by Brandon Barr
The shadowed lines creasing Sanctuss Exenia’s eyes and mouth deepened. Those lines had been formed by difficult decisions like these: pain followed by the resilience of wisdom and age.
“I still have hope she will be delivered,” continued Sanctuss Exenia. “But if Theurg is unsuccessful, then it may well be your most difficult mission yet. Winter is a Guardian, and Karience, her Empyrean, has grown quite attached to the girl and will try to protect her.”
“Will the arbiters grant me the power to incapacitate the Empyrean?”
“That is not an option. I have spoken to Higelion, the Magnus Empyrean over Karience. He worries she will not handle the girl’s death well. If Winter’s life must be taken, Karience cannot know it was by a Guardian’s own hand. I am confident you can find a way if the need arises, for you’ve always had a gift for unraveling knots.”
Galthess nodded.
Sanctuss Exenia turned to leave.
“One question, Sanctuss,” said Galthess.
The old woman turned.
“Where do you believe Voyanta’s spirit is now?”
“You have read more of the Makers’ writings than I. I should ask you.”
“I want to know how you see her when you close your eyes. What picture comes to mind?”
Sanctuss Exenia reached out with a frail arm and braced herself against the carved rock entrance. “I see her in memories. That is all. I know the state this universe exists in, but if I try to picture life and existence after death, I lose heart. Between the Beasts and the Makers, we have no advocate but ourselves. What the Makers have prepared for our post-mortem self is a mystery. Perhaps the spirit is simply blown out like a candle. That would be a mercy, of a kind. If I have any hope, that would be it.”
Galthess closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “For the Oracles I kill, that is my hope, as well.”
HEARTH
Chapter Eighteen
SAVARAH
Savarah stumbled down the shaft-lit corridor, reaching out with her right hand to brace herself against the rock walls. A throng of four women pursued her, barking at her like a pack of dogs. Savarah’s head throbbed with the echoes of their shrill voices, and the fever racking her body and mind only made the dissonant notes worse.
It had to end. They’d licked her wounds enough.
Her body shivered as she turned and drew her knife. The four women stopped, eyes suddenly fixed on her weapon.
“Go gather what I told you,” snapped Savarah. “Bring it to the stables.” She closed her eyes as a spell of dizziness swarmed her head. She lashed out angrily, “I will live or die by my own will.”
“Your shoulder will need to be rebandaged soon,” said one of the women.
“And your fever,” said a younger girl. “You’ll catch your death if you try to ride.”
Savarah sprang at them, allowing them to narrowly escape the path of her knife. “Get my supplies—or you’ll die long before the fever takes me!” she roared.
The dog pack dispersed without so much as a yelp.
Savarah continued down the shaft-lit corridor toward the stables, the fresh silence easing the pain in her head and freeing her thoughts. She’d overheard the servants talking about Trigon’s peace delegation, and Meluscia’s role in leading it.
Savarah would not lay in bed while a perfect opportunity slipped through her fingers. She needed to be with Meluscia: to council her, kill for her, and to use the delegation as a guise to rid the Verdlands of its spies.
And the road to King Feaor led right through the village of Tilmar, where the hostilities between the two kingdoms had grown and festered. If all went well, old Harcor the chief woodcutter would still be ignorant of Aszelbor and Osiiun’s deaths, and she would have little trouble eliminating the last loyal spy at the Hold.
As for Meluscia, if any goodwill could be established between her and King Feaor, it would be a blow to one hundred and twenty years of Isolaug’s careful work. And if by some wonder Meluscia could unite the kingdoms, there stood the chance that Isolaug would find the armies of four kingdoms at the gates of his city, Praelothia. Isolaug would be forced to uncloak his secret forces.
And the Guardians—whom Isolaug had befriended and deceive for years—would then see that Hearth’s portal was not in the possession of a strange people ruled by a line of eccentric kings, but rather by a Beast who had created a perfect facade. Isolaug would then be forced to defend Praelothia with his army of crossbred monstrosities.
What the Guardians were capable of, Savarah wasn’t certain. Did they have the power to stop Isolaug? She had her doubts, and was certain he had plans in place, in case human armies were found at his gates. He was not the kind of being to be caught unprepared.
That was why she must attempt the deed herself. The body his spirit inhabited was mortal, but the closer she got to him, the more difficult it would be to slip past his guard. To kill the body Isolaug inhabited, she would have to perform the perfect charade. Deception would be her dearest ally.
Savarah noticed a familiar face ahead in the corridor. Valcere held a torch and was clothed in Trigon’s extravagant judgment seat robes. His eyes looked intently at her as she approached. Somehow, he’d been informed she’d left the physicker’s hospice and was heading this way.
She stopped when she reached him. “You look like you’re expecting me. Your snitches have impressive speed.”
He pushed off from the rock wall, his lips curved into a crescent-moon smile. “You look like a pack of Nightmares tried to kill you.”
Savarah smirked. “I killed one of the little bastards before I had to run.”
“Osiiun will be missed,” said Valcere. “He was to be one of my three councilors…but now seating councilors depends if Trigon will appoint me Luminar.”
“If you want to cry about it, go to the meat room. I brought Osiiun’s bulky corpse back with me for the sentimental-hearted.”
“So thoughtful,” said Valcere, smiling thinly.
In truth, she’d brought Osiiun’s body back so that a search party would not be sent for it. In her weakened state, there was no way to make the scene of Osiiun’s killing look like a band of Nightmares had fought with them, as her story went. The effort of hefting Osiiun’s body onto her horse had nearly killed her. But it had to be done. At the very least, there was the one dead creature, the razor arm she’d left there for evidence.
“I can’t help but wonder,” said Valcere, “what were you and Osiiun doing together out there, alone?”
Between the pain and the fatigue of the ride back to the Hold, Savarah had wracked her mind for a decent excuse to this question. There was only one, and she hated to have to use it. Hated vehemently the thought of it.
“Unbeknownst to many, I am a female. If I wore dresses and learned how to smile, you would not be asking me what I was doing out alone with a man in the wilderness.”
Valcere appeared genuinely surprised at her response.
“I’m heading to join Meluscia’s peace delegation,” said Savarah. “I assume that’s why you’re waiting here for me.”
“Yes and no,” said Valcere. “I want your help, Savarah. With Osiiun dead, I could use your cunning as a councilor. I could also use your eyes as you travel to the Verdlands. You and I both know any peace Feaor promises will only last as long as Trigon’s last breath. If Meluscia is made Luminess, the onyx throne will be sat upon by the weakest, most buttery ass ever to fart on its smooth black stone.”
Savarah snorted. “You are asking me to sabotage her delegation?”
Valcere gave a slight shrug. “Not in those terms. I am only suggesting you do everything within your power to keep the Hold from crumbling into chaos. If I am given the opportunity to rule, you would have a position of power at my side. I want to make the Hold strong once again, as it was not long ago in its history.”
“I share your desire,” said Savarah. “I’ll think about your offer on my trip to the Verdlands. And I promise you this: I will keep my eyes
open.”
_____
MELUSCIA
Meluscia stood outside the stables, directing servants piling supplies upon the grass, but Rivdon’s words clouded her thoughts. Valcere had ears among many of the soldiers. This was becoming an issue that could hold serious repercussions. Rivdon had said a soldier had informed Valcere of her conversation with Heulan in her room. Meluscia realized it must have been the man who had escorted Praseme. The pressing need to leave quickly was stronger now than ever, but the question of what would happen once she left hovered before her like an oncoming storm.
Was Heulan in any danger? He’d voiced his support of her over Valcere. Was Valcere capable of treachery? He’d ridden with her father from before she was born. She wanted to feel confident her father would have known the man he had handpicked to succeed him.
But then, her father’s reasoning had not impressed her of late.
What could she do but ride as if a black tiger was at her back, and pray her father held on until she returned.
The wind in the courtyard whipped her red hair across her face. She drew a hand through the stray strands covering her eyes and turned.
She froze.
Mica stood in front of her, his short hair blowing in the wind. He took a step closer. “These are my best horses,” said Mica. “They’ll outrun almost anything you can meet out there.”
Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. The wind brought a trace of his scent, refreshing the night’s memories when he had been so close that his fragrance had filled her every breath.
“Thank you,” she managed, and moved to turn away and escape the torrent of emotions.
“Please, I have one request.”
His eyes were waiting for her when she turned back.
Impossible things ran through Meluscia’s mind. One request, take my love with you. One request, never forget how much I need you.
“Please,” he said. “Take care of Praseme. Bring her back safe.”
Meluscia stared at him, then finally nodded.
He turned and left. She watched him. The urgency to leave was forgotten. Mica began cleaning the shoe of her horse, his strong arms making quick work of his task when another hand, not so gentle, gripped her shoulder.
Meluscia turned.
“I’m going with you,” said Savarah.
Meluscia’s eyes combed over the ragged girl before her, stopping at the thick bandage wrapped around her shoulder. “I was hoping you could but…your wounds? Are you able to ride?”
“Don’t ask me stupid questions, Sister,” said Savarah. “Who else is coming?”
“Our number will be small. To show King Feaor that the Hold can be humble and trusting. I’ve chosen to bring only four with us. Terling will be our scribe. Praseme for serving. Bezmerenna and Belen to serve under her…and, if need be, all of them can be listening ears among Feaor’s servants.”
“No soldiers?”
“Only you,” said Meluscia. “Unless you have different council. Is the road to the Verdlands more dangerous than I think?”
“Belen can fight; he’s joined us on patrol before. I say you’ve chosen well enough, Sister.” Savarah looked out toward the Verdlands, her eyes bloodshot. “If you let me lead, I can promise our path will go uninterrupted.”
Meluscia nodded. “You have the reins.”
_____
The storm Meluscia feared back at the Hold manifested itself in pounding sheets of rain. Lightning cracked the sky, revealing momentary flashes of the perilous terrain Savarah had led them to.
The horses hugged the darkened cliff walls as they descended into Gagarin’s Gorge. Meluscia held tightly to the reins with one hand, while her other had gripped the rain blanket made of goose wings she had wrapped around her head and body. The angle of the rain soaked her despite her efforts. The hand that was holding her head covering tightly together felt nearly frozen.
It was only when they reached the bottom of the gorge that the wind lightened, making the cold and rain more bearable.
“Can you keep going?” asked Savarah, her harsh voice issuing from the moonless dark beside Meluscia.
“Yes,” Meluscia forced herself to say. “But we should check on the others.”
Savarah twisted on her horse to face the rest of the party. “Your future Luminess wants to continue,” she shouted. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
Meluscia cringed. Her sister had a way with words.
When there came no protests, Savarah twisted back around and silently took the lead again.
Meluscia knew that everyone in their party felt just as miserable as she. And even if Savarah hadn’t twisted their arms, she doubted any would have asked to rest. They knew how urgent their journey was. They had to return before her father passed from this life.
As they continued on, Meluscia brought her horse beside the dark form of Savarah’s mare.
“What happened to you and Osiiun? I was told Nightmares fell upon you.”
“I’m alive. That’s all I have to say of that.”
Meluscia remained quiet. The rain was lighter now. When they reached the other side of the gorge, she found a break in the clouds where the stars shone through.
Savarah’s words broke the silence. “What does it feel like to love someone?”
There it was again, that strange change in her sister manifesting itself in words. The loveless void throbbed within Meluscia’s heart at her sister’s query.
“Ask someone else, for I’ll never know.”
Savarah laughed coldly. “You can’t hide it. It’s in your voice. All the time. All of you have it—or nearly all. A warmth. You’ve sucked from a mother’s breast. Been held. Cooed at. I never knew such kindnesses. Perhaps that is where it forms, this love you share.”
“Were your parents monsters? You’ve only ever told me about their deaths. What were they like when you were growing up?”
Savarah was quiet for a time. “Yes, I was raised by monsters. Cruel beyond words. It is not time to tell you about it. Not yet.”
Meluscia hesitated as questions filled her mind. Finally, she asked, “When you recount your parents’ deaths…you have always told it as a tragedy, their final moments have always sounded so horrible. Like you truly loved them.”
Her words were a kind of question, spilling out raw and unformed. They lingered for only a moment before the patter of rain drowned them away.
“We all long for something we do not have,” said Savarah. “I have my fantasies; you have yours.”
Meluscia ached with curiosity as to what Savarah’s life had truly been like. Savarah had claimed her parents were nomads from a distant tribe. Was that part of her fantasy too? What really happened to that little eleven-year-old girl who showed up at the gates of the Hold. What was her true story?
The moon suddenly appeared overhead, though the rain still fell lightly upon their party. Meluscia turned and looked back at the horses behind her. Praseme’s face was bathed in moonlight, and a quiet smile came to her lips as she caught Meluscia’s eye. Meluscia pivoted back around, emotions tearing her heart in opposite directions. Mica’s request that she bring Praseme back safely had made Meluscia heartsick with sorrow.
Mica’s last words made it clear: it was Praseme he wanted returned safely home.
Praseme. Sweet, beautiful, worthy.
A sense of dread began to creep over her. She shouldn’t have brought Praseme with her.
Meluscia watched the moon disappear behind the clouds again. She was not as strong as she should be. How quickly her shame had slipped away. Here she was, on the verge of winning her father’s approval and becoming Luminess, and yet the very desires she must shun were still raging fierce within.
Instead of abstaining, she’d tasted what no Luminess should, dividing her more than ever into two persons. One frightened that the other would ruin everything, and the other so focused, it could overpower that cowering woman inside and consume her with its ferocious hunger.
/> Devour her.
Control her.
Turn her thoughts upon the unthinkable.
The moon captured her attention again. She thought of the Makers. They must see her. But what did they see? Were they watching her now with pity or with scorn? Did they see her heart for her people and her passion to make peace? Or was she broken beyond repair—ruled by lust, destined for the trash heap of history rather than the annuls of the Luminaries?
…or were they watching at all?
LOAM
Chapter Nineteen
AVEN
“We’re here,” said Arentiss. “Does this look promising?”
Aven pried Arentiss’ hand from his and walked past her, surveying the sprawling open space. He wished Winter was there to see this. Low, soft, curving hills interspersed with dots of woodland. Cow and sheep pastures. Horses in fenced paddocks. The distant chatter of men and women working the fields. It reminded him so much of his former life.
Two dogs ran through a field of lettuce. He had always wanted a dog, but the Baron had outlawed them as nuisances.
Aven breathed deep and tasted the scent of wild grasses and pollens and the faint traces of hay and manure. This was like home, but far better. It was a free farm. On land far away from tyrants.
He turned and grinned at Arentiss. “Yes. It’s wonderful.”
Pike stood nearby, lost in the view. There was longing in his eyes, longing that matched what Aven felt. At that moment Pike was a picture of what he might have become had the Baron not interfered in his life.
Aven reminded himself that what he saw was not real. His sins had been removed without so much as a drop of real remorse. Without even the memory of what he had done. A monster turned into a tame, idiotic buffoon.
