Against the wall, Danzell shook with a tumult of emotions—despair, rage, and helplessness. The woman with the knife stepped away from her. It was Danzell’s turn.
Sajem dropped Johzar’s body. Danzell raised her sword, both hands crowding the hilt. She edged toward him, her weight balanced. “I am the rightful heir to Tegir,” she shouted to his crew. “Lord Kyzan, my brother, paid Sajem to murder the Empress. Are you all traitors to your land?”
Sajem lunged forward, testing her as he’d tested Johzar, and she knocked his blade aside. He spun and kicked. She swayed, his heel slamming into her shoulder. She staggered back, rotated. Her sword whipped up, skittered over his greave, and gashed his knee. He was cocky, and she’d use it against him.
“If you slay me,” she warned, “you will suffer Kyzan for the next forty years. Help me reclaim my throne, and all of you except Sajem will receive my pardon.”
Sajem laughed, but his eyes smoldered, black coals in pools of blood. He pressed her, extended, and retracted with flawless ease, his blade cutting into her arm, her cheek, thigh. He wounded her with a score of petty cuts as he’d wounded Johzar. She parried and slashed but drew not a drop of blood since her initial strike.
Around the room, the slavers watched in silence. The woman with the vipers on her arms held up her knife and twirled it in the air. Danzell frowned and changed tactics. She increased her pace, not seeking the perfect opportunity but swinging and lunging in quick succession. Her sword flickered with the movement.
He parried deftly, but the speed forced him to work. She nicked him with the blade’s tip in a rib and almost gasped with delight, but he grabbed her wrist in the lunge, yanked her forward, and smashed his forehead into her face. White suns erupted in her eyes, and she staggered backward, blood choking her. She spat on the stones.
The woman’s knife drew circles in the air.
“Turn him,” Laddon whispered in her ear. Danzell held up her sword and edged around. She darted in, swayed back from a deadly strike, and circled left. Sajem pivoted, still lurking at the room’s center. She sliced, and Sajem spun from her reach. Reversing, she used the torque of her body to increase her speed and power. His foot shot out, stuck her calf, and knocked her off balance. His elbow hammered down on her back, and she dropped.
The fight over, she huddled at his feet, and between his legs spied the woman with the knife. Danzell looked up at the sword aimed at her. Sajem cocked his head. The pitiless smile curling his lip morphed into a deep laugh as he raised the blade for a downward thrust. A knife plunged into his throat. He swung around and slammed a fist into the woman’s jaw. His hands grappled with the steel protruding from the back of his neck as he dropped to his knees.
Danzell lunged toward him and tore his soulstone from his naked chest. “The world doesn’t need this.” His mouth opened, the bloody knife in his hands, terror bleeding from his scarlet eyes.
~41~
The road from the harbor to the palace scaled the hillside like a sidewinder, back and forth, a trek but less steep than the stairways. Even so, Nallea felt the strain. “Step it up,” a soldier barked behind her.
“If you wish to go faster,” she replied without a glance back, “order us a carriage.” She could increase her pace, but Rydan wheezed beside her, face pale beneath a sheen of sweat. She held his arm, providing support and lagging with him. Her father walked ahead of her, stalwart between the flanking soldiers.
At the Flask and Fishes, she’d gulped a breath, hiked up her skirt, and rested a boot on the window sill. Rydan had offered a steadying shoulder, a gesture of confidence that the fall wouldn’t kill her. And she would have jumped, but her father had opened the door to the soldiers. Why? Had he judged their escape hopeless? Had he thought of another way out of this mess? His mess. Tears and anger had burst into her eyes. Was he a traitor as Raze labeled him? Armored soldiers had shoved her father back, formed a barricade of sharp-edged steel around them, and accused them of treason.
The palace loomed ahead. Its spires and towers pricked the roiling clouds. A brisk wind rustled her hair, and over the sea, lightning cracked, veins of fire splintering the night sky. The world was a mirror, reflecting the dread in her heart. Nothing had unfolded as planned; she’d no idea where anyone was or what had become of them. Had Azalus survived?
Of a certainty, her life and the lives of the two men with her stood in jeopardy. Her father’s faith that the Emperor would listen to reason was naïve. Kyzan was anything but a forgiving man. The question crowding her thoughts regarded the means in which she’d die. She gazed at the black sea, recoiling at the prospect of drowning. Or would she be forced into a life of slavery, sold in the markets for her crimes, forced to grovel and serve? How had all this happened? She tamped down her despair and the devastating tragedy in which she’d played a part.
Another bolt of lightning branched like a leafless tree across the horizon and thunder crackled. Somewhere nearby, a bell rang a warning. She didn’t care if lightning struck and burned the whole city down. She patted Rydan’s hand and marched on, other concerns weighing on her heart and mind.
The massive doors of the palace opened. Her father peered back at her with a tender smile that instilled a glimmer of hope even as she feared what he’d done. She helped Rydan up the steps.
A tall Ezari officer met them at the top of the stairs, his back rigid. “My lady, lords, follow me.” He led them and their escort of soldiers through the lantern-lit corridor, past a line of sentries. Servants and slaves attended to their duties, but the day’s bustle had surrendered to the deceiving quietude of night.
The throne room doors opened. Her shoes tapped down the aisle between a smattering of Ezari she didn’t recognize. They studied her with their amethyst eyes, hair shining like obsidian. They’d stayed for the spectacle and murmured their indignation in tight circles. Kyzan sagged on the black tree-root throne, lips twisted and eyes half-lidded in an expression of annoyance or impatience or any combination of disagreeable emotions. He held a goblet to his side, which a servant filled with wine.
“Kneel,” he said.
Nallea knelt between her father and Rydan. She stared at the floor before her, not out of deference for the Emperor, but because everything about the room towered, massive and overwhelming. The weight of it crushed her.
The Emperor sipped his wine. “A modest start, Governor Demiris. Not quite the victory we intended, but this fledgling night has yet to take wing. You and your daughter may retire.”
Nallea’s eyes snapped to the Emperor. Her father rose to his feet and drew her up, a hand under her arm. She stared at him. “What plan? I don’t understand. We’re free?”
“Be gracious,” her father whispered. “I shall explain.”
Kyzan ignored her questions. “You, however, Lord Rydan, are guilty of the crime of treason.” He gestured to the tall officer. “Captain, deliver Lord Rydan to the sea this hour and drown him.”
“Nae.” Nallea faced her father. “What’s happening? This isn’t right. Why?” Understanding creeped into her consciousness. She wrenched her arm from his grip, and stared at him, shock overtaking her senses. “It’s true, isn’t it? You betrayed me.”
“I… Nae, Nallea.”
“You betrayed my husband and his family. You lied to me, and I defended you. You used me!” She backed away from him. Her mind raced through all the discrepancies, the rumors and accusations, the times she’d longed to believe him so desperately. The silence in the room sucked the air from her lungs.
“I never meant for this to happen,” he said softly. “Please, I shall explain.”
“Explain now!” she shouted. “No more lies! You knew about Laddon. You arranged for the murders at the freehold, and…Bel, and…” She gasped. “And Athren. You strangled your wife.”
“My dear, you’re mistaken. Nallea.” Her father reached for her, and she backed away. “I never planned this. Let’s discuss it in private.”
“Captain,” Kyzan commanded and
pointed a finger at his victim. “Follow your orders.”
The captain nodded to his soldiers, and they closed in on Rydan, the man still on his knees. He looked old and defeated, his gray head bowed. Nallea spun and reached him first. She shoved one of the men away. “Nae! Don’t touch him!” She drew Rydan to his feet and faced Kyzan. “It’s all lies, my Lord Emperor. Lord Rydan is innocent of any treachery.”
“Enough bawling,” Kyzan said. “Get her out of here, Benjmur, or I’ll bid her drowned too.”
“Nallea, come with me,” Benjmur begged and held out a hand, expecting her to obey. But how could she? Who was next? Azalus?
She faced the Emperor. “You dare accuse others of treason when you murdered Empress Ezalion, your sister, and you have soldiers scouring the city in an attempt to slay Danzell.” She faced the captain and the enrapt audience that had ceased its chatter, her finger pointed at Kyzan. “There sits the one guilty of crimes against Ezar!”
Kyzan shot to his feet. “Drown them both!”
“Nae, my Emperor, I beg you.” Benjmur raised his hands in a plea to the throne. “She’s distraught. She doesn’t realize what she says.”
A soldier gripped her arm, and she let out a cry.
Two men flanked Rydan. He drew himself up, ever the lord. “Let her go. She speaks the truth!”
“Lord Emperor,” the tall captain stepped forward. “May I suggest—”
“Kill him,” Kyzan ordered.
“Nae!” Nallea wrenched her arm free. “He’s innocent. We’re all innocent.”
“Nallea, please,” her father begged. “Emperor…”
The captain addressed Kyzan, “My lord, an orderly execution—”
“Kill them!” Kyzan stamped a foot and pointed at another soldier. “Now!”
An armored man yanked Nallea aside and knocked her to her knees. Another stabbed Rydan in the stomach. His mouth gaped, and he bent in half over the blade.
Nallea screamed. The captain barked a command for order, his voice rising above the riotous reaction of the spectators. Her father pleaded for mercy with the Emperor. And Lord Rydan collapsed.
“Fire!” Soldiers burst through the tall doors. Shouts of “fire” blended into the madness circling Nallea’s head, and the throne room erupted with new instructions. All around her, men and women swirled and scurried in frantic motion. The Ezari nobility fled, and soldiers hustled Kyzan across the floor. She scrambled to Rydan. Her hands hovered in helplessness, her mind reeling as he bled at her knees, clutching his stomach.
“Run,” Rydan whispered. “Nallea, run.”
“Nae, I have to help you.”
Her father gripped her wrist, snapping her last threads of control. She jolted to her feet, twisted free with a sob, and darted into the chaos. A soldier shouted to stop. She whirled around, ran the other way, and escaped into a rear hallway. Everywhere she turned, soldiers and servants charged down the corridors, some running toward her, others overtaking her from behind. She pressed against the wall as a group of men and women toting buckets sprinted past. Was the palace on fire?
She darted down an empty corridor, away from her father and the soldiers and all the treachery that shattered her heart. The hallway ended at a stairwell to the upper floors, and she pivoted around, desperate to find a way out.
Voices shouted ahead of her, propelling her into another passageway. She slipped across an intersection, and at another dead end, descended a staircase. Darkness engulfed her, and she crept down a narrow aisle, fingers trailing along one wall to guide her. The musty odor of storage rooms dissipated as cool air wafted across her face with the wet scent of rain tainted by smoke. She pressed forward until she found a cellar door. The sound of a steady shower spattering on stone reached her through the gaps in the wood. Her hand groped for the latch and rattled it in frustration, the door locked.
Head resting on the rough wood, she let out a brief sob, then collected her wits. She reversed course, strode through the blackness, and bounded up the steps. At the intersection, she attempted to get her bearings, at least to stop her random scurrying in hopeless circles. If she could locate the kitchen, she’d find a door into the yard. She picked a direction and rushed down the corridor, sharing it with others who sprinted to or from the growing anarchy, all of them ignoring her. “Kitchen?” she asked a fleeing servant.
The man thrust a thumb over his shoulder without stopping. “That way, my lady. Turn left when you feel the ovens.”
“Is the palace on fire?”
“Nae, the Temple.” He hurried on, and she followed his directions. The savory aroma of roasting food struck her before she reached the next intersection. Her hand hooked the corner, and she dashed into the tip of a sword.
Danzell flicked her blade aside, the tip leaving a rent in Nallea’s dress. Blood drenched Danzell’s clothes, and her face was a nicked and bruised wreck, her nose swollen. Two tattooed slavers flanked her. Nallea burst into tears, a hand over her mouth. “My father…he betrayed us.”
“Where’s my brother?” Danzell asked.
“His council chambers, I think.” Nallea shuddered, claiming control of her tears. “The one beside the throne room.”
Danzell pivoted around her and strode down the passageway, slavers in tow. Nallea twisted to watch her go. “Danzell? Have you seen Azalus?”
“They’re supposed to join me,” Danzell called back. “But you should run.”
Nallea bit her lip, torn between escape and finding her husband. The clash and shriek of steel cleaved the air, chased by bellowed orders. She pressed herself against the wall to avoid a collision with three terrified servants. Her jaw set, she made her choice, heaved in a breath, and dashed back the way she’d come in search of Azalus.
~42~
The blaze in the Temple of Souls mottled the night sky in the rusty red of dried blood. Fire exploded through the stacked windows of the lower floors and smoke billowed from the chapel at top transforming the whole tower into a chimney. No loss to Raze. But to the Ezari, the destruction would leave the city in mourning.
He and Azalus found Johzar’s slavers in the rain-drenched crowd. Draeva hardened her jaw, midnight hair plastered to her face. “Johzar set that fire. It’s why he sent us on a pointless mission to watch the palace.”
Raze met her furious gaze. “Would you have tried to stop him?”
“Ai. All those souls burned.”
“There’s more to our souls than we know, Draeva. Ask Danzell when we catch up.” He angled his head toward the palace. “I’ll wager your pointless mission found a way in there.”
She huffed, whistled for her crew, and beckoned him to follow. They skirted the Temple at a lope and traversed the chaos in the palace’s rear yard. Sparks belched from the neighboring inferno, embers falling with the rain on the servant’s dwellings, the sheds, and carriage house. Smoke-choked slaves drew water from the well for those fighting the blaze. A stray dog snapped at a running soldier. Servants hauled buckets while soldiers shouted orders, some dashing to the fire while others charged up the palace’s rear steps and disappeared inside.
Draeva stayed in the shadows, Raze on her heels. She gestured to a low stone wall ahead of them. “Behind that wall there’s a ramp wide enough for a wagon, leading to a cellar door.” She chose two slavers. “Make a little noise, then join us.”
The man and woman darted into the yard, pointing and shouting about fires spreading to the south. Draeva wandered into the excitement headed for the wall. Raze shrugged at Azalus and tugged his cowl over his forehead. They split from the slavers, approaching from the side. Azalus covered his face with an arm and coughed. Soldiers ran past them with scarcely a glance. Draeva vanished down the ramp, her slavers trailing her.
Raze sat on the wet wall beside his brother, swung a leg over and dropped. They crouched and descended to the cellar door.
“It’s locked,” Draeva whispered. “This will wake the dead, so once it’s open, we move fast.” When the rest of the crew join
ed them, she ordered one of her bulkier men to smash the lock. He hammered a rock against the latch, and when that failed, kicked until the hinges ripped from the jamb. He applied his shoulder, and the door ruptured open.
Raze bulled in first, Azalus behind him. The corridor between the rooms stank of mice, and the blackness came close to blinding. He crept forward as fast as he dared, aiming for the stairwell’s dim light, and when his boot kicked the bottom riser, he climbed.
In the gloom behind him, sounds of a fight broke into his awareness. He blocked them out, trusting Draeva to handle it. On the top step, he hesitated. The clamor of battle leaked through the door, not close but near enough to contract the muscles in his neck. Voices shouted and screamed as blades clashed against steel and stone. He looked behind him at his brother’s shadowed face. “Aim for Ezari indigo.”
Azalus inhaled. “Let’s see it through.”
The door creaked open. Raze paused, and when no challenge beat him back, he stepped into the passageway. The turbulence played out around a corner. He edged forward along the wall, giving the others time to escape the cellar. With a nod from Draeva, he burst into a run, Samoth roaring inside him at the top of his lungs.
The rest of his party joined in the terrifying charge, and for a moment, the fight ahead silenced. Raze blasted around the corner. His sword found the first indigo tabard and cut a deep rift. He spun and slashed, spraying the wall with blood. In the corner of his eye, Azalus leapt into view. Raze pressed forward, sword in greater control, flickering as his wrist twisted, parried, and sliced.
The corridor crowded him, too narrow for a full out fight. Through the mass of panicked soldiers, he caught sight of Danzell, bloodied to a pulp but fighting like a demon. Slavers fought beside her, including a woman with snakes on her arms. Sajem’s slavers. Had Danzell been aligned with Sajem all along?
Legacy of Souls (The Shattered Sea Book 2) Page 26
