The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  By the time he reached the room and collapsed onto the bed, he was sweating again. Elina left him with a pitcher of water and he thanked her before unlacing his boots – yet that was as much as he bothered with before collapsing back again.

  The bed was soft enough to rival a cloud, surely.

  Never closed his eyes.

  Elina had her instructions – to wake him come evening. That would be enough time. Enough time to read a little more and warn Luis that he’d be taking leave of the palace for just a short while. Enough time...

  He woke to someone looming over him, a hand on his shoulder. The figure gave him a hard shake. “Never – you have to leave.”

  Elina.

  He blinked. Darkness beyond the window. “What time is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she hissed. “I’ve already sent Luis to wait for you at the Silver Bells Inn, it’s two squares east of the palace.”

  “Is something wrong?” Never asked as he rose, thigh protesting.

  Elina tugged him across the room. “It didn’t work. He was dying; we had to try something. Everyone could see, there was no other choice. Everything had failed. He was fading right before us.” Her voice was strained and tears gleamed on her cheeks.

  He caught her arm. “The king?”

  “Your blood...” She shook her head.

  The door burst open.

  Light from the corridor flooded the room and Prince Jenisan strode inside, sword drawn. A pair of guards followed, flanking the man. Jenisan’s face was white and his jaw clenched. “Take that man to the dungeon,” he snarled.

  Elina moved to block them.

  “Lady, please stand aside,” one of the guards said.

  “Do not impede me, Elina,” the prince told her.

  “He tried to warn us,” she said. “Don’t punish him for our desperation. Take me, I forced Grandfather to test the blood.”

  Never frowned as he backed up. What had she done? His thigh seemed better for the sleep but was it up to a fight? And just how badly did Elina want to protect the Amouni line? But the prince shook his head. “That is not necessary. Your intent – however misguided – is not under question here.” He motioned to his men. “Advance.”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Never told them. He flipped a dagger into hand. He was ready now, wide awake now – he’d had enough rest to take a few down at least. “Whether you believe me, I did not mean for your father to come to harm.”

  Jenisan spat. “Do not speak of him.”

  Time to leave.

  Instead of a balcony, the roof of the floor below extended out beyond the window. Worth a try. Never spun and leapt. Glass shattered. He landed on dark tiles with a cry. His thigh gave way and he stumbled. Tiles slid from beneath him, sailing off the roof and shattering in the courtyard far below.

  Shouts followed.

  He dragged himself to the next window along. Using his elbow, he smashed the glass but did not enter what he assumed was Luis’ room. Let them think he’d gone within. Instead, he vaulted from his good leg, catching the edge of the roof above the window. Grunting, he swung himself up – again using his strong leg – and rolled onto the roof.

  Pain thundered across his thigh but he bit his lip.

  The guards had already climbed onto the lower roof; they clambered around and argued in Hanik. More tiles shattered below as they struggled for footing. Never lay still.

  The prince joined them, his voice still full of tightly-controlled fury.

  The sounds of men climbing through Luis’ window followed, muttered cursing and clinking glass. But now Elina joined Jenisan.

  “Let him be! Amouni blood is too important,” she said, speaking in Marlosi. Did she hope Never could hear her? Or did she speak Marlosi instead of Hanik, in an attempt to protect his secret? Her own secret.

  A slap rang out in the night.

  “I did not wish to do that,” the prince said. A scuffle followed, tiles grinding. Then, Jenisan continued, voice calm. “Return your knife to its sheath, Lady Elina.”

  “Why do you do this?” Her tone was pleading. “You know the Amouni can bring so much knowledge back into the world, so much that is lost.”

  “I will ask you but once more and then you will be guilty of treason, childhood friend or no.”

  “Very well.”

  “Thank you,” Jenisan said. “Understand that I have never shared my father’s views on our one-time masters. They will not return under my reign.”

  “But in all the years you’ve never actually opposed –”

  “Enough, Elina, please.” His own voice grew suddenly weary. “Do not spoil all we have won these last months, do not do so now, the night I have lost my father.”

  A pause. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

  The guards returned. They spoke Haniker; all Never could pick up was that they were still searching.

  Jenisan’s reply was curt. More crunching of tiles followed. His voice grew distant.

  Never waited a long moment before crawling higher, wincing as he moved. On the peak of the roof, he crept as best he could, resting against a chimney. As yet, the search hadn’t moved outside – new lights glowed within rooms in the storey above him, shouted orders filtering through the glass.

  Getting down was the first problem – then getting out of the palace and reaching Elina’s inn, followed by escaping the Silver City itself. And all with his thigh dragging him back. He ground his teeth. So close! Always, always he came within reach of answers and then they were snatched away.

  His portion of roof led to a wall with a short ladder heading up. The roof itself seemed to overhang a balcony – something he confirmed when he bent down with a wince, tiles creaking, and rested upon his chest to peer over the edge.

  The balcony was quiet and dark – in the starlight three chairs and a circular table rested behind a small steel fence, each of which had silver ribbons tied. If he could drop down without screaming upon landing, he’d have a chance of climbing further down. Or, if that wasn’t possible, entering the palace.

  Which meant more trouble. But that was guaranteed now in any event. Never spun his body as best he could then let his legs fall over the edge, sliding down and gripping the ledge with his forearms, then his hands.

  The cold stone of the balcony was pale beneath his dangling legs, but not too distant. He dropped – and collapsed. His good leg had given way; a reward for favouring it, and he sucked in a gasp to keep from spitting out a string of curses.

  He pulled himself up on the fence then limped over to open the door, crossing from the balcony into a dark room. He moved slowly, hands outstretched as he bypassed the darker shapes of furniture, until he found the opposite door, which in turn led to another blackened room. A strip of light low to the floor revealed an exterior door. He started toward it, only for approaching footsteps to send him shuffling toward a divan. He crouched behind.

  The footsteps stopped and the handle squeaked.

  Never held his breath. A cramp formed in his leg, below the hip. Pacela! A little luck was all he asked – instead, torture. The door closed and the dark remained. The searcher brought no light – were they fumbling for a lamp?

  Soft footfalls on the carpet followed and still no light other than that which had followed Never in from the balcony. What new treachery was this? He would have to attack. Perhaps heaving the divan first. Never eased his leg out, then began to draw a blade – but froze when it caused the soft hiss of metal on the sheath.

  The searcher stopped.

  “Never?” A pause. “I can sense your blood – do not fear, it is Olivor.”

  The man could sense blood? How? Did Olivor himself have Amouni heritage? “I am here.” Never rose.

  Olivor moved into the faint starlight. His shadowed face held wide eyes. “Thank Clera, I found you. Quickly, we must be swift.” He produced a heavy cloak, bandages within. “Wear this and stoop when you walk.”

  “Where are we going?” Never asked as
he swung the cloak over his shoulders. He adjusted the cowl and hood so it concealed most of his face. “And what do you mean, you can sense my blood?”

  Olivor tugged him back to the door, where he paused, pressing an ear against it. “I used the blood you gave me to... search for you. There is an echo when Amouni blood is separated, I simply followed it.”

  He opened the door slowly and Never stooped, allowing Olivor to lead him. “Not too quickly – you’re meant to be infirm.”

  His thigh did not appreciate the awkward movements. “No problem. Our destination?”

  “An old passage, known to the Order of Clera only.”

  “I like it already.”

  Never continued in a stoop, his ungainly walk not entirely falsified as pain in his leg continued to throb. Olivor took him down several corridors and one torturous flight of steps, leaving him slumped against a wall at the bottom, and then into a darker, rougher set of passages.

  “Halt!” A voice commanded.

  Olivor paused. “Be at ease,” he whispered.

  Boots approached and a Hanik guard, his breastplate polished, appeared. Never, keeping his head down, saw only the man’s breastplate and leather gauntlets.

  “Advisor Olivor, who walks with you?” The man rested a hand on his sword.

  “It is only your old mother, Captain Debuer,” Olivor replied. Something about the old man’s voice was different – almost as if two voices were woven together. The second was soft, persuasive.

  Never tensed. What madness was Olivor about?

  “My mother?” Captain Debuer’s voice was full of confusion.

  “She is very ill. I am taking her to my rooms to help administer healing, the light in the main passages hurts her eyes due to the fever.” Again, Olivor’s voice was somehow twin. The softer voice soothed, convincing.

  The Captain bent. “Mother?”

  Never met the man’s eyes – and the fellow swallowed, a look of worry crossing his face. Then he rose. “Please look after her, Advisor.”

  “It shall be so.”

  The Captain left and Never turned to Olivor. “What just happened?”

  “I fooled him with Fear-Speak. Debuer’s mother is actually ill, of course, but he saw what I wanted him to see. And now we must hurry – no more stooping.” Once again, Olivor pulled him along. Never hobbled after, grimacing. A dozen questions swam about but he had to save his breath for walking.

  Olivor finally came to a halt in a new corridor, which met a dead end beyond an intersecting passage. The dead end was more of an alcove with a stand and a silver statue of a domed tree standing upon it. Elina’s grandfather moved the stand and traced a five-pointed leaf before the stone wall. A deep click followed and then the wall slid open silently, just as in the Amber Isle... and the Preparation Chamber.

  Darkness beyond.

  “In you go, Never,” Olivor said. “Head for the Silver Bells Inn; that is where you will find your companion.”

  “Olivor, thank you.” He shuffled forward and paused. “Will you and Elina be safe?”

  “I pray as much,” he said. “Now go, be safe yourself. I believe the world needs you, Never. You carry with you a line that will change the world for the better. Go, quickly.”

  Never moved into the shadow as the door slid shut behind him. A glow rose as he moved, similar to the Preparation Chamber. His path sloped down, tiled walls passing as he limped on.

  He paused to rest once then continued, resting again when he reached the bottom some time later. He’d lost track, with the sameness of the trip and the rising pain in his leg. But another door waited for him and this time it did not open no matter what he tried, five-leaf sign, touching, pushing, thumping but all of it for naught.

  He hung his head. Trapped within the walls of the Hanik palace. Wonderful.

  Unless...

  Never glanced around the dim chamber. “Guide?”

  A figure shimmered before him, robes of silver. Yet it did not stay; it disappeared as if banished by a wave of wind.

  “Guide? I need your help.”

  Again the figure shimmered into existence and wavered – and then it solidified.

  Yet it possessed no head.

  And the omission did not seem purposeful if the way the guide struggled to appear was any indication. Instead, its voice came from the space where a head ought to have been. Master, the way is sealed.

  “Please do unseal it.”

  You have sealed it, only you may open it, Master.

  He frowned. The other ones acted like he’d given them orders in the past too. “I cannot recall how.”

  With your blood of course – simply mark the Spirit-Leaf.

  He shook his head. Fool. Of course his blood, what else? “I see.”

  Will that be everything?

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The figure faded and Never drew his knife.

  Chapter 16.

  Never crossed the moon-lit street in a hobbling run, bent as close to the paved stones as possible. Yet no cries rose, no footfalls followed and no soldiers burst from behind, where the grinding wall had opened and closed without seam, all at the edge of torchlight cast from the main gates.

  Old magic indeed.

  But he was free. The passage leading from the palace left him standing directly before its walls, but at least he was on the right side of them. And in the shadows too, allowing him a chance to take his shambling run east toward the Silver Bells and Luis.

  But he soon slowed.

  Would Snow still be in Jyan’s temple?

  If Never delayed, Jenisan would have all the more chance to capture him. And yet; Luis was safe and could afford to wait. Would Snow wait? Never growled. He couldn’t simply leave; Snow owed him answers.

  Hurry.

  Never turned south and despite the ache in his hip, pushed himself hard. When he reached the square of fountains he had to stop to wipe sweat from his eyes. His chest heaved as he rested. As yet, the stitches he’d been administered had not broken open – he seemed to have knitted himself together well enough. He was healing too fast but it didn’t matter now.

  The pain remained and his leg was still slow to respond, healing or no.

  Dawn scratched silver fingers across the dark sky as he limped to the temple, passing the dulled bronze statue and slipping between the columns.

  Inside waited more darkness. “Why does everyone in this city loathe lamplight?” he asked.

  A hinge squeaked. Light bloomed from a lantern, revealing a figure obscured by a thick blue cloak and hood. Yet the hand that held the lamp was pale. Almost chalky white.

  Snow.

  Never tensed. A sudden fury surged but he clamped it down. He could have demanded answers about Cog, about the Bleak Man, the cemetery at the Royal City, anything at all about the years they’d spent apart. He could have accused Snow of being a fool, a thief, a liar, a killer, a dozen other things.

  And he should have.

  But it had been too long since they’d parted. Seeing his brother again... everything rushed back. Confusion. Relief, familiarity. Love. Bitterness.

  The last time they’d met, both made promises neither seemed likely to keep. In the silence afterward, Snow’s dispassionate stare and Never’s accusation echoed across the stony earth between them. Not until a soft rain started to stain the cliffs had Snow walked away, and without a single backward glance.

  And despite their parting, despite everything before and after – their bond was as strong as ever. It had connected them while apart and it remained now; the years had not thinned it at all, when people hurled stones it had been Snow who shielded him with his own body, flinching at every blow, eyes blazing with rage. Whenever men and women sneered at Snow for his pale skin or soft voice, Never put them in place with the sharpness of his tongue.

  It was Snow who cut him down from the gallows one winter and it was Never alone who had pried open the bars of a roadside cage years later, tears streaming trails in the dust that clung
to his cheeks as he lifted Snow’s emaciated form free.

  Few ever stood with them, and no-one understood the bond that came from being alone together. Two cursed among a world of eyes glittering with distrust.

  Snow had saved him, as he had saved Snow.

  Never swallowed.

  “Brother.”

  It was all he could think to say.

  “Yes.” Snow pushed the hood back, revealing a smiling face of white. It was a face not unlike Never’s own, perhaps a little narrower of jaw and no hint of a beard, but no doubt Snow still continued to catch the eye of many a young lady. And unlike the albino man Never once saw in a Kiymako market, Snow’s eyes were blue. He was not truly albino, he was like Never – something else.

  Amouni, yet different again.

  Snow had aged too – but it was subtle. A deeper frown-line perhaps, more weariness to go with the chill that lay within his eyes. But Snow only gestured to a nearby bench. “Will you sit with me? Your wound must bother you.”

  Never nodded. The seat would be more than welcome but he couldn’t trust himself to speak. And he could hardly afford to show weakness before Snow either, brother or no. Something had changed – a new ruthlessness. Instead, Never simply sat and smothered a sigh as the ache in his leg eased. Finally, he said, “You knew I was on my way?”

  “Of course, Never. I knew the moment you entered the city. You need to practice the skills of our forefathers,” he said.

  “I’ve been a poor student, it seems. So your own search wasn’t for naught?”

  “No, it was not. I have learnt many truths.”

  Never closed his eyes. No doubt he had. “And at what cost?”

  “To me? No cost. To others, yes, there have been sacrifices, Never. It must be so.”

  “Like the king?” Never kept his voice even.

  Snow shook his head. “There are many who wished him ill but I was not one of them. Forget the king, brother. We do not have all night and there is much I can share with you.” He paused. “Even the truth about Father.”

  Never straightened, meeting his brother’s cool gaze. “Tell me.”

  “First, I must ask something of you.”

  Ah. There it was – as expected. “What?”