“What did you see?” Pen asked Raisa rather strongly.
The standing shadow by the lake crept into her mind again.
“Just a figure watching you,” Raisa turned to Palamedes. “This place might be compromised. Get Julae and the others and scatter. Meet back at the usual place in three days. I may not be there, but you’ll know what to do.”
“Right,” Palamedes gave a curt nod and left, but not before casting one more prying glance at Pen.
Her hands curled into fists, and her heart beat harder from all the anxiety from the day.
“You told him about me?” Pen accused. It was the only explanation for the curiosity in Palamedes’s eyes.
“I did,” Raisa sighed, looking guilty. “I also told the men at the gate your name and description.”
“What?!” She almost drew her blood on instinct.
“You just waltzed out of here,” Raisa shouted. “I was not going to let months of searching be rendered useless. Why did you decide to come back anyway?”
Pen tried to control the bubbling anger.
“That doesn’t matter. Here I am. You won. Now how are we going to get out of the bloody city if you told the guards about me?”
“I’ll think of something. You have a cloak, right?”
“I had to leave it at the amphitheater.”
“Shit. Okay, wait,” Raisa snapped her fingers and pointed at Pen. “New idea, there’s one here you can use as a disguise. And there’s a group of pilgrims leaving tomorrow morning. We’ll sneak out in that crowd. Come on, I know of an inn where we’ll be safe until then.”
The Bear Claw Inn was spacious and well cared for. It was popular too.
“You couldn’t have picked something more discrete?” Pen hissed under the cheering crowd.
“Trust me, this place actually is discrete,” Raisa said approaching the bar.
“What can I get you ladies?” the innkeeper asked when he had a chance.
“Just a room,” Raisa said sliding a silver coin to him, “and a good steak dinner.”
Pen’s breath caught at the sight of the silver. She only ever paid a few coppers at most.
“Of course,” the innkeeper said pocketing the coin. “Top floor, third one on the left.”
“My thanks,” Raisa said smiling.
Pen hurried behind Raisa as they crossed the large tavern floor. Dozens of people, mostly men, milled about laughing. Some were reenacting their favorite moments in the games that day. One fellow tripped and crashed, but his laughter got everyone else going again. It scratched at Pen’s brain, but there was a tiny smile on her lips. She had enjoyed the Agrios Games too. At least until everyone saw her.
Catching up to Raisa as they climbed the stairs, she said, “A silver coin is pricy, don’t you think? A couple of coppers would have been fine. It’s practically a scam.”
Raisa shot her a sharp glance but didn’t say anything.
When they reached the door the innkeep mentioned, they went in and Raisa locked the door.
“We’re paying for the discretion,” Raisa explained. “They don’t have steak here, but that plus the coin is a code. He makes a living hiding people for a short time, and he doesn’t ask questions.”
Pen voiced her understanding with a single, “Oh.”
The room they were in was lavish and worth the silver. Two beds with beautifully carved headboards waited on one side, while an entire fireplace, rich rugs, and couches made up a nice sitting area.
“Pen?” Raisa caught her attention. She looked confused and concerned. “You okay?”
“I’ve been sleeping in caves and under trees the past few years,” Pen confessed.
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“Really, how?”
“It’s like you have itchy feet. You never settle in one place for more than a few days. Even visiting us, you never stay more than a week,” Raisa said.
“Thing’s didn’t end so well last time I settled.”
Raisa paused in undoing her own travel cloak.
“Do you want to talk about them?” she asked.
“Who?” Pen shrugged off her own cloak. The pale blue fabric was too heavy for her liking. She missed her simple black one.
“Arch and Alard?” Raisa said cautiously. “The last time you settled.”
“No.”
Pen made for the fireplace and filled it with the provided kindling. The room didn’t need the warmth, but she needed the diversion.
“Pen, it’s been fifteen years,” Raisa pressed.
“Fifteen years they would have had if I hadn’t killed them.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Stay out of it!” Pen’s rage built up as the fire rose.
Raisa held her tongue this time, but after a moment muttered, “I’ll be downstairs for a while.”
Pen felt the door close, cutting her off from the jubilance downstairs. She stayed by the fire, kneeling on the floor rather than using one of the rich chairs.
Her nails bit into her palms, and she forced herself to breathe. Her hand bled again now, and she let it.
Raisa eventually returned after some time. Pen glanced to her and tried to smile, to smooth over her outburst. Raisa grinned back, not even looking mad.
Only then did Pen noticed the food in her hands. Steam rose from two plates of chicken with carrots. Her stomach growled.
Raisa sat on the floor next to her and handed over one of the meals.
“Thank you,” Pen took the plate and started devouring the chicken. She hadn’t realized until now that she hadn’t eaten all day.
“There’s a few people down there talking about you,” Raisa said after a mouthful.
Pen just grunted around the food. The surprise of her revealing herself would die down in a week or so. There were always more pressing matters to deal with.
“That person who followed me,” Pen said, “did you see any details?”
Raisa shook her head. “It was too dark, but I think it was a man.”
“You didn’t catch the color of his hair?”
“Like I said, it was dark.”
“Did he do any hand gestures?”
“Like what?” Raisa asked surprised.
Pen raised her first two fingers to her brow and gave a small salute.
Raisa’s eyebrows knit together as she thought. She grew serious and said, “No, nothing like that. Were you expecting anyone? That’s a really specific detail.”
Pen paused, reluctant to bring it up.
“Before coming to Kression,” she started, “I saw a person do that while camping one night. He stayed in the shadows but looked directly at me. When I noticed him, he did that salute.”
“Then what?” Raisa asked intrigued. “Did you catch him?”
“I tried, but he vanished.”
“And you didn’t see anything else?”
“No, but,” Pen put her plate on the floor. “The only one who’s ever done that was my father, Tyndareus, when he went on long trips.”
Now Raisa paused.
Pen sighed, but she was glad Raisa didn’t call her crazy right away. If anything, this was proof that the man hadn’t been a hallucination.
“I know how it sounds, but I thought I was going mad after being alone for so long. You telling me fifteen years had gone by without noticing solidified that. Now you see someone actually tailing me. I don’t know what to think.”
“You’re sure he’s dead?”
“Yes,” Pen insisted. “I was there when it happened, and when they buried him.”
Arch had actually helped her through that. His family helped bury him in Malliae, and they let her stay for the rest of the winter.
“Did he have any brothers?” Raisa asked.
“He mentioned two, but I never met them. They never talked much apparently.”
“It could be one of them,” Raisa suggested. “If there was a falling out, that could be why your uncles are keeping a distance. A weird distance, thou
gh. Why would he show himself at one point, then vanish?”
Pen shrugged and shook her head. A mystery uncle at least made more sense than her dead father.
“Did Tyndareus have other family? Do you have grandparents you can talk to?”
“No, it was just the two of us,” Pen gave. “His dad died before I met him, and his mother disowned him.”
“Disowned, really?” Raisa said. “Why?”
“He never said.”
Raisa shook her head astonished. Pen saw a disapproving thought cross her eyes, but Raisa turned back to her own plate.
“You don’t like that he kept secrets,” Pen voiced.
“People are allowed their privacy, and I’d be a hypocrite if I said parents shouldn’t keep secrets from their children. He kept a lot from you,” Raisa said.
“Yeah, he did,” Pen said bitterly. “Maybe you should tell Drivas about her father. Save her some trouble. She’s fourteen now, she can handle it.”
“If you don’t want to talk about your family, then we’re not discussing mine,” Raisa snapped.
“I was just talking about my father and potential mystery uncles.”
“I wasn’t talking about them.”
Raisa watched her, making sure she got the silent message.
Pen flinched looking down to her plate.
“Arch and Alard are a different matter.”
Raisa sighed but didn’t push the subject. After some time of them both watching the fire, she stood.
“I’m going to bed,” she said stretching.
“Up at dawn to head out, right?” Pen asked, holding back the tentative feeling.
“Aye, we should be able to find the Followers of Phaos pilgrimage easily enough. You should get some sleep too.”
“I will when the fire dies,” Pen said.
Chapter Six
Pen
Pen woke well before dawn, and her sleep addled mind couldn’t remember why. The warm bed was too enticing to leave anyway. She rolled over, enjoying the perfect mattress, and buried herself deeper into the sheets.
A quiet knocking sounded again, ripping Pen out of the sleepy fog.
Keeping as still as possible, she opened her eyes to slits. The room was dark, but moonlight poured in through the windows.
Seeing the crouched figure by Raisa’s bed, Pen’s heart seized for a moment. Luckily, it was Raisa herself having woken up immediately at the first knock. Pen scolded herself for preferring sleep over her own safety.
Pen rose quickly, looking around the room to see that it was properly empty.
Exchanging a glance with Raisa, Pen ripped off the bandage over her hand. Breaking the scab again, Pen drew a small knife, sharpening the blood perfectly. She ducked behind a beam that stuck out slightly from the wall. It was situated a few feet from the door. It wasn’t perfect cover, but it was dark and in good range.
Raisa unsheathed her blade slowly, taking care to not make a scraping noise. Keeping the blade low, Raisa unlocked the door and opened it a sliver.
Pen tensed but kept steady.
“Raisa, it’s me,” a familiar voice whispered. “I’m alone.”
Raisa sighed, “You sure?”
“Aye.”
Raisa opened the door just wide enough for Palamedes to get through. After quickly checking the hall, Raisa latched the door again.
Pen stepped out of the shadow behind Palamedes.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He spun, hand drifting to the dagger at his belt. Once he realized it was her, he calmed.
“I’d like to come with you, Blood Warrior. Provide any help I can.”
“This isn’t some pilgrimage with me,” Pen growled. She didn’t like the reverent look in his eye. “I’m trying to fix a city that’s falling apart. I fucked up, so I owe the queen, and I don’t want to drag anyone else along. That goes for you too.”
Pen turned towards Raisa. “I can’t have anyone else in danger because of me.”
“You vanished for fifteen years, Pen. I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Raisa protested.
“Then once we reach Stymphalia, you let me handle things,” Pen said.
“There is safety in numbers, and Stymphalia is a long trip,” Palamedes said. “Three can travel just as fast as two.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It’s a good idea, Pen,” Raisa said. “Palamedes is a skilled fighter and tracker. There’s no harm in him coming.”
“I can help keep you hidden,” Palamedes added, hopeful.
“Fine,” Pen said, too tired and annoyed to argue. “You can join us, but we’re traveling fast and at first light. Also, there aren’t any beds left, so you’re by the fire. I’m going back to sleep.”
Pen awoke still annoyed and hoping part of last night was a dream. Swinging her legs off the bed, she noted Raisa was all ready to go, and Palamedes was shrugging on his muddy travel cloak.
“No breakfast first?” Pen asked standing.
“We’ll hunt when we break off from the Followers,” Raisa said.
Shrugging, Pen grabbed her new cloak and followed them outside.
It wasn’t hard finding the Followers of Phaos. They found the small community already gathered by the eastern gate. Pen and Raisa blended in with the other blue cloaks.
Palamedes kept a distance from them, but other travelers this early was common. He’d keep an eye on them and their surroundings.
Nearly everyone here had a pendent of Phaos or Emera. Symbols of a sword piercing a sun for the men, and a single spear for the women hung from their necks. Pen kept her cloak firmly closed at her bare neck, self-conscious and hoping no one would notice the discrepancy.
“Stop fidgeting,” Raisa hissed.
Pen pulled the knot on the cloak by her neck for the hundredth time.
“If you hadn’t told the guards about me, then we wouldn’t have to sneak out like this,” Pen whispered.
“If you hadn’t made a spectacle at the arena, we would have been fine.”
“You wouldn’t have found me if I hadn’t.”
Raisa sighed and rolled her eyes. “Just keep your head down when we move. The gate is rising.”
The chains rattled, stones grinding as the portcullis began to rise. The arch was twenty feet high, and once there was just enough space, the High Priest, with the decorative sword at his hip, led the Followers under it. They started their walk to Mount Xiphos of Ichorisis, where Phaos was said to reside. No one ever actually found Phaos of course, but Pen wondered if there was a hidden entrance on that mountain, similar to the little cave that led to Skiachora and Maniodes’s castle.
Pen caught sight of the sword at the old priest’s hip again. Every priest at the temples had one, representing the god, but the High Priest’s was surprisingly the most humble one she’d seen. The leather sheath was well cared for, even the hilt was polished, but it was a simple warrior’s sword. She wondered if he could fight with it, or if he carried it just for tradition.
As they approached the guards by the gate, Pen kept a hold of the cloak from the inside. The hood was up, and she kept her eyes on the heels of the woman in front of her. Her purple hair was hidden well, but she could feel the eyes of the guards glancing over her.
She wanted to bolt; she wanted to run from the entire crowd. She was made and trained for stealth, but in the wilderness, not a city. Her fingers found a loose thread in the cloak’s lining. She curled it around her finger and back again.
The Followers of Phaos was a larger crowd than expected, and it moved slowly. When Pen and Raisa passed under the first stone arch, the gate only a few feet away, they had to pass the final guard. Pen allowed herself a breath as they passed him.
“Hold! You there.”
The thread in her finger snapped. Stealing a glance up to Raisa for any direction, she also saw a leather clad soldier of Kression approaching them.
“You, the scarred woman,” he said coming closer. “You were here last ni
ght.”
Raisa stopped and Pen outright froze, not sure what to do.
Other Followers flowed around them now, a little annoyed at the pause of the procession, but carried on nonetheless.
“I was here,” Raisa said, bowing her head a little in an act of supplication. “I was looking for someone.”
“Aye,” he said, crossing his arms, “and then I receive orders to stop anyone with that exact description you gave.”
“Oh?” Raisa asked.
“Apparently, the damned Blood Warrior’s been sighted, and the king wants to talk to her. Was that who you were looking for last night?”
“No,” Raisa said, seemingly surprised. Pen had to give her silent compliments for staying so calm.
“Really? Because you were so adamant last night at finding her, and yet now you’re perfectly content to just leave?”
“The road to Xiphos is long,” Raisa said. “I didn’t find my friend, but she’s not the Warrior. If you’d excuse me—”
“Now hold on,” he stepped in front of their path again. “I think a few more questions are in order.”
Silently cursing over and over in her head, Pen lowered her hood. They had to leave. She didn’t care about this Kression king. She didn’t even know his name. She had been able to convince the guard at the arena to let her go. Hopefully, she could do it again.
“My friend isn’t going anywhere,” Pen said, trying to be formal.
The soldier paused, taking in the purple hair.
“We will be leaving this city without any trouble,” she continued.
“And who are you?” the soldier demanded.
Pen paused, knowing and hating the only answer that would get them out.
“The Blood Warrior,” she confessed.
Raisa cursed through gritted teeth.
The procession around them stopped. Several were watching now, and Pen saw that word was quickly spreading through their ranks.
“Are you now?” he asked. “You able to prove that?’
Pen ripped the cloth off her hand again and held it palm and wound up. Tendrils of crimson rose and formed a miniature sword above her palm.
The soldier’s eyes widened. The murmurs from the crowd rippled around her. One young man in a torn blue cloak took off into the crowd.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 4
