There was a ringing in his ears growing louder by the second. It drowned out everything, her voice, the shouts of the guards. The trees around him started to spin and a small part of him noted that he was passing out. The dagger fell to the ground and as his eyes followed it, the image of another dagger appeared in his mind, smaller, ornately carved and covered in blood.
A voice spoke from distant memory, a voice he only remembered from dreams. “Forgive me. For hurting you.” It was agonizing. That voice, reaching for him from so long ago, brought with it ripping, mind shearing pain. “I love you.”
Then there was another voice, closer, more recent. Not as familiar, but he knew it nonetheless. The girl, Ria. “Theron!”
The last thing he saw before everything went dark, was a guard, that guard, in rough linen and dirty boots. Stepping up to him, the midnight black of Ash’s muzzle peeking over the man’s shoulder.
˜ ˜ ˜
The sound of people running past the kitchen doorway caught Hilma’s attention. Frowning, she looked towards it, but she’d missed it. The hallway was empty.
Muttering to herself, she went back to her task. She had been working for all too long, today. That lazy girl Mia was stuck in bed. Her younger sister had come to say she was feverish and couldn’t make herself stand. So, instead of going home and getting a good night’s sleep like she so deserved, Hilma found herself working late into the evening. To do the work that should have been done by that wretched, shiftless girl. Hilma fully intended to stop by the girl’s quarters during her break in the morning. She had better find her on her deathbed for making an old woman work two day’s work in the space of one.
As a result, the guard (when he came to speak with her a few minutes later) found it was a bad night to ask the cook for a tray of food. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing in my kitchen at this hour?” She demanded sourly. She knew that at this time of night the nobles were asleep. At this time of night was when all of the preparation was made for the next day. The vegetables were cleaned and cut. Sauces simmered and soups started. It was not a time for making a plate for a peckish guardsman.
The young man didn’t seem at all intimidated by her growl. “Make up a plate, cook. Take it to the blue room and take it quickly, or you can answer to the Emperor, for I won’t,” he snapped. Throwing a disgruntled look her way, he spun on his heel and left the room, hard footsteps audible for long after he left.
Well! She huffed. I guess I wasn’t the only one to have a bad day. The weathered hands were washed up quickly from what she was cutting. It wasn’t safe to touch uncooked meat and then the other food. Now that she knew it was the Emperor asking, she knew she’d better make it quick.
If he was asking for something at this hour, he’d surely want it before he could count to ten. One, one and a half, two, some fruit, some bread and a little stew, three, three and a half, four.
She was jogging out the door with a platter in her hand before she finished counting to eight and a half.
The hallways were nearly empty as she worked her way deeper into the palace, towards the blue room. As she got closer, she began to think the guard must have been mistaken. He had said the blue room, hadn’t he? That room was unoccupied. It had been for many years. It was eventually going to be for the new bride. The thought made her mouth turn down. Yes, the blue room was for the Empress, for however short a time. Either the guard had been wrong or she had misheard. He’d said the Emperor wanted the platter, so she’d better deliver it to him. She shuddered. She’d heard the rumors about what happened to those who displeased him. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. No, she never wanted to be on the receiving end of his displeasure.
So, taking the hallway to the left rather than the right, she headed towards his quarters, so intent on getting there quickly, she did not even cast a glance towards the other rooms. She was surprised to see that this entire wing of the palace had lamps burning. She would have thought it would be unusual at this time of night, but then she wouldn’t really know. She was normally long in her bed at this hour, fast asleep.
When she finally reached the door to the Emperor’s chambers, she felt a knot of unease settle into her stomach. It was always like this, whenever she was near this man. She knew it was an old woman’s imagination, but it always seemed to her that the air around him was heavy. The shadows always seemed longer, darker. He may be descended from gods, but being in his presence was far from divine.
Hilma wasn’t like the nobles. She wasn’t book taught. She’d never learned to read. She was a simple cook and only knew what she was told and what she heard. And she’d already decided she didn’t want to know anything more about the Emperor. Because she’d heard he might not really be descended from the goddess of the sun. If that was true, she shuddered to think which god he was descended from. Not all gods were kind, after all.
Though the earlier hallways had been strangely devoid of guards, the entry to his chambers were not. She bowed hesitantly to the two posted there, hoping that she’d made the right decision to bring this platter to him rather than the requested room.
The door opened as she stepped up to it, revealing the distrusting face of an annoyed attendant. As he blocked the entrance, Hilma caught a glimpse of the ruler’s profile behind him. He was kneeling in the center of a large cleared space, candles lit and surrounding him. Without meaning to, she found herself squinting to see over the man’s shoulder. The Emperor’s hair was loose from the formal topknot she was accustomed to seeing him wear, his haori loose around his waist and the front untied, hanging open to reveal a sculpted chest. Very near the center of it, almost directly below where his heart would be, her shocked gaze saw what looked like the poorly healed evidence of a wound, the edges raised and pink with new skin. His arms were lifted above his shoulders, as though he were appealing to the heavens. The eye she could see made her stomach twist with unease. She couldn’t see any white around the pupil at all. Unsettled, she almost leaned in to see if she could get a better look – why did they look so dark? It must be the lighting. They almost looked entirely black.
A hand lifted into her view then, fingers snapping irritably in front of her eyes. “What are you doing here? This food was to be taken to the blue room, imbecile,” the attendant barked, his voice a strange mix of impatience and anxiety.
Hilma blinked, taking in a dismayed breath and bowing low as she backed away with the platter. She hoped the man didn’t realize what she’d noticed over his small, thin and pathetically underdeveloped shoulders. A poor excuse for a shield from prying eyes if she ever saw one. She took a steadying breath, trying to dismiss the disturbing sight she’d just witnessed.
She’d been a servant her entire life, she had seen many things. Servants who stayed at the palace forgot things they were not supposed to notice. Hilma did not need to be told that scene was one she was not supposed to have noticed.
Grumbling under her breath, she went back down the hall, crossing to the other wing and moving to the room in question. There were guards there too, and Hilma frowned. So. Not unoccupied after all. What, by the gods, is going on here?
At the curt nod of the guard at the door, she rapped softly on the wooden frame. When the voice on the other side answered brokenly, it took all she had not to show her concern.
“My lady,” she bowed, stepping into the room and laying the platter on the small table there. It was difficult to keep her voice steady and unemotional, like the respectful servant she was supposed to be.
The Emerald Lady should have been sleeping, she should have been in her suite of rooms in the nobles’ quarters, across from the rooms of her Protector, the Mamoru. She was doing neither, sitting here instead, in the center of the sleeping pad, her bed robes without their sash and a tear along one graceful sleeve. Her beautiful green eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, over bright with unshed tears.
“Hilma. Oh, Hilma,” she sobbed. “Theron.” The young woman’s eyes widened when she saw Hilma�
��s thoughtful look at the informal address. “I-I mean, the Mamoru.” She took a deep breath, her voice hitching softly before she continued. “Please.”
The old cook felt the air leaving her lungs, already guessing what she was going to ask.
“Have you seen him? Do you know, is he still alive?”
It was good that she had already set down the platter, because otherwise she would have dropped it. Her mind replayed their exchange from that morning, from the young man’s warm amusement at Tanner and his gentle teasing, to their more serious and upsetting talk afterward.
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Bowing her head, her eyes sad and worried, she said, “I do not. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”
Theron you foolish boy. What have you done?
Chapter 10
“What do we do now?” The voice, female and threaded with worry, reached him down a dark tunnel. Theron blinked, trying to shake the fog shrouding his mind. The world rocked around him, an odd scraping and the sound of steady hooves clattered in his ears. One, two … three horses?
“Oh I don’t know, you foolish girl,” was the irritable reply from a male voice, somewhere off to his left.
The Protector couldn’t place that voice. In fact, he was having trouble placing the voice of the girl who had spoken. Where was he? Everything hurt. And he was so tired. He tried to shift to relieve the aches he felt, well, everywhere, and found he couldn’t. Panic flared until a strange heat built around his wrist, spilling out to flood into all the places that hurt, and he felt the panic and all the other feelings fade.
The girl was speaking again. “You’re a guard,” she said peevishly. “Aren’t you supposed to know about taking care of wounds and such?”
There was scorn in the man’s reply. “That’s what we have healers for.”
“And what would you do if your healers are all killed – bleed to death?”
“Well. We’d –” Theron could hear the man splutter and imagined whoever it was getting red in the face. “We’d never let all the healers get killed. We’re guards!”
“Just like you’d never let anyone sneak up on you?” There was a giggle, quickly muffled, as if she’d covered her mouth with her hand.
Theron’s head felt muffled. He knew that smirk-filled voice, he just couldn’t place it. Who was that?
“And how are your feet feeling, Master Guardsman. Do those shoes fit you okay?”
A grumble of sound met the question and Theron ears reached for the sound, curious about the reply, but the world faded to black before he got his answer.
The young woman threw a look over at the silent Protector next to her, the makeshift gurney being pulled by the horse from the palace. The animal wasn’t used to such labor and they’d had to rest often. She knew she was irritating the guard, the former guard, but she was worried. Needling the grumpy young man was a temporary respite from her anxiety.
She found herself wanting to stop, frequently, to check the Protector’s breathing.
It had been a day since they had left the village and he hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t made a sound. She was still shaken by what had happened in the village, the place they retreated to after the terrifying scramble in the forest. When Theron collapsed, it had been a struggle to get the unconscious man up onto the horse, carefully strapping him to the saddle. Moving as quickly as they dared and trying not to jar him, by some miracle they avoided the guardsmen and made it off the palace grounds.
She assumed they would be safe, once they left the area immediately surrounding the palace and relief washed through her when they finally got to the village. After stretching the kinks out of her legs, she’d gathered water from the town’s well and led them to her house. She should have been more careful. Three horses riding through the village always brought attention, late evening or not. No sooner than they’d reached her tiny home, when the jangling sound of horses and armor had come to her ears.
Thankfully, Mako had questioned the wisdom of waiting near her house while she collected supplies. He’d already taken the three horses and their cargo and hidden in the shadows near Eiji Forest behind her house. She was alone in the hovel when she saw the troop of mounted men, twenty at least, headed to the home furthest down the street from hers.
Heart pounding in her ears, she grabbed all of the food she had, blankets, clothing and anything else she could carry and thought might help. The troop of men were so close to her home by that time, that she had gone through the back window to avoid being seen.
The three fugitives headed straight into the woods after that, taking the paths most overgrown in the hopes of hiding their passage. They rode through sunrise, passing the day in the saddle and not stopping until well into evening. An uncomfortable few hours rest around a small campfire and then waiting for the sky to lighten enough to move again.
Ria had no illusions that when the guards inquired, accusing fingers pointed her way immediately. The village scapegoat. Her long absence would only lend the stories credence. With a sinking feeling, she realized that she couldn’t go home again until whatever this thing she had become involved in, was over.
Maybe not even then.
She looked over at the sullen and silent guard that rode in front of her. She had heard the accusation that other guard had made, shouted over the clash of swords. Yes. A few bridges had been burned yesterday, that was certain. There was no going back for this man, either.
Ria was frankly surprised by the guard’s behavior. She didn’t understand it, after the indignity he had suffered at the hands of the Protector. She still couldn’t believe the way he appeared out of nowhere when they rushed out of the passage into the open, with guardsmen charging and shouting the alarm.
She remembered how, faced with yet another enemy (and one who had more reason than most to want to hurt them), the Protector had stopped and Ria had frozen, not knowing which way to run. Feeling as though the air had frozen in her lungs. But those other guards had reached them first and when the Protector had been forced to face one of them, leaving his back exposed to the other man, she’d thought it was over. But then he, Mako (her mind provided, having learned it from the older guard’s outraged yell) had rushed past her to engage with the first men to reach them. And then? He helped them escape. No. She didn’t understand him at all.
The sun was high in the sky now and they were riding along the edge of Eiji Forest. Mako said there was a village this way, but it would be another day’s ride. Ugh.
She had dreamed of riding horses all her life, but in reality, it was terrifying to climb onto the animal when they were escaping. They were so BIG. And now they were headed who knew where and she found that riding hurt. Her back and her knees ached fiercely. Even her arms hurt from holding the reins for hours. It was horrifying to think it may be days before they reached their destination.
She looked at the unconscious man in the cart beside her. He was pale, but she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Still watching him, she couldn’t help asking, “Do you think he’s going to be alri–” when her horse startled, almost throwing her from the saddle.
Mako turned to look back in time to see the gray horse behind him start to rear, the girl struggling with the reins, trying at the same time to turn the horse so she wouldn’t trample on the child in the middle of her path. Backing up his mount, he grabbed at the gray’s leather straps, reaching out to calm the horse at the same time. “What are you doing,” he snapped. “You’ll get thrown!”
“The horse went crazy!”
“Well, don’t just yank on the reins, that doesn’t help,” he growled. He turned his attention on the boy. Ria recognized him immediately, that hair and those eyes were unmistakable. It was the boy from the village, from the night in the forest. “Hey,” the former guard snapped at him, “Have you lost your mind? Get out of the way!”
The child turned dizzying cerulean eyes on Ria. She had the strange sense that he had turned up here, miles from the village in the middle o
f nowhere because … he knew how to find her. “Wait,” she said.
“I said, get out of the way, child. Before you’re –”
“Wait, Mako. Stop,” she said more insistently, tugging at the reins Mako held. Finally, it seemed to get his attention, his mouth snapping shut. She looked at the child. “Why are you here?” He didn’t speak, but he tipped his head, obviously listening. Once again, Ria had that dizzying feeling sweep through, making her head spin. She gasped.
Those oddly intense eyes flickered from her to the unconscious man and back. She looked at the Protector. Taking a steadying breath, she asked, “For him?” But she already knew the answer. Somehow, it didn’t bother her to see the boy trot over to their fallen companion and stop, looking down at the unconscious man. She turned to Mako. “He’s here to help us. We need to follow him.”
“What? Have you lost your mind?”
Getting tired of being questioned and being tired in general, Ria snapped back, “No, I haven’t! This man needs help. This boy has helped us before.” Mako looked at her as if she’d grown a second head, but the boy in question looked up at her raised voice with a steady gaze and then without a sound, darted along the road, hopping over a few bushes and a fallen log and ran back to the head of their little group, with startling swiftness.
Normal children were quick, but not typically so graceful, nor so silent. Pushing down that now familiar twinge of unease, Ria finished her thought. “If you don’t have a better suggestion, either take mine or take your leave.” Mako stopped mid-protest at that and stared at her while the horses stomped restless hooves in the grass. Ria could almost see him work through angry retorts and enough time passed that she was afraid he would take his leave.
Finally, he huffed a growling sigh. “Yeah, well. I’ve abandoned my post, my duty. For no good reason.” He shot an angry glance at their cargo, still unconscious, crudely wrapped bandages showing red where the collar of the man’s shirt had shifted. “You’re right. I don’t have any idea what to do,” he muttered. “And with your friend over there injured, there’s no one to protect you.” Ria bristled, but in a startling imitation of the little boy, Mako tilted his head at her and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you think you can fight them off by yourself if the Emperor’s men, or bandits attack?”
Splinter (Trapped Souls Book 1) Page 15
