“Give her a minute.”
She sat on the fallen log, which was spongy with age and decomposition. Her cheeks burned, and she pulled Jovan’s cloak tightly around her shaking body. She felt … thick. It was a fever, she knew, but not like the fevers she remembered. This one tasted of anger and hunger and impatience, of emotions that weren’t hers. An uncomfortable tickle hovered in the back of her throat, her head felt foggy and slow, and she wondered if her feet would ever be warm again.
Too soon, Jovan offered her his hand. “We need to keep going.”
Melody found a reserve of strength she had no rightful claim to, standing unsteadily between her staff and Jovan’s arm as they waited for her to regain her balance.
“Can you see anything, Kaeliph?” Jovan himself saw nothing, but he trusted his brother’s eye.
Kaeliph looked ahead, through the trees. “It’s nothing I can see, but I feel like we are close to something.”
That was enough for Jovan. “Then we move. We’re still following the tracks?”
Kaeliph nodded. “Aye. It is always the same pace with them. Not once have they stopped, or even slowed.”
Jovan turned to their companion, who had let go of him and was leaning heavily on her staff instead. “Melody, are you all right? Can you make it?”
I’m fine. Her lie held little strength, despite her determined smile – perhaps it was the body-shaking sneeze that accompanied it.
An hour later, Melody didn’t even have the strength to pretend. One more step, and then another. She was walking against a current, every step a battle. Just keep going, she told herself, keep walking. Be dizzy later. Her aching eyes were on her feet, frozen and scratched and covered in mud, so she did not see when the brothers stopped. She trudged directly into Kaeliph.
“What is that?” Kaeliph asked, reaching back to steady her, but Jovan’s arm was already there.
Melody followed his pointing finger upward. She felt faint, queasy. Impossibly, a building blocked the way before them – tall and round, with a squat square bottom.
“Do you think it’s safe?”
She heard Kaeliph’s question as if from a great distance, but Melody was unable to form an answer. This was not safe at all, she thought, this was dangerous. But her head … she couldn’t focus … The staff fell from her suddenly limp fingers and her knees buckled.
“Melody?” Alarmed, Jovan scooped her into his arms before she could fall, balancing her against his chest.
Jovan— She wanted to tell him this place was bad, like the tunnels, only much worse… Instead, she passed out.
Jovan adjusted Melody’s limp body in his arms. “I don’t care if this is the Lich King's summer palace and he’s hosting his annual tea party, Kaeliph. We’re going in.”
12
Garen strode to the door of the makeshift barracks behind the Duke’s temporary residence and summoned the Chief Hunter. He glanced once at the bound, heavily guarded man in the corner. Calder appeared unconscious, but Garen thought it best to be safe and speak elsewhere.
“My Lord.” Lothaedus barely inclined his head. He followed the Chancellor outside.
“How fares our captive?” Garen asked.
“Uncomfortable. Mostly uninjured. He holds his silence.”
“You have questioned him?”
Lothaedus raised a single eyebrow. His deep gray eyes were clear and serious. “Of course. He believes we know nothing of the girl. He refused to speak of her.”
“The Duke will do little to change his thinking on that. You have done well, Lothaedus.” Garen tugged his leather riding gloves over his fingers. “I leave for Cabinsport within the hour.”
“As you anticipated, then. And His Lordship?” Lothaedus’ sarcasm was quiet, but unmistakable.
“His Lordship requests the hostage be brought to him in Epidii for personal questioning. He has graciously suggested I bring men with me – I will have need of the twins.”
Tovar and Tomal were identical in appearance, deadly fighters, and among the most loyal of the Hunters. Loyal to him, of course. They were handsome and well-spoken as well, they would suit his purposes nicely.
“They are yours to command,” the assassin said. “Though I should go with you myself.”
Garen clasped Lothaedus’ arm with genuine regret. He had never met another man of Lothaedus’ ability, and the offer of his aid was tempting. Should all go as he planned, though, there would be no need of a killer.
“Not this time, my friend. I need your ears and eyes as close to His Lordship as I can get them. You are certain the girl was unharmed when you left Cabinsport?”
“I am.”
“You are certain no one noticed you?”
Lothaedus managed to look reassuring and insulted at the same time. “I am.”
Garen nodded, satisfied. “What else can you tell me of her?”
“Little more than I have already. I did not hear her speak her name, or at all, but they called her Melody. She is small, pale. Black hair. Weak, but uninjured. There was also a dog. I believe she will slow her companions.”
“Those two were a most convenient distraction, Lothaedus. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“Fortune herself favors you, my Lord.”
“Indeed.” Garen fastened his cloak and checked the buckles on his high leather boots. “Send me the twins, friend, with all speed. I have a stop to make in Rindale before nightfall.”
13
“How long have you been with me, Bashara?”
Home at last, Lady Bethcelamin Korith of Epidii reclined on her chaise near the open balcony doors, sniffing the sprig of jasmine she had plucked upon their return.
Bashara, the maid, was replacing gowns in tall closets, setting her Lady’s room back to rights after their long absence. She glanced at Bethcelamin, calm – without tea – for the first time in weeks. The contrast of the mourning dress made her skin too pale, Bashara thought. The shadows under her eyes seemed even darker.
“Going on sixteen years now, m’Lady.” She smoothed the last gown on its peg and then turned her attention to the bed. Perhaps when Lady Korith was once again settled here in her own home, where she belonged, perhaps then she would shake her melancholy.
It was the tea, Bashara knew. She had warned the Duke about the effects, but of course her Lady’s husband knew best. He preferred that his wife be wistful and lethargic, lost in the past – because it was quieter than her grief over the recent death of their son.
“Did Jayden hire you for me?”
Bashara went to work stripping the linens from the deep feather mattress. It was painful to hear her Lady distant and sad. She was so unlike the vibrant young woman the maid had first come to serve.
“No, m’Lady. Your mother did, it was her wedding gift to you.” It was the Duke who paid her wage, though, since Bethcelamin’s mother died just after the wedding, but Bashara did not trouble her Lady with such details. “Surely you remember your wedding?”
Bethcelamin sighed, twirling the jasmine and gazing outside. “I do,” she said. “But I fear … sometimes it seems I remember too much.”
Bashara left the silence as it was, shaking dust from the fat pillows off the balcony. After a long moment, her Lady continued.
“Jasmine,” she said, taking another deep breath. “The whole world smelled of it when I fell in love. Have you known true love, Bashara?”
The maid paused. “I thought so, once.” Her heart ached as she recalled his face, a memory both bitter and sweet. “But we were not meant to be.” Bashara straightened resolutely against the uncomfortable question. Not a speck of dust remained in the feather pillows, but still she fluffed them in the fresh air of the balcony.
“Jasmine on the day I fell in love,” Lady Korith said, as if she hadn’t heard the maid at all. “And the stink of lilac when my husband killed him.”
Bashara nearly dropped the pillows onto the gardener. There were rumors about the marriage, of course, there alway
s had been. No one dared openly defy the Duke by discussing them, though. Bashara was not about to start.
“Not with his own hands,” she mused. “He wasn’t strong enough. He would never be so obvious, either, but I knew.” Bethcelamin closed her eyes, taking a long sniff of the jasmine. “He thinks I don’t know. He’s a fool.”
Bashara brought the pillows safely back into the room. She kept her silence as she knelt before the linen chest.
“He was so furious about the baby. Did you know I had a daughter?”
Bethcelamin had never spoken of her life before marrying Korith, and Bashara had never asked. Duke Korith himself had outlined in painful detail what would happen to the young maid if she were to speak of it at any point during her employ. He had explained that his wife’s mind was fragile, which caused her to confuse an unfortunate baby sister with a daughter of her own.
Bashara's opinion of the Duke's truth was irrelevant. Orders were orders.
“Would you prefer the lavender or the rose spread for the bed, m’Lady?”
“She was so beautiful, Bashara. So quiet and soft. She had her father’s hair, and my skin, and the most unusual eyes – like amber in sunlight. My parents had promised me to the old Duke, as bride to their son, but I didn’t love Jayden. Solus had my heart from the beginning. My father … I was afraid he’d kill me himself when I learned I was pregnant.”
The Duke had been insistent that his wife remain calm. If she became otherwise, Korith had instructed, Bashara was to prepare the bitter tea that soothed the Lady’s nerves and closed her eyes. But the tea would worsen the melancholy, in the end. So, Bashara made every effort to change the subject.
“Lavender, then,” she said, closing the heavy lid of the linen chest. “That one’s a bit warmer, and autumn is coming.”
Bethcelamin ignored her.
“We tried to leave before anyone knew I was carrying Solus’ child, but Jayden… I don’t know how he found out, but he did. My parents thought I had been enchanted, taken against my will. They begged Korith to help find me, bring me home. He never told them about the baby.”
Bashara dressed the bed while her Lady remembered. She smoothed the sheets, placed the pillows, and drew up the coverlet.
“Jayden never did learn where we brought her. I believe he still searches. He had us followed, you know, but my Solus…” She paused, remembering her love. “And Calder, too. They protected her. I didn’t want to leave her with those people, but Solus said he’d seen her destiny, that we had to return so she could fulfill it. My daughter… I never— I never even gave her a name.” Bethcelamin’s voice cracked. “They said it was for the best.”
Bashara struggled to steer the conversation to safety. “Perhaps we could enjoy a walk in the garden before dinner?”
Lady Korith stood and crossed the room in one fluid movement, letting the jasmine drop to the floor. She clutched the maid’s rough hands in her own, her gaze imploring. The flush in her cheeks betrayed her urgency.
“Please, Bashara. You are my true friend, my only friend. I need your help. I cannot lose both of my children. After Lucian—” She choked briefly on the memory of her murdered son. “I fear for my daughter, Bashara, such a fear that consumes me. Yet I can do nothing. No one listens, no one believes…” Tears hovered on her eyelashes. “You may go where I cannot, you speak to those who would never speak to me. Please?”
Bashara stood frozen. The Duke’s threats had not been empty, she was certain. “Maybe some tea …?” There was little conviction in her voice. “It would only take a moment to brew…”
“I speak the truth, Bashara. He calls me unreasonable and confused, he says I am overwhelmed with grief, and perhaps I am. But it is not a drugged sleep that will ease my heart, whatever he believes. I could not protect my only love. I could not protect my only son. Can you understand that I must protect my daughter? I must know that she is safe.”
Bethcelamin’s desperation was enormous. She could not explain the reason she now feared so greatly for Solus’ child, not even to her beloved Bashara. Were she to name her husband’s Chancellor, speak the truth of his dishonorable actions— surely even her truest friend would believe her mad.
As it was, the sight of him filled her with revulsion and shame. Garen had not returned with them to Epidii, which both relieved and terrified her. Was he already seeking her daughter, using the information he had so perversely pulled from her? Bethcelamin knew that she was supposed to have forgotten what he had done. He had told her she would not remember what she had said, or what he had done to her. But she did remember, and she needed to do ... something. She didn’t know what, exactly. But she had to try.
“Please.” Her voice cracked, and the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Please?”
Bashara swallowed hard, setting aside her fear of the Duke. “I know not how, my Lady, but I will—"
Bethcelamin broke into grateful sobs, hugging Bashara with all of her strength. “Oh, thank you. Bless you, and thank you … I will tell you what I know, all that I suspect, and you can make some inquiries? Servants, perhaps, or do you know any of the soldiers?”
Bashara's heart was heavy. She knew one. Orrin’s love was lost to her, she knew, but for her Lady, she would seek him out. How he may respond to her after more than fifteen years of hurt silence, though, she didn’t dare imagine. Her stomach twisted.
“I know a soldier,” she admitted, offering up a silent prayer that Orrin's loyalty to Duke Korith stopped at his monthly wage. “I will speak with him tomorrow.”
14
“It’s too dark out there, Jovan.” Kaeliph eyed the sky through the single window. “It's all wrong. Nightfall shouldn’t be for hours yet.”
Jovan had laid Melody on the only sturdy piece of furniture they had found – an old dining table – and was feeling her forehead with a frown. In spite of her rain-soaked hair and clothes, her skin was dry, and much too hot.
“We’re better off in here, then,” Jovan said. “Let’s have a look around, see if we can’t get a fire going, and make the best of it.”
As if in answer, a tremendous clap of thunder rattled the walls, and Kaeliph jumped.
“This is not good,” he muttered, rummaging in his pack. He produced a torch and flint, and soon the room danced with shadows. He set a second torch in the bracket by the door so Jovan would have light, and went to investigate the rest of the building.
Jovan silently agreed. Things were bad, and heading to worse. Melody’s sleep was not normal. Her body twitched and trembled, yet her teeth didn’t chatter with cold. Her facial expression alternated between fear and determination. And she would not wake up.
Seconds later, Kaeliph stumbled out of the only other room on the first floor with a hand over his mouth and nose.
“What is it?” Jovan asked, barely looking up from Melody’s fever-flushed face.
Kaeliph closed the rotting door behind him, blinking furiously. “Smell …” It was all he could manage as he staggered to the main door. He barely made it outside before sinking to all fours, retching.
Rain whipped into the open doorway, and the door itself swung violently on its hinges. Lightning flashed, blinding, and there was an immediate crack of thunder. Jovan lunged, grabbing the door before it could shatter on the wall.
Kaeliph backed up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His eyes were very wide in spite of the rain dripping into them from his hair. “There’s something out there.”
“Then it’s going to stay out there.” There was a thick board leaning against the wall, and Jovan slammed it into the brackets on either side of the door. The brackets promptly broke off in a shower of rusted metal. With a curse, Jovan settled for the flimsy iron hook lock, which looked equally unreliable.
Kaeliph lurched to his feet and closed the wooden shutters in front of the window, still queasy. Wind howled outside, nearly drowning out the sound of the rain.
“Was there any wood in that back room, Kaeliph?”
�
��Just a bed and a chair.”
“Save them for last if we can,” Jovan said. “I’m going to look upstairs. Secure this floor.” He took his brother’s torch and ascended the stone staircase with his other hand on his sword.
Kaeliph remembered the window in the second room had been boarded up, but he didn’t want to take any chances. A quick check showed him there was no way to lock the door. He could block it with the table, he thought.
“Melody?” Kaeliph shook the girl’s shoulder but she gave no response. Her skin was hot through the damp fabric of her dress.
Jovan came down the stairs two at a time, torch held high. “This is a lighthouse, or used to be. There’s wood and a stove up there, and the stairs can be blocked off.” Lightning outlined the main door in a flash of blue, and thunder was close behind.
“That door doesn't lock, Jovan, we need to move the table.” There was a growing sense of urgency in the room; both of them could feel it.
“Pick her up.”
Melody was limp and unresisting as Kaeliph lifted her. She showed no sign of hearing the resounding scrape as Jovan dragged the heavy table up against the door. The wind wailed outside, angrily rattling the shutters on the window.
“Get the torches,” Jovan said, taking Melody from his brother and slinging the slight girl over his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around the back of her knees, grabbed their packs, and followed Kaeliph up the stairs with his heart pounding. The sound of the rain was louder upstairs, but the shutters on the two small windows were sturdy and didn’t shake as much.
Together, they laid Melody beside the woodpile and swung the solid trap door into place, then slid the thick iron deadbolt across. The urgency had diminished, but not passed.
“This is about as safe as we get, little brother.”
“I’ll take it. What’s up there?” Kaeliph gestured to the second trap door above their heads. Water dripped occasionally from the sealed opening, landing on the steep, narrow stairs.
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