frequent attendee to many of their public forum meetings—much to his downfall. I’m surprised he didn’t speak of them when he came home.”

  “I was barely five when I was given to the Temple,” said Raziela at the same time Castien said, “Time passed much faster in the Realm of the Gods. She probably forgot.” Lady Pomona arched an inquisitive brow.

  “The Realm of the Gods? Yes, I look forward to hearing what stories you have to tell.”

  “SIAR Labs?” Raziela prompted. She didn’t know how to feel about his mother’s interest in her story. There were edges to the lady that made lowering her guard difficult, but those same edges demanded her trust and respect.

  Lady Pomona pressed the h
eel of her palm to her forehead.

  “I suppose one can hardly blame them. Herodes charged them with disproving the need for reliance on the gods for our survival. More fool him. Findolaprin was one of the synthetic painkillers they devised after ninety percent of the population began to suffer the ailments and afflictions that are a result of malnutrition. It works like a charm, but it’s highly addictive. Criminally so, if you ask me.”

  “Well can’t you give him something else then?”

  “Unfortunately not. Until the findolaprin has completely worked its way out of his system, any less potent painkiller we give him will just be chasing the effects and increase his craving for the real thing.”

  “I’ve suffered worse than a headache, Mother. There’s no need to get hysterical.”

  Raziela frowned. Lady Pomona was the furthest thing from hysterical she’d ever seen. In fact, her demeanor bordered on indifference.

  “Don’t let that warm water go to waste. Clean water is difficult to come by in Phalyra these days.”

  Guilt struck Raziela like a fist. She didn’t dare look at either of the two women from Castien’s team who had seen the way she lived at the Tower. She slunk off to the porcelain tub hidden behind the changing screen. Decades of habit had her reaching for the end of her braid strung through the loop on her hip. She blinked in surprise when her hands encountered empty air.

  “Do you need anything?” Raziela jumped at Thamar’s voice behind her. The other woman had a sympathetic look on her face that had Raziela raising her internal shields.

  “I’ve managed well enough on my own this long.”

  “Of course, Priestess.” She executed a short dip of her head and turned on her heel to give Raziela room to undress.

  Even with the screen divider, Raziela was acutely aware of the other people in the room. No one spoke, but she could feel the pointed looks flying like messenger pigeons back and forth. Raziela sank into the tub as quietly as she could. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning at the welcome relief of liquid heat wrapping around her weary muscles. She rested her arms against the edge of the tub and tipped her head back to study the ceiling.