by Grace Draven
The woman’s eyes widened for a moment, and her face thinned with a shocked sadness. “I didn’t realize. She wasn’t like this when he took her from the house.” Siora moved closer to peer at Asil, subjecting her to that same dissecting stare she’d turned on Malachus. “Come back, Asil,” she said in a soft voice. “All is well. Those who love you are eager to see you again.” When Asil only looked through her, Siora bent her head for a moment before turning to Malachus, her expression mournful. “If I had known . . .”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Malachus eased his hand out of Asil’s grip, set the crossbow aside, and dumped the guard into the long-dry slack tub once used to quench hot metal. When he returned, Siora stood at the threshold, keeping watch on the street and an eye on Asil.
“Asil,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “The fastest way for me to take you back to the camp is to carry you. I’ll need to pick you up, and I need you to put your arms around my neck and hold on.” He shouldered on the crossbow while waiting for a nod or reply. When Asil offered neither, he bent to lift her in his arms.
She weighed less than a feather, and while she hadn’t answered him, she’d heard and understood, clasping her hands behind his neck. Her breath warmed the space where his shoulder met his chest as she leaned her head into him. Malachus held her a little tighter. Ah, Halani, he thought. This wasn’t how I’d hoped to bring her back to you.
When he paused beside Siora, she tucked Asil’s skirts more tightly around her legs, smoothing down the ragged edges of her hem. “When you leave from here, take the second road to your right and head south. The distance will seem longer, but the streets that way are less crowded, there are rarely any soldiers patrolling, and you’ll reach the camp faster. If anyone gets too curious, tell them she’s leprous. No one will stop you for long if you say that.”
“Where will you go?” He dared not offer her sanctuary with the free traders despite her invaluable help in finding Asil. With Gharek now her enemy, she was too much of a danger to any who might offer succor.
There was about her a sense of otherness, as if she walked a line separating this world from another and was far more interested in the second. She shrugged. “Somewhere away from Domora. Gharek doesn’t concern me. The empress will learn of his deception, if she hasn’t already. He’ll be too busy avoiding her to pursue me.” She studied him with her disconcerting gaze. “Before you go, I have a message for you.”
His eyebrows rose. “What is that?”
“Don’t judge humans too harshly. We live short lives compared to your kind. Our wisdom has only a moment to spark before death snuffs it out. I’m to tell you to remember the kindness of the brotherhood who fostered you, of the free traders who saved you, and of the human woman who loves you. They’re worth your patience, deserving of your affection, just as you are of theirs.”
His heartbeat paused for a moment. Even the draga quieted. “And who gave you this message?”
Sunlight outlined Siora’s frame in a shimmering luminescence as she stepped across the threshold. “You once defended the dead to your Halani and spoke for those whose voices the living choose not to hear. I offer you the gift of one voice, one message. Yain asks that you remember her fondly.”
Malachus gasped, nearly dropping Asil. Siora stepped farther into the street, away from the door. By the time he remembered to breathe again and follow, she was gone, only the flutter of drying linens hinting at her passing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Siora’s suggestions for taking a different route back to the free trader camp served him well. Malachus sped through the quieter side streets, Asil quiet in his arms as he carried her toward their destination. He kept a steady jog past houses and shops, moving farther and farther away from the palace, where a woman famous for her beauty and notorious for her brutality waited for him with the splinters of his mother-bond in her possession. Even with most of the artifact tucked against his skin and its sorcery surging through his blood, Malachus still felt the draw of the splinters.
He reached the free trader camp without incident. The camp was an anthill of activity, and the traders gathered around him, crying out Asil’s name and touching her as if to assure themselves she was real. Their joy faded when she remained unresponsive to their greetings.
A worried frown darkened Saradeen’s features. “You found her. Thank the gods.” He glanced at Malachus’s bloodstained trousers. “And had a hard time of it by the look of you.” He turned to shout over his shoulder. “Hamod!”
The man Malachus had seen in the lightning when he first arrived on these shores appeared in the doorway of the wagon Malachus had shared with Halani the night before. He looked thinner and far more haggard than the wagon master in his vision, and his eyes rounded when he spotted Asil in Malachus’s arms. He leapt off the wagon, striding toward them, his demeanor becoming more aggressive the closer he got. The crowd of free traders parted before him, creating a path leading from him to Malachus.
His surprise at seeing his sister changed to a furious scowl, and he stopped short of plowing into the waiting Malachus with only a finger’s length of space between them. “What did you do to her?” he bellowed before shoving Malachus in the shoulder.
Malachus didn’t budge under Hamod’s push. He turned, offering his burden to Saradeen, who took Asil gently into his arms. Hands free, Malachus returned Hamod’s shove, sending the wagon master flying backward.
“Don’t touch me,” Malachus said in a low voice. “Ever.” The free traders gaped at him before a pair of them moved to help a shaken Hamod to his feet. Malachus answered Hamod’s question, ignoring the wagon master and addressing Saradeen instead. “She was like that when I found her. The woman who helped me said she’s walking the Dream Road.” His gaze flickered over the crowd, not seeing the one face he expected when he returned to the camp. Her notable absence sent a spike of icy dread down his spine. “Where’s Halani?”
Saradeen gestured for a couple of the women in the group to join him. He set Asil on her feet, keeping a light grasp on her arms in case she couldn’t stand. She stared past them. “Take her to your wagon, Anjul,” he told the woman closest to him. “Get her cleaned and settled while we pack, and set someone to watch over her.”
Anjul nodded, motioning for the other women to help guide Asil toward her wagon. “Come, love,” she said softly. “A wash with my best soap and a cup of hot tea will have you well and good in no time.”
Silence reigned among the group as they watched Anjul escort Asil away. Malachus’s fear for Halani threatened to consume him, yet a small part of him was glad she wasn’t here to see her mother’s current state. He turned his attention back to Saradeen and repeated his question. “Where is Halani?”
Saradeen ran a hand through his hair, his features haggard. “After you left, an Unknown delivered a message none of us could read. We sent him away. Another man returned, this time to tell us Gharek of Cabast had information about Asil. He wanted Halani to meet him on the Galdoka Bridge. Alone.”
“And you let her go?” Malachus clenched his teeth against a bellow. He recalled the cat’s-paw’s seemingly throwaway comment when he demanded Asil’s whereabouts.
Is that her name? Halani never said.
Saradeen snorted. “Despite what Hamod might like to think, no one among us is Halani’s keeper. And this was Asil. Nothing short of nailing Halani’s feet to a wagon floor would stop her from trying to get her mother back.”
Halani’s devotion to Asil was all encompassing. Malachus admired her for it, though in that moment, he wished it otherwise.
“Is Gharek still alive? Do you know if he has the draga bone?” Hamod stood out of reach, his weathered face stamped with dislike, his eyes bright with avarice.
Human greed, Malachus thought. It always came back to greed. Had Halani not taken possession of his heart and bound him to her body and soul, he’d walk away from them all. Even his sister�
�s words, delivered by a woman who heard the voices of the dead, wouldn’t keep him here. Only fair Halani with her somber gray eyes and the song of earth wrapped around her.
He eyed the wagon master, disdain curling his upper lip. “Gharek is still alive, and the empress has the artifact. You’re no longer of any importance to them.” His contempt deepened as relief and disappointment played across Hamod’s face. If he was concerned for Halani’s fate, he didn’t show it.
Malachus, on the other hand, had to restrain himself from tearing out of the camp and racing for the palace in a blind rescue attempt, the impulse guaranteed to get him and Halani killed. Instead, he plied Saradeen for more information. “What happened with the second messenger?”
“She left with him.” He pointed to a stripling lad on the verge of his first beard. “I sent Peleus after them to spy. Tell Malachus what you witnessed.”
Peleus blushed at the attention suddenly cast on him. “I didn’t get close enough to hear their conversation, but a man ran up to Gharek and whispered in his ear. He looked angry, afraid. He told one man to give the empress his message, then ran away. Three more men joined the one who had hold of Halani. I followed them as far as I could to the palace before a pair of guards chased me off.”
“Gods,” Malachus breathed, grappling with the confirmation of his worst fears. The empress not only had the tiny but important splinters of his mother-bond; she had Halani as well. His task had just become monumentally harder, and his chances of failing much greater.
Though Hamod was the wagon master and leader of this free trader band, Malachus disregarded the fact to work with the more reasonable Saradeen. “You can’t stay here.”
Undeterred by the shunning, Hamod interjected. “Why not? The empress isn’t looking for me anymore, and we can use this as our planning point for rescuing Halani.” He paled a little at Malachus’s withering stare.
“Your machinations are why we’re in this predicament. Halani needs help, just not yours.”
Saradeen followed Malachus’s lead. “We’ve already started packing the wagons for leaving and sent a messenger to meet Kursak on the road and warn him not to come to Domora. A few of us thought to remain here until you returned with Asil and then figure out a way to get Halani back.”
No matter how well-meaning Saradeen and his plan were, an entourage was the last thing Malachus needed. “I can get inside the palace easier alone, but having a few of you wait in Domora will work in my favor. You can take Halani out of the city if I can’t.”
Hamod still refused to be shut out of their strategizing. “Why can you get in the palace without trouble?” he said, suspicion thick in his voice.
Malachus smirked. “Because the empress has all but invited me.”
He refused to expound on his comment. Time was short, every passing moment decreasing his chance to pry Halani from the empress’s clutches. He didn’t dwell on the prospect that to save her, he’d have to die, or that for all their best-laid plans, she might be dead already.
He donned different garb, tied back his hair, and replenished his spent supply of quarrels for the borrowed crossbow. His changed look wasn’t much of a disguise, but a cape and hood worn in summer would attract too much notice. His best strategy was to move fast, stay off the main streets, and avoid as much as possible the bands of soldiers filling the city. He agreed to Peleus accompanying him to the spot where he’d lost sight of Halani and her captors. “Don’t linger while we’re there,” he warned the boy. “If you’re caught, I can’t save you.” Peleus’s enthusiastic nod assured Malachus he’d bolt back for what remained of the camp the moment Malachus gave the signal to do so.
Before he left, he exchanged a friendly arm clasp with Saradeen. “The woman who helped me find Asil said Gharek didn’t abuse her. I think her abduction put her on the Dream Road. If the gods are kind, she’ll travel back to us and do so before Halani returns.”
If Halani returns. The dark flicker in Saradeen’s eyes revealed his grim thought. He kept the words to himself, gripped Malachus’s arm, and offered a nod of acknowledgment. “We’ll do our best to wake her. May the gods keep you and Halani, and bring you both home to us.”
Peleus, young and strong, kept pace with Malachus as they raced toward the palace, avoiding the crowded bridge where Halani had met Gharek. They paused twice, once for Peleus to point out the route where Gharek’s henchmen had taken their charge, and once to duck out of sight from a battalion of Kraelian soldiers marching in formation toward some unknown destination. They reached the perimeter of the palace grounds as the shadows lengthened across manicured loggias and carefully tended gardens dotted with fountains and man-made ponds dug and filled for the royal court’s pleasure.
“This is where the guards chased me away,” Peleus said as they lingered at the edge of a hedgerow clipped into the shape of a turreted wall.
Malachus eyed its length, the spots where overhanging tree branches and the bend of shadows created alcoves in which to hide. If he was careful and navigated each of those sanctuaries, he could reach the palace itself without a confrontation. He turned to Peleus. “Go back to the camp and do as Saradeen bids you.” He paused, reluctant to give voice to the unavoidable potential of failure in his quest. “Tell him if I don’t come back with Halani by the small hours that he shouldn’t wait any longer. Join the rest of your kind outside of Domora and get as far from the city and the empress as you can.”
Peleus paled at his words but didn’t argue. He echoed Saradeen’s blessing and raced back the way they’d come. Malachus watched until the boy disappeared before once more eyeing the long wall of spiky hedge that created a green barrier behind the stone-and-mortar one surrounding the palace. He darted from shadow to shadow, working his way toward the more humble buildings built as part of the royal complex that served the numerous and unending needs of those it housed. A smithy, bakery, laundry, millhouse; a massive royal stable built to house hundreds of horses and all their tack.
Malachus had visited different palaces in his travels through Winosia for various reasons. Most were built on two principles—to impress the population surrounding it and to act as a defensible, unbreachable fortress in times of war. And every royal house kept a prison. If this palace were like other royal dwellings, he’d find a small door leading to a hive of cells filled with the condemned, the forgotten, the dying, and the dead. All overseen by an army of the brutal and inhumane. He discovered a prison entrance inset into the palace’s thick walls adjacent to the provender building dedicated to the stables and guarded by a dozen soldiers, all milling about, either bored or drunk, or both.
Had he the luxury of time, he’d scout the palace’s entire perimeter, hunt for another way in, even if he had to start from the topmost spire and work his way down. But Malachus didn’t have time. He’d have to fight his way in and fight his way out, with the latter being the more difficult of the two. He didn’t hold out much hope for surviving the endeavor, but if he could free Halani, he’d die content.
The guards didn’t anticipate the silent whirlwind of demonic violence that suddenly erupted in their midst. Four lay dead before the rest even realized they were under attack, and by then they could do no more than swing wildly at their assailant before gasping out their last breath or choking on their own blood as they fell atop each other in front of the door.
Malachus tossed bodies aside until he found the man with the key ring, which held a disheartening number of keys. While his attack had relied on speed and surprise to succeed, the challenge of the door’s lock required trial and error. He crouched to more closely inspect the keyhole, stopping several times to look over his shoulder and listen for any approaching footsteps. The mechanism’s shape and size vaguely matched that of five keys on the heavy ring. He separated those from the rest, inserting the first into the keyhole. The gods didn’t answer his prayer the first three tries, but on the fourth, the mechanism clicked, an
d the key rotated inside the keyhole.
He eased the door open, using the wood as a shield against anyone on the other side waiting to fire a round of arrows into him from a nocked bow. The door opened onto an empty corridor shrouded in shadow, with rows of barred cells cut into the rock foundation. Malachus closed the door behind him with a soft snick and crept into the palace’s underworld.
Some of the cells were empty; others held ragged creatures who might once have been human tethered to the rock walls with chains. None of the cells held Halani.
He came to the end of the hallway and halted, staring at the endless corridors that branched off from this one, all lined with cells that stretched into a darkness occasionally broken by the far flicker of a torch. He’d be here for years looking for Halani if he explored every hallway and checked every cell.
The sound of marching feet forced him to dart into a corner out of sight, and he observed a small cadre of troops escorting one of their own, bound and beaten, down one of the hallways. Their footsteps echoed throughout the labyrinthine prison like distant drums.
Malachus stayed where he was for several moments after the troop passed, caught on an idea the percussion of their march had inspired. His magic was a risky thing to use. It depended on the draga within him to strengthen it. With the mother-bond so close and its pull so strong, his heritage writhed inside him like an angry serpent. Employing his magic only made it worse, but he might have a way to find Halani. She was worth every risk. He pressed his hands to the wall beside him, its damp, slimy surface cold under his palms. All his senses narrowed down to his fingers, to the bones of the earth beneath them. He opened himself to the deep, resonant hymn Halani claimed to hear in the back of her mind, one she manipulated to guide a caravan across flooded ground, one a creature of the fens had used to lure her into the mud and nearly drown her.
He was no earth witch, but he was draga, and his kind had known how to manipulate the elements long before men had even understood the uses of fire or the tilling of fields. Malachus sought and found the clear river of melody, letting his spirit ride its current until it slowed and finally pooled not far from where he hid now. It was no guarantee the hymn was clearer in that spot because Halani resided there, but it was his best hope. Surely, the prison wasn’t teeming with earth witches.
