by Giles Carwyn
Finally, the Emperor spoke again. “One of the first steps to wisdom is to pay very close attention to the sleeve you are following…” He paused. “And to make certain that it is not your own.”
Arefaine felt a tightness in her belly. Her face burned, and she was thankful for the makeup that hid the moment of uncertainty. She breathed through it, enduring the unpleasant emotion until she was clean once again.
“I thank you for your lesson. I will take it to heart.”
“I hope that you do,” the Emperor said. “We will return to Ohohhom soon, and you will have plenty of time on the voyage to meditate on these recent events.” The reprimand had been delivered. The audience was over.
Arefaine nodded. But she was not finished. There were other things that had to happen first.
“I look forward to doing so, but before we go, I feel compelled to seek out the Sleeping Warden. His body has been freed, but his mind is lost in darkness. I know exactly what he has endured these last eighteen years. I am sure that I can turn his face toward the light of Oh.”
“I am sure that you could, but it might be best to return to your room for now and quiet your mind so that you might better hear the voice of Oh.”
The Emperor never commanded, only made suggestions.
Arefaine tensed and forced herself to draw an even breath. She calmly spoke the words she had never had the courage or the need to speak before now.
“That is an excellent suggestion,” she said. “I will be certain to do that, once I have eased the mind of the Sleeping Warden. We owe him a great debt of gratitude, which has not yet been fully repaid.”
The Emperor’s gaze left hers, and he calmly stared over her head. His face was the perfect, impassive Ohohhim mask, but one did not defy the Emperor. He could order her death with a nod of his head, but would he? Was he considering his words as carefully as Arefaine had considered hers today? Was he prideful enough to make an enemy of the Heir of Efften?
If anyone else had been present, Arefaine had no doubt the Emperor would have “suggested” that she might better serve Oh standing next to him in the afterlife.
But a private audience gave him a different option, and he said nothing.
Arefaine suppressed her smile.
“There is one other matter I feel compelled to bring under the light of the wisdom of Oh,” she said. “I beseech your guiding hand in bearing this burden.”
She knelt next to the silk-wrapped bundle at her feet, picked it up, and approached him. She set the bundle at the edge of the dais and unwrapped it, revealing the blackened Heartstone within.
The Emperor’s impassive stare turned to the prize. She expected some hint of surprise beneath the man’s perfectly powdered face, but he glanced at the stone as if he had expected it to be there all along.
A simple glamour was all she’d needed to remove the stones from the Wheel and return with them to the ship. In all the confusion, they might not even be missed.
The stone must go to Ohohhom. Arefaine gambled that the man who spent his boyhood obsessed with the lost treasures of Efften could not resist the ultimate artifact from the Fallen Island. The Heartstone was also a person, filled with the spirit of a woman who had lived during Efften’s peak. He could not pass up such a prize. His Eternal Wisdom could not believe that such a powerful and deadly object should be in the hands of anyone other than the Incarnation of Oh on earth.
If the Emperor refused her gift and returned the stone to the Ohndariens, the next few days would become very complicated.
“This stone and the box of three others in my chambers are too great a burden for mortals to steward,” she said, avoiding mention of the missing stone. Who would be foolish enough to open that box and look for it? “I am certain that His Eternal Wisdom will know what must be done with them.”
Without being dismissed, Arefaine rose and walked quietly from the room.
CHAPTER 26
Lawdon ran across the Night Market. Her lungs burned, and her legs ached, but she dodged through the somber crowd as fast as she could go. The bells continued to toll, and a steady stream of people were making their way toward the Wheel. The entire city was gathering to grieve this death.
The stairs winding around the Wheel were packed with the grim procession. Dangerously close to falling, Lawdon ran along the outside edge. The Ohndariens looked up at her in surprise as she bumped past them, but no one stopped her.
The line of mourners circled around the Wheel, spiraling counterclockwise toward the Autumn Gate, but Lawdon headed straight for the Hall, cutting across the gardens. The Spring Gate was the closest. Her feet fell into the rhythm of the tolling bells, and she felt like she was in a dream. She reached the flower-draped entrance and paused.
Inside the Hall, stained glass glittered in the morning sun, the dazzling beauty she remembered so fondly from her childhood seemed foreign and cold. Underneath that impassive light was a sea of crying people. A flower-covered bier lay at the center of the Hall, surrounded by a crowd of mourners. Lawdon hovered just inside the Spring Gate, her chest hollow and light.
A boot scuffed on the marble behind her, and she turned.
“Heaven knows I am a scion of propriety,” Mikal huffed, breathing hard. “But isn’t it criminally early for a funeral?” He leaned over, putting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. “This is yet another reason to stay away from the land. Do they really run everywhere like this?”
Lawdon turned back, trying to ignore him. He was the last person she wanted to see at this moment.
“Who was the withered old dusteater anyway?” Mikal gasped, straightening up and laying a light hand on her shoulder.
She spun, striking his arm away with all of her strength. It was all she could do not to punch him in the face. He stepped back, wincing and holding his wrist.
“A woman who saved my life,” she said. “A woman who showed me the first true respect I ever had. Something you know nothing about.”
Mikal’s eyes were wide, and for the first time he seemed unable to come up with something to say. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered, massaging his wrist, “I didn’t—”
“Apology accepted. Now get out of my sight.” She turned away from him and marched into the Hall of Windows.
Her anger seemed to spill out of her, and Lawdon couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. She weaved her way through the somber crowd toward the bier at the center of the room. The other mourners all threw flowers into the stone pedestal as they passed. But Lawdon hadn’t brought one. She stopped, put a hand on the stone. Only Baelandra’s face was visible. The rest of her was covered with an ocean of blossoms. A red silk scarf had been wrapped around her slender neck.
Beheaded, the soldier had said.
Baelandra was revered as much for her beauty as for her wisdom, as much for her courage as her cunning. The long years had barely touched the Sister’s beauty, but death had snuffed it out in an instant.
Lawdon’s fingernails scraped against the stone. Her lip trembled, but she held herself still. The Sister’s face had been subtly painted to give the illusion of life in death. Her red hair shone as lustrous as ever in the multicolored light. Lawdon looked for Baelandra’s hands, but they were covered in flowers.
She thought about the first time they’d met on Baelandra’s balcony. Lawdon had been selling information. Baelandra had bought it and more.
Born in the slums of Gildheld, Lawdon had grown up as a street rat, human refuse. She’d fought and scratched her way from the ports of the Summer Cities to become a waterbug on Ohndarien’s harbor. If she kept scratching, kept fighting, one day she could have risen to the lofty height of a fishing boat captain, but she had been guided to a different fate. All because of the Sister of Autumn.
Baelandra had sent Lawdon away from the danger of the Physendrian invasion to become a ward, then the adopted daughter, of a Summer Prince. With that one kindness, countless doors of opportunity opened for Lawdon. Lord Reignholtz had g
iven her a family, a home, a life, and finally a ship to sail.
If Lord Reignholtz was Lawdon’s adopted father, then surely Baelandra was her mother. Another woman had given her birth, but the Sister of Autumn had given her a life.
The long line of people waiting to pay their respects looked at Lawdon with a mixture of concern and impatience. Blushing, she gave a last long look at her friend and walked away.
She hovered among the crowd. In the front row of mourners sat three unmistakable people: a grim-faced man holding a sobbing redheaded girl in his arms. A teenage boy with a white bandage around his head sat next to them. He was as distant from his father and sister as the Summer Seas from the Great Ocean. He stared blankly at the dais, his eyes glassy.
The Sisters of the Seasons stood nearby, talking with the other mourners. Lawdon spotted Vallia, the only one of the four whom she recognized. The rest were mere girls, but Vallia was eternal, looking just as gaunt and stern as she had a decade ago.
Lawdon needed to know what had happened. What kind of monster could do this? She moved toward Vallia.
A very handsome, dark-eyed and dark-haired Zelani standing near the Sisters locked eyes with Lawdon, and she paused. A sudden warmth rushed through her body, and a little huff escaped from her lips. The man slipped through the crowd with elegant grace and approached her.
“Excuse me,” he said in a rich voice, still half-smiling. “Are you Captain Lawdon, master of Summer’s Heart?”
“Who wants to know?” she asked, taking a step back, but she paused as he smiled wider, a gentle smile, with just a hint of danger. It drew her into his gaze. She swallowed down a dry throat and found her eyes straying to his muscled chest, pressing against the blue fabric of his robe.
“My apologies. I am Suvian. I thought I recognized you,” he continued, his voice thrumming through her chest. She put out a hand to steady herself, and he took it in his. His grip was firm, but also soft and warm. “Would you care to take a walk in the gardens with me? I have a proposition for you.”
He placed a hand on the small of her back. Her skin thrilled at his touch, and she breathed a little faster. She nodded, unable to say anything. He guided her through the crowded hall and out the Spring Gate, ushering her along a sculpted path through the gardens.
“I understand you just arrived from the Summer Cities,” he said.
“Yes.” She wanted him to move his hand up, along her spine, touch her neck. “I grew up in Ohndarien, but I haven’t been back since.”
“Really? Why come back now?”
“I came to see Baelandra,” she said, unsure if she should be telling strangers about her mission. But she could trust this man. She felt it in her bones. And his hand was moving, just as she longed for, up her back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Is that so?” he said, his low voice surrounding her. “Baelandra’s death is a horrible tragedy. Why did you need to see her?” He steered her into a thick grove of trees, away from the crowds, away from prying eyes. His hands barely touched her shoulders, bringing her to a stop. Lawdon brushed his fingertips with her own as he smoothed the tension out of her shoulders.
He leaned close, and she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. “Yes…” she murmured, and let out a gasp as he kissed her.
“Why did you need to see Baelandra?”
Her mind was fogged. Why didn’t he stop talking? “The Summer Fleet…My…My patron, Lord Reignholtz, sent me north to convince the council to stop the fleet. Physendria…It’s an invasion…a plot…”
“That’s terrible,” he said. “Who could be behind such a thing?” His hands slid down her body, caressing her breasts through her sailor’s tunic.
“By the Seasons,” she whispered
“Who is crafting this plot?” he asked again.
“Prince Vinghelt…” She swallowed, trying to rally her thoughts. Her head was light, dizzy, and she slumped against him. “He’s gathering the other princes. Possibly with magic, we think…”
“Really?” He held her up with one hand. The other slid down, across her ribs, over her belly. She closed her eyes as his fingers slipped under the band of her pants.
“Please…” she gasped softly, reaching behind her and grabbing the back of his neck.
“Tell me more,” he said. His finger slid inside her.
She shuddered. “I need…I have to find Shara…She needs…I need…”
There was a sudden crack, and Suvian stumbled against her. They fell to the ground, and he landed on top of her.
The fog over Lawdon’s mind cleared instantly, and a cold fear lanced through her. What the hell had she been doing? She yanked his hand out of her pants and kicked him away, rolling to her feet.
With a low growl, Suvian staggered to his knees, hand cupped over a bleeding head wound. A fist-sized rock with a spot of blood on it lay in the thick leaves next to his knee.
Lawdon looked around, but saw nothing but trees. She stepped forward, ready to kick him, but Suvian glanced up, and his rage-filled eyes locked on hers.
“Hold still,” he commanded.
Lawdon froze. A horrible, swirling pain filled her gut. She wanted to run away, wanted to vomit, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe.
She fell to the grass like a statue, and he leapt on top of her, pinning her. He grabbed her by the throat and drew his dagger. Lawdon wanted to scream, but she could only stare at him with wide eyes.
Then Mikal was there. He grabbed Suvian by the hair, yanking him back.
Suvian staggered, ripping his hair out of Mikal’s grip and swinging around with the dagger. Mikal danced back, looking horrified as the blade missed him by an inch.
Lawdon gasped, and her muscles relaxed. She rolled away from the combatants.
Panting, Suvian snarled at Mikal. “Hold still!” Mikal froze just like Lawdon had, his eyes wide with shock.
Lawdon leapt forward, drew her dagger, and buried it in Suvian’s spine. He crumpled to the ground with a shout. His own knife fell from his hands as they scrabbled at his sides like frantic spiders. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he lay still, Lawdon’s dagger sticking out of his back.
Lawdon collapsed to her knees, hunched over like an ape. She tried to get her breathing under control, tried to keep from retching. The vileness swirled in her belly, but it was slowly receding.
“Are you all right?” Mikal said, his voice trembling. The duelist’s eyes were locked on the dead Zelani. He looked on the verge of running away.
“Yes,” Lawdon said, swallowing down her bile. “I…I haven’t killed a man in a long time.” She let out a huff and steadied herself, forced her hands to stop shaking. “And I hate it. Every time.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Mikal said. All the color had gone from his face, and his skin was soaked with sweat.
They both stared at the body.
“Who was he?” Mikal asked.
“A Zelani. I have no doubt. I think he was trying to get information out of me. Fessa of the Deep, could Vinghelt have influence among the Zelani?” The thought scared her more than she could say, but it could explain a lot. Lawdon pressed her hands to her face, trying to put it together. If Vinghelt sent Suvian after her, then the man already had his hooks into Ohndarien.
“We need to get out of this city right away,” she said.
“But this was self-defense. He was—”
“I stabbed the man in the back, who’s going to believe that was self-defense?”
“But—”
“Mikal, this is Ohndarien. You can’t spew a few lines of poetry and get away with murder here. They stone people to death in this city.”
Mikal nodded.
“Can you hide the body under those leaves? Then tell the crew to prepare for departure,” she said.
“Of course, but…Where are you going?”
“I have to find Shara. She has to know about this. If Vinghelt…” Lawdon caught herself, shook her head. “Just do it.�
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“Will you be all right alone?”
Lawdon paused a long moment. “I thought I was,” she murmured. “Until today.”
Mikal stood there looking like a lost child. “Just go tell the crew,” she assured him. “I’ll hide the body. You warn the crew.”
He nodded, but his brows were furrowed in concern. “If you’re sure—”
“Mikal,” she warned.
Reluctantly, he turned to go.
“And Mikal,” she said. He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you for being there.”
With some of his old smile, he nodded to her. “My lady told me to stay out of her sight, and that’s where I stayed, just out of sight.”
She nodded and looked at her dagger, sticking straight up.
“Staying out of sight sounds like a really good idea right about now.”
CHAPTER 27
Shara winced as she awoke. She couldn’t see anything, her vision swam white and unfocused as splitting pain hammered through her head. “By the Seasons…” She tried to sit up, and someone pushed her back down.
“Lie still, Shara-lani,” someone murmured. “You are hurt.”
Shara reached up and found a cold cloth wrapped around her forehead. She winced as she felt her own eye swollen beneath the wet cloth. What had happened—
“Brophy!” she shouted, jerking upright. The cloth fell to her lap. Shara gasped, shielding her eyes from the painful light streaming through her chamber window.
“Where is he? Where’s Brophy?” she said, fumbling for the covers, trying to get out of bed.
“Don’t worry about him,” Galliana said, pushing her back down gently but firmly.
“No, no,” she protested, trying to sit back up, but her body barely responded. “Where is he?”
“He ran away,” Caleb said. Shara turned her head. The world spun, and she clenched her teeth.
When it settled, she could see him sitting in a chair on the other side of her bed, breathing a steady cycle, sending magic into her body. She felt his ani flow through her in a gentle stream, helping her body knit together the broken places. Already, her headache was diminishing.
