Godfire

by Cara Witter

  But then he shrugged. “We’ll see,” he said to Lukos. “Let’s go.”

  Boots sounded against stone, and to Daniella’s relief, Lukos’ shadow moved with Erich’s. The room darkened until she was once again in the chamber surrounded by utter blackness with only the sound of her pounding heart, followed by gasping breath when she knew they were gone.

  With shaking fingers, she replaced the candle in the lantern and struck the lantern flint. The weight of what she had heard bore down on her, suffocating her, drowning out all thought.

  The flint clicked once, twice, three times without lighting. Daniella’s throat closed. If it wouldn’t light, she would once again have to claw her way out of the dark by feel alone, and the tiny, ephemeral light that appeared when she finally found where to place her runes.

  The candle wick caught, but there was no time to catch her breath. It illuminated the form of Erich, standing half in and half out of the far wall. His lips turned up in a smile, and her stomach sank in dread.

  Erich’s dark eyes gleamed. “There’s my little mouse, in trouble again. Luckily this time I’m here to protect you.” He held out his hand to her.

  Daniella froze, her mind stuttering over what he’d said. He must know she’d heard everything. He talked like he wanted to protect her, but he was the thing she needed protecting from. And after what Lukos had said, she knew she couldn’t count on her father to do it.

  Gods. Her father worked with blood mages. Had he been corrupted like the Drim, or had he been a monster even when he made that accusation against them?

  “I know you’re scared,” Erich said. “Come with me and let me explain.”

  Daniella didn’t know how he could think there was anything he could say. But he stepped forward, offering his hand more insistently. And Daniella knew she couldn’t escape from him—not in such a small, enclosed space.

  So she stood, and though her hand felt clammy in his, she let him hold it tight.

  Fifteen

  Perchaya wasn’t exactly used to traveling quickly or avoiding detection, or anything that had just happened in their flight from the city, and it was clear that Kenton could tell.

  After the escape, Kenton had found them a place to rest for a bit, a copse of trees just an hour or so from the city, over the Oresh bridge and into Sevairn. She didn’t think he needed it, and she wished she didn’t, but she’d taken the chance to close her eyes a little.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Which was just as well, since Kenton hadn’t seemed inclined to rest for long. Dawn hadn’t fully broken when they’d made their way to a road out of Telvanir, where they’d found a merchant caravan just getting started for their own day of travel. Kenton had quickly bartered for two horses and enough supplies to last them a few days. Perchaya was accustomed to horseback riding, but she was by no means an accomplished rider, and after so many weeks with Reisa, she was afraid she’d gone a bit soft.

  And now, after only a few days of riding and sleeping on the ground, feeling how every muscle in her body ached, she was sure of it.

  Perchaya lay in her bedroll, watching the last light of day fading through the leafy canopy above. She’d slept hard after another night on the road, but still felt like she could stand to sleep another hundred years. Beside her, she heard Kenton stirring. And while propriety might have dictated that he sleep farther off, she was glad he was always near, always close enough to look out for her if she needed it.

  The truth was, Perchaya could have handled quite a bit less propriety. Sometimes she caught Kenton watching her, much as he had that day by the river when she’d first noticed him. Since they’d been on the road, she’d dared to sit near him for warmth, to touch him softly on the arm on several occasions.

  But Kenton never took the bait, never made a move in return. Perchaya supposed she should have been grateful for his good manners, but she found herself feeling the opposite.

  Kenton rolled toward her, though not enough light filtered through the trees for her to tell if his eyes were open or closed. He’d insisted they travel by night and sleep by day—always hidden from the road, today in the center of a grove of white birch, with their horses tied well out of sight. People were less likely to see and remember their faces this way, he said.

  And, though her imagination filled the clumps of forsythia with bandits and the open fields with spirits following them along, Perchaya supposed his logic made sense.

  “Ready to face the night?” he asked. His voice was thick with sleep, and the outline of his dark hair was tousled. There was something intimate about waking up next to him—comfortable, even if they were lying in a bed of weeds and hard dirt.

  “Almost,” Perchaya said. “Are you?”

  Kenton shrugged. He was always like that when she asked how he was, as if his personal well-being didn’t matter. But the more they traveled together, the more certain she was that it mattered to her.

  “We should give it a while yet,” Kenton said, stretching out and resting his head on his hands. “It’s not late enough for the roads to be clear.” His eyes flicked to the hanging sack that kept the remains of last night’s dinner safe from scavengers.

  “Do you think there’s enough rabbit left for breakfast?” Perchaya asked. Kenton had been quite impressed that she knew how to rig a snare. It was a necessity for her, protecting the farm from groundhogs and jackrabbits. She’d caught at least as many as he had.

  “Probably,” Kenton said. “Even if we haven’t caught anything in the traps we laid this morning.”

  Perchaya wished they could catch something larger than a rabbit, though they wouldn’t be able to make use of all the meat. They’d run into several hunters roaming the woods along the road, taking advantage of Diamis’ liberal views on poaching. Game found between cities belonged to the people, not the king, he said. Hunting around the cities themselves was to be governed according to local laws. On sleds pulled by their horses, one group of hunters even hauled large elk, though Perchaya didn’t have anything of value to give in trade, even for a leg, and the hunters weren’t interested in rabbit.

  “If we’re going to stay a while,” Perchaya said, “would you mind telling me what you remember about our people?”

  Kenton gave her a surprised look, and she didn’t blame him. She hadn’t brought it up before now. She hadn’t been ready to bring it up before now.

  She continued quickly. “Do you remember anything from back then? From before the Scourge, I mean? I was just a baby. I can’t even remember my parents.”

  “I was six,” Kenton said. “And yes, I remember some.”

  His tone was dark, and Perchaya gathered that the memories weren’t happy ones. “If it hurts too much to think about . . .”

  “No,” Kenton said. “I remember them often.”

  “Because you loved them?”

  “To remind myself that I have yet to return the favor to the bastard who murdered them.”

  Perchaya felt a chill. Nerendal’s light was gone now, but a beam of the light of Arkista shone onto Kenton’s face now as he stared coldly up at the leaves. Perchaya wasn’t sure if he was feeling anger or pain.

  “Hate is a terrible thing,” she said slowly. “Even when it motivates you to do things that are necessary.”

  “It’s better than guilt.”

  “Because we survived,” she said.

  Kenton glanced at her. “I suppose it made more sense when it was just me. You have nothing to feel guilty for.”

  “Except that I tried to forget them.” Perchaya huddled inside her bedroll, pulling the rough wool blanket tighter around her. She’d grown up hearing people slander the Drim—even her own mother, if her father was out of the house. When she’d learned she was one of them, she’d thought herself innocent, but only because she hadn’t grown up among them. She’d always assumed that the hunting of
her people was—if brutal and horrifying—at least politically necessary. But if Diamis had other reasons, if the political machinations were just an excuse—

  “Did you always know, then? That you were a Drim?”

  Kenton shook his head. “When I saw my family die—I must have buried the memories deep. In the boys’ home, I was told the Drim had killed my family. I had no reason to doubt that. After all, the people who killed my family wore Sevairnese uniforms, and the Drim had control of the army at the time.”

  Gods. Perchaya had been scared when she’d learned of her heritage, but at least she’d been safe.

  Kenton sighed. “Most of it, anyway. There was a time when some of the troops had defected. They might have come for us then, or just after. I’d always thought about the Scourge of the Drim and the coup as being separate, but they happened in the same year. It’s impossible for me to know exactly when it happened.”

  “But you figured it out,” Perchaya said. “You remembered the truth, somehow.”

  Kenton nodded. “When I was in the army, I was patrolling the red district one afternoon, when an old man pointed his finger at me. He called me ‘the Del Moro boy,’ and shouted to a gathering crowd that I was a Drim. They might have strung me up right there, if I hadn’t been a soldier. Because of that, I at least got the privilege of being escorted to see my commanding officer before being formally charged.”

  He looked down, his fingers plucking at a tuft of grass in the dirt between them. “But the name. Del Moro. It was like a whisper from a forgotten dream, conjured from some deep, buried corner of my mind. I remembered it, and I remembered the man. He’d been my neighbor, lived down the way from my parents’ house before they died.

  “I ran before I could be taken in for questioning. But I started looking for answers. It wasn’t hard to find that Del Moro was a Drim name. From there I realized I’d been lied to—that Diamis had killed my family in the Scourge. After I discovered the Chamber of Binding in Peldenar castle, I started to look into Diamis’ actions. The patterns of behavior. The way that my father died. And that’s when I realized that Diamis was trying to release Maldorath. That my parents died because they were Drim, because their souls held the keys to Maldorath’s release.”

  Perchaya shivered. “Do you know what he needs us for?”

  “It’s in the Chronicle,” Kenton said. “The power that the gods used to trap Maldorath—it had to go somewhere, so the gods entrusted it to the Drim. I don’t think—” He paused, and his voice grew quiet. “I don’t think he can release Maldorath until every last one of us is dead.”

  Even in the warmth of her bedroll, Perchaya felt cold. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to her if Kenton died. She’d have to continue avoiding Diamis on her own, she guessed. It was the only way to protect her family from a bloody end. Finding the bearers might help her do that, but Diamis would be looking for them, too.

  “Maybe,” she said, “maybe it would be better if we were apart. Spread the eggs to different baskets, and all that.”

  Kenton gave her a long look, then turned slightly away.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I’ve never been one to trust in the safety of anything out of my sight.”

  Relief washed through her. She felt better running with Kenton than she would waiting in Reisa’s house for Diamis to come for her. Better to do something than nothing, even if that something was completely terrifying.

  “When we get to Peldenar,” Kenton said, “it might take some time to locate the woman I’m looking for. If she’s there on a mission, even the rebels won’t want to talk about it.”

  “I guessed as much. Do you think we’ll be able to find her?”

  Kenton sighed. “I already went into one volatile city to find a person I wasn’t sure existed.” He glanced over at her with a rueful smile. “And look how that turned out.”

  Perchaya smiled. “I’m not sure if I’d call what happened in Drepaine a success.”

  “You’re alive. I’m alive. That’s all the success against Diamis we need.” His face darkened. “For now.”

  Perchaya forced her voice to sound bright, as if in doing so she could cast out his dark thoughts. “Good. Besides, I’d hate to think we’d top off our dramatic escape from Drepaine with something easy.”

  Kenton plucked distractedly at the grass some more, exposing a thick, lumpy root.

  “And if we find her,” Perchaya said, “What then?”

  “We figure out if she’s the real thing. And if she is, we search for the others, and then the missing gods. We bring them together, stop whatever horrors Diamis has set in motion. Then, once we’re certain he’s been stopped, I kill him.”

  Perchaya cringed. If anyone had told her two weeks ago she’d be sleeping in the dirt beside a man who was plotting a murder, she’d have locked herself in her room at Reisa’s and refused to come out.

  Perchaya supposed that killing the man who had murdered their families could hardly be considered an evil act. Not if the man really was who Kenton said he was.

  “If you’re going to kill him anyway,” she said, “why not do it first and stop him that way?”

  “I couldn’t be sure it would work. His plans have been in motion for years. The man himself may not be necessary anymore. And if I kill him, I can hardly expect to survive. What if we both die, but his plot to release Maldorath goes on, and you’re the only one left?

  “And it may yet all be for nothing,” Kenton continued. “I’ve chased down dozens of leads to possible bearers that have ended nowhere. For all we know, she’s just a woman crazy enough to hunt down Diamis with nothing more than some idiot ideals and a fancy light show.”

  Perchaya glanced at him, his features less distinct in the darkened grove. “But you don’t think so. You think she’s the one.”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  She ran her thumb along the ring. “And if she is, we’ve already set in motion her ability to find the others.”

  He smiled wryly. “I hope so. Or else I’ve wasted a lot of time that could have been spent far more productively in gambling halls.”

  She looked over at him, her hands suddenly still. “Why didn’t you? I mean, not the gambling halls exactly, but why go to all this trouble to find them? The prophecy doesn’t say anything about the bearers needing to be found. Won’t they just do what they need to on their own, especially now that the ring sent the call?”

  Kenton paused for a moment before speaking. “Because the prophecy isn’t a guarantee; it’s a hope. Our last hope. I intend to see that it doesn’t fail.”

  Perchaya nodded. “And I’m going to help you.”

  Kenton gave her a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” Their eyes met, and just for a moment, Perchaya thought she saw a glimmer of longing.

  Kenton cleared his throat and sat up. “Time to get moving,” he said. Perchaya climbed from the warmth of her bedroll to stand beside him. And despite the chill of the night and the pang of her fear, Perchaya couldn’t help but be glad she was here with him, too.

  Sixteen

  Erich pulled Daniella through the wall and into a vestibule. In the lantern light, Daniella could see that the wall across from them, unlike the ones in the chamber and around them now, was made of wood.

  Erich put a hand on her shoulder, indicating that she should wait. Daniella felt as if her heart might stop, like a cornered mouse who perished not from the cat’s claws, but from pure, unadulterated fear.

  Lukos’ words rang in her head. She was a weapon.

  If that was true, why did she permit Erich to push her around? If she was so powerful, where was the power to protect herself when she needed it?

  Erich waited for a moment in silence, and then pushed at the plank. It slipped open a crack, allowing them to slide out.

  Into her father’s study.

  Dani
ella blinked. This had once been the Speaker’s own study, and it was mere yards from what Daniella suspected must be the Chamber of Binding itself. Erich hadn’t used any runes to get here, so her father, and the Speaker before him, must have known it was there, and used this way to get in. Erich still might not know of the other passages in the wall, or of the runes she’d used to come and go.

  Did her father?

  Erich didn’t pause here. He dragged her through the study and out into the hall. Since Diamis was elsewhere, the hallway was empty, and Erich took out a key, locking the study behind him.

  “Come on,” he said to her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Despite Lukos’ dark ritual and her father’s dark secrets, Erich was the one who seemed most likely to hurt her. Her mind cast about for what else she might do. She could call out, but the guards had failed her before. They worked for Erich. They all worked for Erich, except for Diamis himself.

  And he’d traded Erich his generalship for manipulating her. Worse, he was a blood mage, or at least employed them. If Lukos was right, he kept her, cared for her, not because she was his daughter, but because she was some kind of tool.

  Oh, gods. Was that blood magic, too?

  Erich led her to her own chambers and opened the door with a second key. Daniella wanted to rip it away from him—she’d given him a key like it months ago, then taken it away when she told him it was over. Had he simply requisitioned another, under the guise of protecting her?

  Erich stuffed it back in his uniform coat pocket, making it clear he could come and go any time he wanted. He guided her from her small sitting room into her bedchamber, warm from the fire burning low in the hearth opposite her bed. Once in her room, Daniella stepped away from him, backing up against her wardrobe, wanting to be as far from him as possible. Her stomach roiled as she thought about the things he wanted to do to her, or make her do to him.

  But no. Lukos had said she couldn’t be controlled, not by Erich, not even by her father.

  I am powerful, Daniella thought, though she still felt like that cornered mouse.