The sun woke over the sea, a golden-eyed slit on the horizon, and yet bright enough to turn aside her gaze. Johzar strode with confidence despite his limp, cloak billowing in the briny wind. His palm rested on his hilt as if by second nature, and not one vendor or trader, sailor or slave took notice. The morning ado of the harbor rose in volume as the day’s mill began its grind.
Soldiers mingled among the commoners, like hawks on a hunt for mice. They stood in close companies at the entrances to the steep ramps leading to the quay. Ships loaded for departure rocked on the morning sea. Johzar headed straight for them like a man with a purpose and nothing to hide. Nallea sagged, head bent beneath her cowl, a dejected slave bound for Yozar or Valcore and a life in ruins.
“Hold up!” A man ordered.
She slammed into Azalus’s back, and Raze grabbed her sleeve, steadying her. Over her husband’s shoulder, she peeked at the Ezari soldier, a man of importance by the silver signet on his chest. Johzar palmed him a sparkle of gold, and the man stepped aside. “Let them pass.” Nallea focused on her feet and shuffled down the ramps.
The Storm Breaker awaited them halfway up the pier, her hold accepting cargo suspended on a long boom. Beyond her, a smaller galley, the War Mistress, cast off her lines. The ship’s captain bellowed commands, and banks of slaves took up their oars.
Boots thundered down the ramp behind her, and Nallea twisted. Johzar cursed, swung around and punched Azalus in the forehead, snapping his head back. Nallea screamed as he crumbled, and Johzar shoved him into Raze’s arms. “Get him on the War Mistress! Trust me.”
Then the slaver grabbed her by the arm and hauled her toward the advancing soldiers, yelling, “This is one of them! Wanted for the murder of Empress Ezalion.”
She screamed and dragged her feet, pounded on his arm with her fists. Tears sprang to her eyes as she kicked and cursed. He laughed at her anguish, a mocking sound joined by the soldiers and seamen who cheered her capture.
“What of the others?” The soldier with the silver signet asked.
“Slaves,” Johzar replied. “This is Nallea Anvrell.”
“Eraah!” She screamed at him and clawed his face.
He narrowed his eyes and twisted her wrist until she folded to her knees, bones crushed beneath his grip. Bent over her, he breathed, “They’re gone.”
She edged a glance at the ships. The War Mistress dipped her oars and headed to sea.
“Nallea!” Her father’s voice rose above the sound of slapping water and chattering spectators. “Nallea! Johzar, release her this instant.” The slaver let go. Her father lifted her to her feet and embraced her. “You're safe.” He craned his neck over her head. “Where’s Azalus? And Raze?”
“They escaped.” She searched for Johzar, but he’d merged into the morning’s commotion and climbed the ramps. The excitement over, the audience moved on. Cliffmen barked orders and passengers dealt with luggage while haggling with bursars about fares.
“That’s good,” her father whispered. “I’m glad.”
“What will they do to me?” Tears spilled from her eyes. “They chopped off Terrill’s head.”
“They’ll do nothing.” Benjmur cradled her face in his hands and met her eyes. The soldiers waited at his back. “You are a victim of this entire tragedy. No one accuses you of any part in this. We only want you safe.”
“We?”
“Lord Kyzan and I.”
“But Aza—”
“Best keep your voice down, my dear,” he whispered. “I’m most certain that when we return home, Azalus will await you with grateful arms.”
~16~
Nallea’s brooding melancholy plucked at Benjmur’s heartstrings. He remembered the pining of young love, the belief that nothing in all the realm could separate him from his beloved Amila. Death had proved him wrong, and despite his conviction that the world had spun off course and flung all meaning to the stars, life had trundled on. Hers would as well.
She sniffled and picked at the delicacies on her dinner plate as if the proprietor had served the scrapings from a tavern floor. Candlelight gilded her face, but her mood wallowed between grumpy and grim, though less distraught than the day before. He’d suggested that she write Azalus a letter, explaining she remained safe in her father’s care and would travel home as soon as able. The activity had occupied her for half the day, and she’d handed the missive to him to arrange for its travel.
“You must eat,” he ordered softly. “I doubt Azalus will want his lady returned wearing nothing but sagging skin.”
“That’s horrid.” Nallea couldn’t resist a smile. “Did you send my letter?”
“First thing, as requested.” He threaded his fingers together beneath his chin. “We will stay in Tegir for Lord Kyzan’s coronation, and then I shall be as pleased as you to travel home.”
“Danzell believes he killed Ezalion and attempted to murder her.”
Benjmur exhaled a lengthy sigh. “It wouldn’t surprise me. The Ezari are ambitious and shameless about murdering those in their way.”
“I cannot imagine how you tolerate him. That man is hideous. Why would you ever… befriend him?”
“Befriend?” He nearly rolled his eyes. “I waste as little effort on him as I dare. All is for a purpose—every visit, every smile, every flattering remark. His good graces serve us, and we serve the Vales.” He paused while a servant removed his plate. “We are guests at the palace, at his pleasure, and he is willing to accept that you are innocent of any conspiracies.”
“I am innocent,” she cried, tears again springing to her eyes. “We are all innocent.”
“I agree, Nallea.” He patted her arm. “I merely suggest we mind what we do and say while we are guests. Like it or not, he will be emperor, and perhaps I can convince him it’s in his best interest not to hunt too keenly for the truth.”
“Because the trail will lead to his throne.” She nodded and granted him another flimsy smile. “You’re shrewder than most. I’m glad you’re on our side of the sea.”
“Where else would I be?” His chin retracted, brimming with indignation, and he chuckled. “Now, tell me about Danzell. When and where did you learn of her suspicions? Is she safe? Does she still fear for her life?”
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Nallea pushed her plate away. “I’ll tell you, but you must promise you won’t tell anyone. I swore not to reveal anything about her.”
“Do her plans involved any harm to the Vales?”
“Nae, of course not!” Nallea stiffened. “To the contrary, they sound hopeful. She’s a…soul-collector, or that’s a term best describing her conclave. She and a number of others swallow only wise souls.”
“How intriguing.” Benjmur’s brow creased as possibilities wormed through his head. Swallowing wise souls to the exclusion of all others? Why hadn’t he considered it for himself? He leaned forward. “And the soul-collectors’ purpose?”
Hands clasped in her lap, Nallea gazed up at the vaulted ceiling in thought. “To preserve the world’s wisdom and use it to better our lives, all lives. To stop making mistakes over and over again. Can you imagine if we could do away with wars and poverty, level the classes and end slavery?”
Benjmur tugged idly on his goatee. “Thus, the danger to Kyzan’s rule. To all rules.”
“Nae, Father. Well, ai, probably to the Ezarine Empire. True wisdom would demand change, and change wouldn’t serve selfishness, war, or slavery. But to us, to those who care about their citizens? It becomes a matter of choice and the courage to act. It sounds magnificent, and I would love to rule in such a way. The Anvrells desire it, and so does Lord Juntis, and Athren…I think. At least, we can attempt to convince her of the merits.”
“You were wise to tell me.” Benjmur smiled. “I shall assist you however I’m able. And I’ll possess the power to do it. After the coronation, I believe the new emperor will name your old father the Governor of the Vales.”
“Truly?” Nallea pressed her palms
together, threw her head back, and laughed. “You see? Our position strengthens.”
Her father’s finger rose in warning. “This effort by Danzell, you mustn’t let anyone know I’m involved, or my sway with Kyzan won’t be the only thing in jeopardy. All our lives will lie at risk as well.”
“I understand.” Nallea sighed. “I shall behave like a lady with Kyzan the Horrible and keep my lips sewn shut.”
“Speaking of our illustrious murderer, if you’ll excuse me, I must pay him a call prior to the evening’s end.”
“Just as well,” Nallea relaxed her shoulders. “I’m exhausted from all this intrigue.”
Benjmur rose and pulled out her chair. He kissed her forehead. “We shall make fine rulers, my daughter.”
“That we shall.” She returned the kiss and retired to her private rooms. Benjmur pulled her letter to Azalus from his pocket, lit it on fire, and tossed it into the hearth.
~
The usurper lost no time in seizing his sister’s ravenwood throne, posturing as he delighted in his power. Benjmur entered through the tall doors and bowed. The room was vacant of advisors and guests, all banished for the evening, which left behind a dutiful contingent of soldiers and servants. Kyzan fluttered his fingers, beckoning him forward. “What do you think?”
“Regal.” Benjmur smiled. “When may I call you Emperor of Ezar?”
“Tomorrow. There’s no advantage in delaying the inevitable. Ezar requires a restoration of rule, and Danzell’s affiliation with conspirators disqualifies her.”
“I fear your suspicions about her are correct, my lord.”
“Of course they are.” Kyzan propped an elbow on the throne’s ornate arm and his chin on a fist. He assumed a visionary’s stare into the distance.
“Have you considered your replacement as Governor of the Vales?”
Kyzan struck a new pose, chin lifted to the high chandeliers dappling the space with light. “I believe I promised that position to one of my loyal subjects. A man who has guarded my secrets and served me well. What was his name?” Benjmur waited patiently for the man’s teasing to run its course. “Ah, I judge that man is you.”
Benjmur’s eyebrows arched in mock surprise as he ceded his dignity to the charade. He bowed deeply. “It would be my honor to continue my service to the empire. May I inquire when you will announce your decision?”
“Tomorrow, if I remember. Or the next day. But rest assured, I’m anxious to rid myself of that barbarian yoke.”
“I’m grateful beyond words.” He glanced at the soldiers and gestured to the foot of the throne. “May I?”
“If you will.” Kyzan drew himself up and peered down his nose, then dropped his chin and glowered from beneath his eyebrows.
Benjmur sighed at the spectacle. “I would suggest easing your pursuit of the Anvrells.”
The future ruler scowled. “They’re murderers. They slew my sister, the Ezari Empress. I should burn their city to ash and plow it into the sea.”
“A fitting response, indeed,” Benjmur said. “But there is always the possibility that other unseemly plots will surface. These conspiracies tend to stretch their tentacles into the least expected cracks.” Kyzan ceased his fidgeting, and Benjmur continued, “This may be an occasion where—though we lament our loss and condemn those responsible—we let buried bones lie.”
“I’ll consider your advice, Lord Benjmur, but such treason cannot go unpunished.” The muscles around Kyzan’s eyes pinched. “Should you see the Anvrells, advise them that a step into Ezar will guarantee a drowning. They would be wise to avoid my justice.”
For a heartbeat, Benjmur wondered at the apparent genuineness of the outrage as if the man had been deceived by his own lies. He leaned forward. “I’ve encountered further rumor of Danzell’s activities.”
Kyzan raised an eyebrow.
“My daughter shared considerable information. Nallea’s loyalty is as steadfast as mine.”
“So you assured me. What is my sister cooking up?”
“She’s a soul-collector.”
Kyzan huffed and waved away the news. “Nothing remarkable in that, Lord Benjmur. Many of us imbibe a handful of souls, and on occasion, the burden seems weightier than the gains.”
“She swallows wise souls; her whole conclave does so.”
“A conclave?” Kyzan balked. “What conclave? And whatever for?”
“To exert their power, my lord. To rule not only Ezar and the Vales but the lands to the west and south. The whole of the world.”
“How many collaborators in this conclave of hers?”
“That question I cannot answer. Nallea didn’t meet any of them, but…” Benjmur hesitated, undecided about Johzar. Give the slaver up or use his treason as leverage? The man had been useful on occasion even if his loyalties were suspect. “But Danzell led her to believe their numbers are large enough to implement significant change.”
“My sister is a traitor to the throne.” Kyzan drummed his fingers.
“Nallea told me where to find them.”
Kyzan bolted up. “Where?”
“In the catacombs beneath the Temple of Souls.”
~17~
The glowing soul rolled in Danzell’s palm, and she tilted her head. If only she could pry into the sphere, truly comprehend the person bound within, their succulent secrets and forbidden dreams. The wise of the world weren’t without their idiosyncrasies, the blades of madness cleaving the mundane to unleash visionary brilliance.
Across the Temple’s table, Johzar studied her, a pendant on the surface between them, the one she’d given to him as a gift. The soulstone shone with the light of the soul within, her gift thus far rejected. Was he a fool or a wise man? She remained undecided, wary.
The Temple provided a safe haven for the moment. Though she carried a stolen key clipped to her belt, the monks continued to admit her and would keep her presence a mystery. She and Johzar met by the window on the eighth level, too high for the ordinary wanderer, and she kept her cowl up, face in shadow to all but him. “Why are you here, Johzar? Why the interest in imperial affairs? Why now? Why accompany me like my guard dog? What do you know? What do you want?”
He mulled over her inquiries, the gears grinding in his head as if visible to her eyes. Did he invent excuses or parse her questions for the ones he’d answer?
“Curiosity.”
“And?”
Another pause. “Boredom.”
“Aah.” She chuckled and dropped a hand to her lap, fingers tickling the hilt of her knife. “And profit? Are you for sale, slaver?”
“Now and then.”
“Now?”
He shook his head. “I’ll stick with curious.”
“Did you or someone from your crew murder my sister?” She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her dagger.
“Nae.”
“Do you have a suspicion?”
His gaze wandered to her hip as if the table were transparent. “I may not tell you if I knew, but my answer is nae.”
“Did you betray Raze and Azalus in the harbor?”
“I saved their lives and mine by handing over the girl. She’s Benjmur’s weakness, and he’ll protect her from Kyzan. I’m sure of it.”
Danzell sighed. “I should have killed them all in the catacombs and added their bones to the vaults. They’ve complicated my plans.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The voices in my head.” She smiled and rolled the soul.
He slid the pendant toward her. “I gift this back to you. I don’t need to listen to a stranger inside my head telling me what I already know.”
“Such arrogance from a slaver, Johzar. Do you claim the wisdom of the ancients?”
“Far from it.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “But I know myself and what I ought to do.”
“Hm.” She draped the pendant around her neck, eyes returning to the pearl of light in her palm. Her hesitation surprised her. Had she reached her limit? Did she edge to
ward the brink of madness from which she’d never recover? She hadn’t endured conflicting opinions in her head until recent events required choices for which the outcomes were unclear. When it all remained passive speculation, the answers came easily, reflecting a hypothetical black and white world without a broad palette of grays. Taking action was more nuanced.
She popped the sphere into her mouth and swallowed. Johzar leaned forward, studying her. Eyes closed, she surrendered to the sensation radiating from her stomach. Heat streamed through her veins and rushed into her head in a dizzying wave. She envisioned a room full of chattering, the newcomer mingling, ideas bouncing off others. Temperaments clashed and merged while differences flailed about with practiced words. Another stone thrown into the pond had created a chaos of ripples. She breathed through it, seeking the inevitable peace as the waters stilled.
A shiver slithered up her spine, and she flung her eyes open, fresh insights taking hold, a new question exploding in her head. “Is Nallea as naïve as she seems?”
Johzar blinked at her and frowned. “Where did that come from?”
“Answer me.” Her chair toppled over as she leapt up. “Would she confide in her father about the catacombs?” No time to wait for an answer, she whirled toward the stairs that coiled down the circular wall.
“Danzell!” Johzar called. With his limp, he wouldn’t keep up, and she didn’t care. She bounded down the steps, unheeding of the eyes turning to watch. Years of painstaking work rode on her speed, dozens of lives, a wealth of knowledge captured in a conclave of human minds. For all her hoarded wisdom, she’d made a mistake.
Legacy of Souls Page 10
