But here, there were no sounds. A thick silence hung over the Terrestra, as if every creature and human in the gardens had suddenly fallen silent. The bright noonday sun struggled to pierce the canopy, leaving the world around her shadowed and cold.
Then Aisha saw the two blue-white figures floating in the gardens ahead. The spirits wore the black armor of Indomitables, with long sickle-shaped khopeshes at their belts. Yet their eyes were empty in death, their mouths ajar in a silent cry.
She raised a clenched fist to stop Kodyn. “Dead guards,” she signed.
Kodyn muttered a quiet curse.
Aisha slipped toward the ethereal figures, silent as a leopard stalking through tall grass. She had spent her early years traveling dense forests and savannas; she could match the stealth of all but the best of the Ukuza tribe’s hunters.
Her heart clenched as she approached the place where the Kish’aa waited. Through the dense brush, she spotted two prone figures. Dark crimson stained the black of their armor and dirt, leaves, and debris clung to the still-drying blood seeping from their slashed throats. The killers had shoved them beneath a thick scrub, out of sight to all but those who knew where to look.
Had the spirits not summoned her, Aisha would never have seen them. Now, she couldn’t look away. The Kish’aa fixed their vacant, lifeless eyes on her. Their voices resonated in her mind with skull-shattering force. “Vengeance!” Their mouths moved, forming more words Aisha couldn’t understand, the buzzing in her head growing so loud she had to clench her teeth to stifle a cry.
She reached out a hesitant hand to touch one of the corpses and her eyes flew wide. “Still warm!” she signed to Kodyn. The killers had to have passed mere minutes before them.
Aisha scanned the Terrestra for any clue as to the killers’ whereabouts, or which way they’d gone. A single pair of bootprints showed in the mud beside the bodies. They headed northwest, toward the palace.
She turned to Kodyn. “Can you track them?” her fingers asked.
Kodyn’s face showed his hesitance. “I’ll try.” He slipped off into the dense gardens, but returned shaking his head less than a minute later. “Lost them. They were careful.”
Aisha’s gut clenched. We’ve no idea where they are or what they’re doing, and every minute we spend here widens their lead!
She had only one way to find them. The spirits would have to guide her.
Standing from her crouch, she turned toward the two Kish’aa hovering in the air. She sheathed her assegai and dagger; those weapons wouldn’t help her here. Her left hand went to the pendant around her neck and her right reached out toward the two dead Indomitables.
The moment her fingers touched the black Serenii stone, the painful buzzing felt silent and the voices of the slain soldiers grew audible in her mind.
“Assassins!” they cried in unison. Their empty eyes fixed on her, pleading, desperate. “Help us protect the Pharus!”
Aisha sucked in a breath. Lend me your power, and together, we will fulfill your mission.
The Indomitables reached ghostly hands toward her. Twin sparks flared to life in her fingers as they touched her, and the figures disappeared, transformed into blue-white energy that sizzled through her veins. She let out a little gasp as lightning crackled down her arms and deep into the core of her being. The heat scoured all trace of fatigue from her body, infusing vigor into her muscles.
The voices, however, did not fade. The Serenii-made pendant, called a Dy’nashia, served as a repository for the power of the spirits, yet it also provided clarity in a way the Whispering Lily never could. She could hear the Indomitables’ words as clearly as if they stood beside her. Clearer, in fact. No outside noise could silence the voices whispering in her mind.
“To the palace!” they shouted, their desperate insistence echoing off her skull with pounding force. “We cannot let the assassins succeed in their mission to slay the Pharus!”
“Which way did they go?” Aisha demanded of the spirits.
She felt a sharp tug on her body, as if a hand had seized her chest and dragged her toward the east, deeper into the Terrestra. The Kish’aa had guided her before; they had led her into the Keeper’s Crypts to find the Gatherers. She would trust the spirits of the fallen to lead her steps.
“Follow me!” she told Kodyn.
He had stood silent all along, his gaze fixed on her. His eyes met hers and widened at the sparks of blue-white she knew must be dancing there. “The spirits?”
Aisha nodded. “The soldiers yearn to fulfill their mission to protect the Pharus.”
Kodyn’s eyes flew wide. “Another assassination attempt?”
Aisha shrugged, the Indomitables’ impatience surging within her. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. Let’s go!” Without waiting, she took off at a loping run through the gardens.
Her soft-soled boots made little sound on the soft grass and the hard paving stone walkway as she sprinted toward the palace. Behind her, Kodyn ran in silence to match hers, the result of years of training with the assassins of House Serpent. He, too, had crept across Duke Phonnis’ gardens to touch the base of the Black Spire, in honor of his mother’s achievement. This was little different from a late-night jaunt through the Duke’s property.
All save the sense of urgency. Life or death waited at the end of this desperate race, not bragging rights among fellow apprentices. If they didn’t stop the assassins, the Pharus would die and the chaos in Shalandra would increase a hundredfold.
The gardens flashed by in a blur of greens, browns, and bright-colored flowers, but Aisha saw none of it. Her gaze was fixed on the enormous sandstone structure of the Palace of Golden Eternity in the distance. She drew no weapons; if any Indomitables saw two armed figures slipping through the Terrestra, it would set off all the alarms. Fighting would only slow them down. Stealth and speed were their best weapons in this fight to save the Pharus.
Suddenly, the spirits within her pulled her sharply to her left, tugging her hard north. Less than a dozen steps later, Aisha found herself racing through a clearing toward a small path toward the Palace of Golden Eternity. A stone bench stood beside a merrily bubbling fountain. Beyond, a door opened into the palace complex.
Aisha’s mind flashed to the last assassination attempt. Someone, likely the very priest they had come to hunt, opened the way for the assassins to enter the Terrestra. Yet that time, they had entered through the kitchens—an attempt to avoid incriminating the true culprit, Aisha guessed. Now it seemed they had abandoned caution in favor of a speedy direct assault.
“There!” Aisha stabbed a finger toward the door. “They went in there.”
The Kish’aa filled her with a driving urge to run faster. “Protect the Pharus!” The cry echoed over and over in Aisha’s mind. They had lived their lives in service to the city of Shalandra, yet their duty here in the palace had been to safeguard Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres. That duty continued even after their death, through her.
She reached for the door, found it unlocked, and pulled it open. Within, the light of lamps hanging on wall sconces revealed tiled corridors lined with colorful tapestries, each bearing the Seven Faces of the Long Keeper. Words that had to be Necroseti scripture had been carved into the golden sandstone wall.
A dozen doors lined the hall, all shut. Aisha half-expected the spirits of the dead soldiers to pull her into one, yet they tugged her straight ahead, to the broad adjoining passage thirty paces away. From there, she felt the urge to take a right, deeper into the palace complex. Ignoring the myriad offices, chambers, suites, and halls they passed, Aisha followed the urgency humming within her.
Suddenly, the spirits suddenly flared bright, an eager light burning in her chest. The Indomitables tugged her forward, toward an adjoining passage.
Aisha was about to sprint in the direction indicated when something stopped her. It wasn’t the fierce, determined intensity of soldiers carrying out their sworn duty. Instead, it was the eager light of recognition, t
he same brightness she’d felt from Thimara whenever Uryan was around. If the Indomitables were eager to greet whoever came toward them, it meant—
“Patrol!” Aisha hissed.
She grabbed Kodyn and shoved him ahead of her through one of the doors that opened onto the hallway. They flattened themselves against the wall of the darkened, dusty room a moment before the tromp, tromp of heavy boots echoed in the hall beyond. Aisha pushed deeper into the shadows, scarcely daring to breathe as the sound drew nearer.
The spirits flared eager and bright, tugging on Aisha, trying to draw her out to greet their friends. Aisha gritted her teeth against their insistence and forced herself to remain motionless, pressed against Kodyn.
Her pulse grew to a roaring rush as the boots drew closer. Yet the guards made no move to enter. Instead, they tromped on without breaking stride. Aisha finally let out a slow, quiet breath as the spirits within her fell silent. She released her grip on Kodyn and signed, “Let’s go.”
A wry grin split his face; he almost looked disappointed that she’d let go of him.
Once again, the Kish’aa pulled on her, tugging her deeper into the palace. Northwest, toward the private chambers where the Pharus and the Keeper’s Council kept their apartments. Deeper they went, every step closer to the enemy they sought yet ever closer to danger and discovery as well. All it took was one patrol to spot them and they’d never stop the assassins in time. Their mission, and that of the murdered soldiers, would never be fulfilled.
Come on! The urgency within Aisha mounted with every hammering heartbeat. The assassins had a short lead on them, but they couldn’t be far ahead. She and Kodyn had to reach the killers before they found the Pharus. At any moment, they would—
Around the next corner, Aisha caught her first glimpse of the assassins. Fifteen of them, possibly more, all clad in splinted leather armor but no helms, with thick jerkins and leather pants for added protection. They carried a motley assortment of short swords, long swords, and khopeshes—likely stolen from the murdered soldiers. They moved with the hurried stealth of men on a dangerous mission, right toward two Indomitables that stood guard at an ornate doorway.
Aisha’s gut clenched. The soldiers had their backs turned to the assassins.
Before she could cry out a warning, the men struck. Knives slipped between joints in the Indomitables’ armor and slashed exposed throats. The two soldiers fell, their blood pooling a gruesome crimson on the gold-tiled floor.
Then the assassins turned toward the door and reached for the handle. They were about to attack the Pharus!
Chapter Twelve
Evren still couldn’t shake the memory of Briana’s beautiful, concerned face, her gentle words, or the feel of her lips where she’d kissed his cheek. He’d touched the spot a half-dozen times since parting ways with Kodyn and Aisha. A little tingle ran through his fingers every time he did.
The sensations were strange, confusing, and exhilarating all at the same time. He’d had eyes for attractive women before, but none of those others had made him feel the way Briana did. He didn’t know how to put it into words. The closest he could come was a lightness in his chest, as if the air suddenly grew thin every time he was around her.
At that moment, given everything going on in Shalandra, he could only snatch a few moments with her. Perhaps when this was all over, he might have a chance for more. If she felt the way he felt—and the look in her eyes gave him hope that she did—they’d have time to explore it.
When this is all over. That thought drove a dagger of ice into his gut. When they finally finished this constant battle for survival, he would have to turn his attention to the Blade of Hallar. There’d be no coming back from stealing that priceless relic. He’d have to flee Shalandra, never to return. Never to see Briana again.
A sense of melancholy settled over him. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her smile light up her eyes, or the way her nose wrinkled up when deep in thought.
With effort, he swallowed the surging despair and shoved the thought aside. He could deal with that bleak future when the time came. For now, he had to focus on holding up his half of the mission: breaking the Ybrazhe’s back once and for all.
Blackfinger’s speech had proven that the Syndicate wanted the low-caste Shalandrans to riot. The chaos would serve them and their allies on the Keeper’s Council well. Evren wouldn’t be surprised if they encouraged looting—everything the Mahjuri, Kabili, and Earaqi stole from the Intaji and Zadii would eventually find its way into the Ybrazhe’s clutches. They used the people to enrich themselves.
At the cost of how many lives? Evren’s stomach churned. The Indomitables wouldn’t go down without a fight. Thousands would die as the Blades and Indomitables battled to restore order. And the vast majority would be innocent people angry enough at their mistreatment, starvation, and abuse to take up arms.
Evren’s hands balled into tight fists and he pushed himself to run faster. I’ll be damned if I stand by and let that happen! He’d find a way to put an end to the Ybrazhe once and for all. The how of it escaped him, but that didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about at that moment was finding the men responsible.
Thankfully, the leader of the Syndicate had given him a place to search. Blackfinger had ordered his strong-arms to drag Evren to their hiding place, intending to bury him beneath the rich, loamy soil that grew his Ivory Bracket mushrooms. Evren hadn’t just escaped—he’d trampled Blackfinger’s prized crop and learned the location of the Ybrazhe hideout.
His search for the Syndicate thugs began there. None of them could know their leader had been captured and dragged before Lady Callista—it had happened just the previous night. The Ybrazhe thieves, brutes, and killers would be operating on Blackfinger’s orders, leaderless and unguided. They’d be so focused on stirring up the rioters and flooding the city with anarchy that they wouldn’t see the doom racing toward them as fast as Evren’s feet could carry him.
Evren’s steps led south, down the hill toward the Slave’s Tier. From where he’d parted ways with Kodyn and Aisha, he had less than an hour to travel to reach his destination. Before leaving the Temple of Whispers, he’d had a chance to study the map Ennolar had given them—on Suroth’s orders, it seemed. The map depicted eight different exits set at equidistant intervals along the Slave’s Tier. He had used one far to the east to escape the riots the previous day, but now he needed the egress as far to the west as possible. Blackfinger’s hideout stood a few hundred paces away from the western cliffs and the Keeper’s Crypts.
Nervous tension tightened Evren’s shoulders as he approached the end of the passage and the way out. He had no idea what sort of turmoil would greet him beyond the stone walls. Yet he had no choice—finding the Ybrazhe was the only way he could put an end to their role in the madness gripping Shalandra. Drawing in a deep breath, he triggered the gemstone and the door slid open.
He braced himself for roars, cheers, and angry shouts, but the Slave’s Tier was eerily silent. The northern wall blocked out the din of chaos rampaging through the Cultivator’s Tier above. The noonday sun shone down on houses, streets, and alleys that appeared all but abandoned. Evren only caught sight of a handful of Mahjuri shambling in and out of their pitiful hovels. The Way of Chains stood empty, nothing but the dusk and the quiet whisper of the wind for company.
Evren’s mouth felt dry as he hurried through the alleys that led toward Blackfinger’s old hideout. Once, he had to duck into an abandoned hovel to avoid a cluster of Mahjuri hauling looted spoils back to their homes. A shiver ran down his spine at their callous laughter as they described the desecration of their fellow Shalandrans.
The deeper he slipped into Ybrazhe territory, the warier he grew. He clung to the shadows, his pace slow and steady, his eyes roving down every alley and through every doorway. His muscles tensed in expectation of an attack by Syndicate thugs or thieves set to watch their base.
Nothing but empty silence.
Something rustled behind hi
m, a faint sound that barely reached his ears. He spun and tore his jambiyas free in the same movement, bracing himself for a battle. If the Ybrazhe had lain in wait for him, they wouldn’t take him without a fight.
A bony, mange-spotted dog slunk through the streets. It barely glanced at him before padding away into the narrow, muddy lanes.
Evren let out a quiet curse and lowered his daggers. It’s just a bloody mongrel.
He turned his attention back to Blackfinger’s hideout. One look told him the place had been abandoned. The heavy wooden door stood ajar, the furniture within emptied or simply left where it had fallen. Evren didn’t need to scour the interior to know the truth: Blackfinger and his men had left.
Evren clenched his teeth. Keeper take it, I was so close!
The Syndicate leader had made a mistake by bringing Evren to his hideout and not killing him immediately. For a brief instant, Evren had clung to the hope that he could put an end to the Ybrazhe once and for all. Yet Blackfinger was too cunning to make a mistake like that. He’d likely cleared out of the hideout the moment he got word that Evren had slipped his searchers. The loss of his treasured mushrooms had to rankle, yet the pragmatic Syndicate leader had made the smart choice.
A choice that left Evren empty-handed, staring at a deserted house. No thugs or thieves. No Ybrazhe Syndicate for him to eliminate.
The burden of his failure weighed heavy on his shoulders once more. He had tried to stop the Ybrazhe, only to be knocked off course in an attempt to prevent Hallar’s Warriors from sparking riots in the city. He’d failed at that, too, finding the place where Blackfinger was riling up the people. He hadn’t even been able to stop the Syndicate from causing chaos—the arrival of the already-raging mob had rendered Issa’s impassioned pleas for peace useless. The Earaqi they’d come so close to placating had taken up arms against their fellow Shalandrans. Blackfinger’s arrest was a poor consolation prize.
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