As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness

by Katy Rose Pool

  “I didn’t see the Pinnacle Blade in there, did you?” Anton asked.

  “No,” Jude replied curtly. He wasn’t looking at Anton but rather staring at the ground, face still flushed, his breath uneven.

  “Look, I’m sorry about that back there,” Anton said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I know that’s not something you—I know you’re not—”

  “It’s fine,” Jude said abruptly. “It’s—it was smart.”

  “It’s just,” Anton ventured, stepping toward him. “You seem mad.”

  “Anton.” Jude’s eyes, at last, slid to his, and Anton almost recoiled from the intensity of his gaze. “Please. Leave it alone.”

  The request cost him something, Anton realized. He went still, understanding, all at once, what Jude could not say. The way Jude had treated him after witnessing his kiss with Evander, how he’d reacted to the ruse, and now, the tension and restraint that Anton could only interpret one way.

  Jude wanted him.

  It wasn’t a wholly new thought. He’d sensed it before, even going as far back as at the Hidden Spring in Pallas Athos, repressed beneath layers and layers of control and denial. But now, Jude’s desire stood between them in a way it never had before, and Anton could see how deeply it strained the swordsman. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to make Jude relax, to smooth his hands across the taut line of his shoulders and watch the tension bleed away.

  He moved toward him, not certain, exactly, what he was about to do.

  A sudden and familiar voice aborted the movement.

  “And just where have you two been off to all night?” Evander demanded, sweeping through the crowd toward them. Two men dressed in the servants’ uniform flanked him.

  “We—”

  “There was—”

  They both broke off into awkward silence. Evander looked back and forth between the two of them, but neither offered up anything else.

  “Well, I’m sure you can return to whatever it was later,” Evander said. “We’ve something far more important to attend to.”

  “What?” Anton asked.

  “The collector summoned us to her private chamber,” Evander said. “She wants to speak to you.”

  23

  BERU

  BEHEZDA. THE CITY OF MERCY.

  Nestled in a canyon cut by an ancient river and riddled with narrow passages and hidden gorges, Behezda was just as Beru had pictured it. Most of its buildings were carved from the red rock itself, crowded along the river and climbing up the canyon walls. In the east, the great Red Gate of Mercy stood sentinel, the ruins of what was once ancient Behezda spread at its feet.

  Beru and Hector picked their way down to the canyon. They parted ways with the caravan at the city gates.

  “You’ll find the Daughters’ temple up there,” Orit said, pointing off beyond the edge of the city. “May Behezda’s Mercy find you.”

  The caravan pulled away from them, and Beru looked over at Hector, whose gaze rested on the canyon walls, where the Temple of Mercy perched above the city.

  “You don’t need to do this,” she said in a low voice. It was the first time she’d spoken of Hector’s plan to end his life since he’d revealed it to her. She’d tried to talk him out of it then, had stayed up until nearly dawn arguing with him. “There’s another way.”

  “Neither of us should be alive,” he said, shaking his head.

  “But we are.”

  “You were ready to die in Medea,” he said. “What changed?”

  “Haven’t you ever had anything you wanted to atone for? Something you wanted to make right?” she asked. “You told me about the Order, about your friend who you left behind. Wouldn’t you at least want to tell him you’re sorry?”

  Hector’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Beru felt a pang of guilt coming off him. “I am making things right.”

  “You’re not,” she said. “You’re giving up. You’re running away.”

  He turned and started to stalk away from her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  But the anger that jolted through her—unmistakably Hector’s—told her she’d hit home. She hurried after him.

  “You betrayed the only person who loved you, and now you’re afraid to face the world alone,” she said. Another bolt of anger, bright and hot. “You don’t want to confront the people you’ve hurt. Trust me, I get it. But this isn’t the answer.”

  He stopped. “You think you can just solve everything by saving me. It doesn’t work like that. Sometimes things are just broken and there’s nothing you can do.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Beru said. She reached for him, her fingers brushing his shoulder.

  He flinched away. “Don’t.”

  A spike of fear. She wondered what he felt from her—frustration, sorrow, hesitance.

  “You didn’t come all the way here just to end your life. Some part of you knows I’m right. We have to at least try, Hector. Both of us. I can’t do it without you.”

  He shivered, but this time he didn’t shy from her as she laid her hand on his shoulder. Touching him always seemed to strengthen the connection between them. She felt everything pour from him—a potent mixture of fear, grief, and awe. And in turn, she let everything that she felt pour into him, willing him to understand what it all meant.

  He broke away, gasping. “What if the Daughters of Mercy can’t help us?” he asked after a long moment. “What if they won’t?”

  “Then we’ll find another way.”

  He turned his head to the side, hiding his expression. “You know, when I told you what I was planning, I assumed you’d find a way to talk me out of it.”

  “And?” she asked.

  He shook his head ruefully. “And I was right. Come on, let’s go.”

  Beru’s stomach grew tight with anticipation as they wound their way up the face of the narrow canyon to the Temple of Mercy. Her head was light and she felt like she might faint, so she stopped and leaned against the canyon wall.

  Hector stood in front of her, his face grim. “It’s getting close to the end, isn’t it?”

  Beru closed her eyes, panting. “Yes. But I’ll make it.”

  A moment later she felt him at her side, supporting her. She opened her eyes in surprise and let him take some of her weight until they reached the mouth of a cave. Carved into the red sandstone was the facade of a temple. In front of them, two great doors stood, etched with intricate swirling lines and ancient symbols.

  “We wish to speak to the Daughters of Mercy,” Beru said in a loud, clear voice.

  Nothing happened.

  Beru cleared her throat and chose her next words carefully. “I am Beru of Medea. Please.”

  With the sound of crunching earth, the rock began to move. A gust of wind swirled through the sand toward them. Beru and Hector threw up their arms, shielding their faces from the wind.

  At last the wind died down. It seemed that her name, or that of her village, had granted her access. That alone was enough to make her apprehensive.

  The Daughters already knew who she was. But did they know what she was?

  Swallowing her last bit of fear, Beru stepped into the temple. Several tiered platforms were sculpted out of the rock face. It looked like a stadium fit for over a thousand people, but only twelve faced Beru and Hector at the entrance.

  The Daughters of Mercy. They dressed in white, and wore crimson scarves over their heads. Each of them bore tattoos more intricate than anything Beru had ever seen on the healers in Charis and Tel Amot—tight, swirling lines that looked like the symbols they’d seen on the door outside.

  Their eyes followed Beru and Hector as they made their way from the threshold to the platform that stood at the end of the canyon, upon which three Daughters of Mercy stood.

  “Merciful Daughters,” Beru said, kneeling before the platform. “We most humbly request an audience.”

  “Medea,” intoned the one closest to Beru. She looked slightly younger than the other
s. “I know of this place.”

  Beru swallowed.

  “The Daughters of Mercy saw what happened there. The corruption we found was . . . foul. We have searched for its origin for many years.”

  “Then you need search no longer,” Hector said. “I have come to tell you what happened in Medea.”

  The Daughter’s gaze flickered to Hector. “And who are you?”

  “Hector Navarro,” he said. “Of Charis. I am—I was, a Paladin of the Order of the Last Light.”

  “The Order of the Last Light,” the Daughter spat. “Those devoted servants who hide themselves away from the world. If you are part of this Order, what is it that brings you here?”

  “I left.”

  “Oathbreaker,” several Daughters hissed.

  “We do not look kindly on those who forsake their vows,” the younger Daughter warned.

  Hector ignored them and forged on. “I came here to tell you that the world is in danger. A necromancer walks this world. Not just a necromancer—two of them.”

  “That’s impossible,” the Daughter said.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Beru said, her voice shaking. “I can prove it.”

  Beru fumbled with her wrapping, feeling strangely exposed as she lifted her bare wrist to show them the handprint.

  A hush filled the canyon.

  “I died in Medea. But I was brought back. Only it—it wasn’t permanent,” Beru said, stumbling onward. “And so this necromancer took more lives to keep me alive. Including . . . his.”

  Hector glanced at Beru and she nodded. He pulled the scarf from around his neck and then shucked off his shirt, revealing the dark handprint on his back.

  The Daughter reached out, her bony fingers just passing over the handprint.

  “We need your help,” Beru said. “His esha is connected to mine, somehow, because it was used to heal me. But if it can be given back to him, then maybe—it can save him, can’t it? You can restore his esha to him. You can put this right.”

  “The Daughters are glad you have found your way here,” said the Daughter.

  “So you can help us?”

  “We can help you reach the place you were meant to be.”

  Hector and Beru exchanged a glance. “What . . . what does that mean?”

  “The powers of the Grace of Blood were granted to us through sacrifice,” she said. “Sacrifice and mercy. That is our legacy. And that, in turn, is our gift to the world. Mercy.”

  A wave of relief broke over Beru. At last, she could atone.

  The Daughter inclined her head. “Come with us.”

  They led them through the canyon and into a narrow crevice that branched out from the main chasm. Archways hewn out of the rock and curtained off with sheer fabric lined the passage. The Daughter leading them stopped at one of the archways and pulled the curtain aside.

  “Please,” she said. “We ask that you partake of our hospitality.”

  Hector and Beru ducked inside hesitantly. The room was warm, glowing with soft light filtering through a small opening in the rock above. Violet and cream cushions were spread out around a low table.

  Hector and Beru just stood there, looking around, until another Daughter arrived, carrying a tray laden with bread and figs and olives, and little bowls of chutney. Another Daughter appeared with a second tray of delicacies, and a third with a pitcher and glasses.

  They all settled onto the cushions, and as Beru took the first bite of a fig, she realized she was ravenously hungry. A Daughter poured her a glass of whatever was in the pitcher, and Beru gulped it down readily.

  This might be my last meal, she thought, and suddenly the sweet fig turned to ash in her mouth. She had known for a long time that death was coming to her, but somehow it had never felt closer than it did now. Part of her wished she could remember what it had felt like, the first time. She felt half a shadow, waiting for darkness to swallow her.

  She looked up and saw that Hector was watching her. He set down his glass and reached toward her, touching her shoulder.

  “We can leave,” he said softly, his eyes intense. “You don’t need to do this.”

  It was what she had said to him at the city gates. Why was he hesitating now?

  Beru looked down at her lap. After all this time, even now, she wanted to live.

  His hand was still on her shoulder, and Beru felt her stomach flutter at the warmth and the way his gaze stayed pinned to hers. For the space of a breath, all she wanted was to say yes. To leave here with him. To find another way—another way to live, another way to atone.

  But there was no other way.

  The Daughter who had led them into the room reappeared inside the curtain. “Do you need more time?”

  “No,” Beru said, rising to avoid Hector’s gaze. “We’re ready.”

  The Daughter nodded, satisfied, and took them back into the main chamber of the temple. There were hundreds more Daughters now, crowded on the tiered platforms along the canyon walls. Beru felt a twinge of fear as the Daughter ushered them to the center dais. She couldn’t tell if it was coming from her or Hector—maybe both of them.

  “We hope that you have partaken of our hospitality,” the Daughter in the back of the room said. “And that both of you have enjoyed your final moments here.”

  Hector tensed beside Beru. The Daughters of Mercy nearest to them seemed to move closer. Advancing.

  “What do you mean, final moments?” Hector asked, at the same time that Beru was thinking, What do you mean both of us?

  The Daughter went on. “You are revenants, dead things that were never meant to cross back into the land of the living.”

  The approaching Daughters formed a tight circle around Beru and Hector, effectively sealing them in. As if they expected the two of them to flee.

  “What are you doing?” Beru demanded, looking around at the flat expressions of the Daughters. “You said you would help us.”

  “I said we would help you return to the place you were meant to be. And you do not belong here,” the Daughter said. “You belong to the desert.”

  24

  JUDE

  JUDE’S STOMACH SANK. THE COLLECTOR WANTED TO SPEAK WITH THEM. Personally. Jude could think of only one reason—somehow the collector had figured out that they intended to steal the Pinnacle Blade.

  His gaze zeroed in on Evander. “You,” Jude said. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing!” Evander’s brow furrowed. “Is there something to tell her?”

  Of course. Evander didn’t know who they truly were, or why they had come here. But there was no other explanation.

  “Jude, let’s just go see what she wants,” Anton said.

  Jude avoided his gaze. They didn’t have much of a choice, unless they wanted to leave now and lose any hope of getting the Pinnacle Blade back.

  Evander summoned one of the servants to his side. “Take us to see Lady Bellrose.”

  The servant nodded, leading them to a door across the ballroom. He pushed it open, shepherding them inside.

  Evander looped his arm through Jude’s and held him back.

  “Excuse us one moment,” Evander said, and let the door swing shut, with Anton on the other side.

  “I don’t know what just happened with you two,” Evander said, eyes searching Jude’s face. “But can I give you some advice?”

  Jude didn’t know what sort of advice a self-absorbed lordling could have for a member of the Paladin Guard, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

  “Don’t pin any hopes on him.”

  Jude startled, wondering for a brief moment if Evander somehow knew what Anton was, knew about the prophecy and their roles in it.

  But then Evander continued. “He’s got a tendency to collect admirers and lead them on. He’ll make you feel like you’re his favorite person in the world, and then the next day he’ll have moved on.”

  “I am not,” Jude bit out, even as he felt himself flush, “an admirer.”

  But the memory
of Anton’s body pushed up against his, every angle lined up, cut through his denial. He could still feel the phantom weight of Anton’s hand, firm against the nape of his neck. And he was still reeling from his own sudden realization of how easily he could have leaned forward and captured Anton’s lips with his, and of how terribly he’d wanted to.

  “Not what it looked like to me,” Evander said. “I know you saw us out by the dock. You didn’t like that I kissed him.”

  Because Anton was the Prophet. Because dallying with lordlings was beneath him. But despite himself, the scene Jude had witnessed flashed in his mind. Evander drawing Anton close beside the moonlit river. His thumb brushing over the hinge of Anton’s jaw, inching down to his throat where his pulse beat.

  Jude curled his hand into a fist. “He can do whatever he wants. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

  Evander laughed. “Don’t be mistaken—it’s not that I’m jealous. I’m just giving you a friendly warning.” He pushed the door open again. “Come on. Lady Bellrose is waiting.”

  Jude followed, averting his eyes from Anton’s questioning glance as they followed the servant down a corridor. He was as big a fool as Evander thought him to be. No, a bigger fool. Because even if he recognized this ache for what it was, even if he admitted it to himself, it was not something he could ever allow himself to act on.

  It wasn’t as if Anton was the first person Jude had ever wanted in this way. But with Hector, it had been different—as much as Jude loved him and wanted him, he had known that his yearning would lead nowhere. So he’d been willing to take what he could get—Hector by his side, but never more than that.

  But Anton did not operate by the same rules. Anton pushed closer, Anton was careless with his touch, with his teasing, in a way that felt utterly dangerous to Jude.

  He had accused Anton of forgetting what they had come here for, but Jude was the one distracted now. He struggled to focus as the servant led them down a set of stairs into a hallway that ended at a single doorway.