“Time to go,” Johzar said.
“Where are you taking us?” Nallea stiffened, her hackles rising with her chin. “My father will return for us. How will he find us? What if they arrest him?”
Johzar’s half-lidded eyes studied her before he cut a glance at Raze. “We can’t bring her.”
“Fine with me.” Nallea scowled, hands on her hips. “We don’t need your help anyway.”
Azalus rubbed his jaw. “Nallea.”
She swung to her husband, tears springing to her eyes. “You cannot be serious? It’s all too horrible. First Terrill and now this.”
Raze held up a hand. They were frayed to the point of unraveling. Any semblance of rational thought had disintegrated. “We can and will, Johzar. I’ll vouch for them both. They’re trustworthy.”
“It’s your lives.” The slaver veered up the road, sword in hand, stride persevering despite his limp. Raze waved for Azalus and Nallea to follow.
“What did he mean?” Nallea wiped her eyes and hurried to keep up.
“It’s a long story that I’ll explain later.” Raze peered down at her. “If I’m right about the place he’s leading us, I swore on all our lives to keep it a secret.”
“Raze…” Azalus canted this head toward Johzar. Draeva had joined him for a whispered conversation before she darted into an alley, a bow on her back and quiver at her belt.
“I wish I knew the answers,” Raze replied. “We can ask when we get there. Despite all he’s done, he just saved our lives. We have to trust him.”
A whistle shrilled ahead to their left. Johzar threw up a fist and halted. Voices shouted and horse hooves clattered across cobbles. The slaver gestured sharply to their right and dodged into an alley. “Run,” Raze whispered. He and Azalus each grabbed one of Nallea’s hands and dashed after the slaver.
The alley split thirty paces in, and Johzar made a swift choice. They headed uphill until a curve delivered them to a courtyard with no way out. A ramshackle dwelling spanned the gap where the alley once passed. The slaver kicked in the door, and the whole building clattered as if moments from collapsing.
“I’ll guard our rear,” Azalus said. Screams erupted from the interior, and if the soldiers had wondered at their location, they had their answer. Johzar charged into the dim home, and Raze followed, dragging a gasping Nallea behind him. He ignored the frantic residents as he barreled through the narrow hallway and out the rear door, back into the alley.
Johzar forged ahead. Draeva leapt from the shadows, four soldiers on her heels. Johzar slashed the first to reach him, sword cutting a stripe across his attacker’s bearded face. Draeva spun. The man behind her bulled into her and took a knife in the gut before they both slammed to the ground. Her arrows skittered across the stones.
“Over here!” a woman in imperial indigo shouted. Her sword crashed into Johzar’s weapon. He rotated his wrist, swept her blade aside, and lunged. She swayed back, edges ringing as she avoided her death.
The fourth assailant advanced on Draeva as she struggled to break free of the dead soldier’s weight. Azalus leapt forward and blocked a strike meant for her head. The snarling soldier shoved him back and swiped backhanded at his belly. Nallea screamed as Azalus parried and the blade nicked his belt. “Stay back!” he warned. A clever pivot of his opponent’s blade gashed Azalus’s arm, and blood bloomed on his sleeve.
Johzar’s blade pealed against the female soldier’s weapon. She fought two-handed, screaming their location. Orders roared from a neighboring street.
Raze clutched his dagger, too late for second thoughts, and unwilling to surrender another life. He circled his brother’s fight, charged in, and thrust the blade into the man’s back beneath his armor. The tip jarred into bone, skidded, and slipped under the ribs. Johzar dispatched the female soldier with a pitiless slice across her thigh and an elbow to the throat.
Grunting, Draeva shoved aside the body lying across her leg. She scrambled up and grabbed a handful of spilled arrows, her balance off. Johzar gripped her arm, steadying her. “Take our hounds downhill but don’t get trapped. I’ll trail them and pick off a few from behind. The hares will run for the burrow.”
The tattooed woman nodded. She nocked an arrow, darted into the cross street, sprinted ten paces, and hooked a corner. Johzar drew Raze’s eye and pointed uphill. “You know the way?”
“I can find it.”
“We’ll buy you time and meet you there. Aim for the Temple if you get lost.” Johzar jogged back the way they’d come.
Azalus held a hand over the rift in his arm. “Let’s go.” Raze reached for Nallea, hesitated at the sight of his own bloody fingers, and clutched her hand. She held tight, palm trembling against his. He ignored the horror burning the back of his throat and pulled her into a run. Azalus loped at his side, sword ready. “Are you certain you can depend on slavers?” Azalus asked.
“I’m not certain of anything.” Raze heaved in a lungful of air, heading, away from the shouts of pursuit. He hooked several corners, stuck to the alleys, and sought one of the narrow stairways that hiked straight up to the city’s heights. He led them north, away from their ultimate destination, intending to circle back. The alley spilled them onto a flat landing between narrow flights, both directions clear of soldiers.
Nallea looked up and whimpered at the climb. “I can’t.”
“You haven’t a choice,” Raze said. “We’ll help you.” Azalus grabbed her other hand, and they hauled her up the stairs that seemed to ascend without end.
Raze didn’t dare risk a rest, but Nallea wilted, and his brother sent a tacit plea over her head. Another flight up, he pushed on the back door of an abandoned building, its roof collapsed and soot marking the walls. The door scraped aside a pile of burned debris. He hustled Nallea and his brother inside and raised a finger to his lips for silence. A gray felt of ash lay like a coverlet over the charred wood, and with every footfall, puffs billowed into the day’s fading light. The heavy scent of old smoke clung to the filth, adding to a breathless sense of suffocation. They sank against the wall.
Raze dropped his head back, waited for his heart to slow, and glanced at his brother. “How’s your arm?”
“I’ll see to it,” Nallea said, her face streaked with dirt and tears. “Give me your knife.”
He handed it over. Her lips pressed between her teeth, she sawed off one of the drapes adorning her dress, ripped it into strips, and bound her husband’s wound. Azalus smiled at her handiwork. “Feels better already.”
She returned the knife to Raze and wiped her hands on her disheveled dress. “Where are you taking us?”
“A place to hide.” He hung his head, the strain of the past two days depleting his reserves. “When I told you that Danzell and I were attacked, I left out that she led us to an abandoned catacomb beneath the Temple of Souls.”
“A catacomb?” Azalus scraped a hand over his scalp. “I suppose it’s not the first place I’d search for the living.”
“She’s a swallower of multiple souls. Part of a secret conclave that collects wisdom. I’d sworn to keep her confidence, but there’s no longer any point. If we become separated, head there. The entrance is inside a walled courtyard below the tower. It’s unkempt and narrow, but if you know what you’re looking for, you’ll find it. You’ll be safe there until you find a way out of the city.”
“I’m worried about my father,” Nallea whispered.
“He’s resourceful,” Azalus said. “I’m certain he’ll survive.” Though dusk’s shadows inched across the floor, Raze caught the glint in Azalus’s eye. Benjmur was resourceful, indeed.
Raze had nothing more to add. He pretended to sleep as he grieved for his friend, breath washing through him with steely control. At moonrise, he led them back into the lanes beneath the palace. They hiked several more flights straight up, cut south, and wandered the alleys until he found the vacant courtyard and its stone arches.
“Is this it?” Nallea fidgeted with the star pendant ar
ound her neck.
“Shhh.” The warning and a flicker of movement snapped Raze around. Draeva idled on a stone bench near a broken fountain, one leg up and head propped on her knee. She raised two fingers to her lips and escorted them beneath the arches. Inky blackness guarded the catacombs’ derelict door. She knocked, copied the reply, and led them in.
A hooded lantern cast a murky light in the outer room, its vaults gaping. A young woman in a black robe led them to the rear portal where she altered the knock before disappearing into the darkness. Johzar opened the door from within, sword in hand. He stepped aside. “We wondered about you; weren’t sure you’d show.”
Raze led his brother and Nallea into the lighted space. “We waited for nightfall.”
Azalus bowed to the brooding woman seated by the glow of an altar fire, its flames dying above a bed of embers. “Lady Danzell, our condolences. I assure you, this was no deed of the Anvrells.”
She tapped the arms of her chair and studied them, shadows bruising her eyes. “I understand that soldiers beheaded your guard.”
Nallea gasped, and a sob sprang from her chest. Azalus’s face twitched, and he frowned at Raze before replying. “Terrill was my friend, our friend since we were lads.”
“My sympathy then.” Danzell sighed. “The day’s events have worn us all thin. There’s food and wine if you require it and rooms to the rear for sleep.”
Raze sank into a wooden chair and closed his eyes. As the pressure of escape surrendered to the fire’s warmth, it cleared room for another flood of emotion he wrestled to contain. Two days of death lay beyond his soul’s experience, beyond Briyon’s, and he struggled to make sense of it.
Someone touched his shoulder, and he cracked his eyelids to find Johzar handing him a goblet of wine. He accepted the offer, and the slaver backed up to lean on the wall.
“I distrust my brother,” Danzell said. “He suffers from an ambitious streak as wide as the sea and a depth of resentment to match. Why he selected the Anvrells to shoulder the blame is another question. I suspect neither of you would have survived an interrogation.” She regarded Nallea. “Where’s your father?”
“He sought fares for us across the sea.” Though she held her goblet in two hands, the wine trembled. “I don’t know where he is or if they captured him.”
“We’ll inquire,” Danzell said.
“Your sister’s death elevates you to Empress.” Raze set the wine aside, in no mood to drink. “Why would your brother kill Ezalion if the attempt on you failed? You could simply order him arrested.”
“He’s implicated me… indirectly.” Danzell propped her chin on a fist. “I am accused of plotting with you.”
“By whom?”
Danzell glanced at Nallea and shrugged. “Does it matter? His scheming is independent of the truth. He can line up a score of witnesses with gold and promises.”
“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised,” Raze said with a sudden welling of bitterness. “After all, your father murdered his sister.”
Danzell’s eyebrows arched. “Your mother. I forgot. I was eleven years old and sheltered from the seamier shades of rule. My brother would have been seventeen. Old enough to learn by example.”
“Will you wrest the throne from him?” Azalus asked.
“I never wished to rule,” Danzell said. “I preferred to guide, to be a force for change without all the manipulation and maneuvering. I assume Raze told you of this place and what I do?”
“You collect and swallow souls,” Azalus said.
“Wise souls,” she replied. “My goal is to bring the wisdom of our lands’ greatest minds to bear. To shape the future.”
“Did your sister know?” Raze asked. “Does your brother?”
“Nae.” Danzell sipped her wine and stared at the dying fire. It glinted on her sapphire earrings, little flickers of blue flame catching his eye. “There are many of us, and those in power would perceive us as a threat. We’re not a rebellious or violent group. I consider us an underground movement bent on the preservation of wisdom.”
She gestured at the rock walls. “Underground indeed. Perhaps we are dangerous. It's impossible to support the current power structures when we know what we know, when we can peruse the choices of previous generations and analyze the flaws. Would you believe humankind repeats the same mistakes over and over and over again, at the loss of millions of lives, risking the destruction of our very world? It’s the definition of insanity.”
“I’d believe it,” Azalus said.
Danzell leaned forward. “You came here seeking an end to bondage. What if we could also end the injustices perpetuated by wealth, power, and poverty?”
“We desire the same in the Vales,” Nallea said. “My father is dedicated to the wellbeing of all our people.”
“I’m certain he is.” Danzell smiled and rubbed her forehead. “I’m exhausted. We’ll discuss getting you on a ship in the morning.”
“Thank you for your kindness, lady.” Azalus bowed.
Danzell’s gaze swept the eyes of all those in the room. “I needn’t remind you, this place is a guarded secret. Lives depend on your silence.”
The gathering broke apart, and as Raze started to rise, Johzar pressed on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. Danzell poured herself another goblet of wine, and Draeva assumed the role of host, leading Azalus and Nallea to the rooms in the rear.
Raze waited while Johzar straddled a chair. The slaver lowered his voice, “Benjmur is with Kyzan at the palace.”
“Was he captured?” Raze whispered.
“He’s not a prisoner.” Johzar rested his forearms on the chair’s back. “But that doesn’t mean he conspired against the Empress. Only that it serves him to align for the moment with Kyzan.”
Danzell sipped her wine. “What’s your assessment, Raze?”
He sat back. “I don’t trust him. I think he told the soldiers where to find us. But I’ve no proof of a conspiracy.”
“Nor do I,” Danzell said. “What about Nallea?”
“She adores her father, and as far as I can tell, the affection is mutual, but she genuinely loves my brother. She’d never do anything to harm him or the Vales.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Why did you speak so freely about your brother and your goals in front of her?”
Danzell’s lip curled. “I want to see what her father does with the knowledge.”
~15~
Nallea steeled herself against a sea of suspicion. The whispered hints that her father had conspired with Governor Kyzan to kill the Empress and blame Azalus pounded in her ears. Nothing, nothing, pointed to any such conclusion, and she was loath to let anyone label him a villain on either side of the sea. Her loyalties lay first with her husband; she would choose Azalus over any other man. But her father counted second. Since her mother’s death, they’d stood beside each other, and not for one single moment would she consider that he’d hurt her with something so vile.
Sleep had descended with the restless ache of grief, and in the catacombs’ depths, night and day blurred, morning a meaningless word. When Azalus awakened her, she dressed by candlelight in servant’s clothes. A light cowl concealed her blond hair and hid her face in shadow.
Azalus had discarded his noble attire for the long, baggy tunic of a slave. His arm redressed in clean linen, he sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting her. His face wore the remnants of a tumultuous night. He’d pretended sleep, but his ragged breath had betrayed his silent tears, and he’d refused all comfort. He looked up at her with a smile that didn’t come close to hiding the sadness and worry inside him. “Are you ready?”
“Ai.” She bit her lip. “Azalus?”
He stood and wrapped her in his arms, his chin resting on her head. She relaxed and breathed in the scent of him, wishing they could remain in that embrace while the world rewound and yesterday started anew.
A rap on the door dissolved her dream. Raze, also disguised as a slave, met them in the hallway, his face and w
hatever feelings it revealed buried beneath his cowl. They joined Danzell and Johzar in the front room where a single lantern hoarded pools of darkness in every corner.
“Forgive the early hour,” Danzell said, “but your galley awaits.” She crossed her arms and leaned on an arched column. “Johzar will lead you straight down to the harbor where he’s secured your service on the Storm Breaker. Boarding will present the greatest challenge. Once at sea, you’ll be free of pursuit, but you’ll need to bribe yourselves out of bondage. Lord Raze”—she tossed him a coin purse—“this should prove adequate.”
“Ready?” Johzar wore his slaver’s scanty attire and leather armor, a midnight-blue cloak clasped at a shoulder. Draeva had donned the same, her painted skin exposed for inspection.
“Let’s go.” Azalus clasped Nallea’s hand, and she held tight to his warmth as much as she did to his confidence.
Johzar left the lantern with Danzell, and they crept through the outer door into the shadows of the archway. A predawn sky unrolled in a green ribbon of light, engulfing all but the brightest stars.
Nallea released her husband’s hand when they reached the harborside streets. She shivered at her transformation. The Lady of Kestrel had vanished, replaced by a nameless piece of property, a thing owned by Johzar. In a single moment of betrayal, he could steal the future of the Anvrell family and thrust them all into slavery. Less than a year ago, he’d almost done so with her—purchased a false bond, insisted he owned her, and in the end almost killed her. And since then, never once had he admitted to wrongdoing, never apologized. The Tegirs conquered the lands of their neighbors and bound their prisoners in chains. Why not this time?
She tamped down her panic, the answer to that question banished by the knowledge that her father wouldn’t allow it. He was no fool. His obsequious doting on the governor had never been a mark of weakness but of purpose. Within the arena’s walls, shock and anger had erupted into misguided accusations that cost Terrill his life. But it would end there; it must, or her world had surely tipped from its axis and flung them all into madness. Her father would soothe all the terrible chaos with a balm of reason. Kyzan would listen and trust him, just as she did.
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