Thief of Lies

by Brenda Drake

“When did Gian die?” I asked.

  “It was 1938,” Kale said.

  “So that means they’ve been planning world domination for over seventy-five years at least,” I said.

  “Conemar was accused of murdering the seer, Agnost,” Kale said. “If he was indeed Agnost’s killer, then he’s been plotting even longer. Agnost was murdered in 1898.”

  He was born with an evil soul.

  “My God, how old is he?”

  Demos fidgeted with his sword. “Our textbooks put Conemar in his thirties at the time of Agnost’s death, so I’m assuming he’s nearing the hundred and fifty mark—midlife for a wizard.”

  “Didn’t Gian write something in his blood before he died?” said Arik.

  “He wrote Libero il Tesoro,” Sinead said.

  “Free the treasure,” I translated. “That’s the title of the poem.”

  A loud crack reverberated above our heads.

  Lightning shot across the ceiling as the fresco came to life. A bird squawked and a horse neighed. The boy holding the horse’s reins blew on his horn. The breeze brushing my face carried the sweet smell of grass and the spicy aroma of flowers.

  The warrior woman in the painting stood and leaped from the ceiling to the floor. Her skirt caught the air in a parachute of soft peach. She was like an Amazon—a tall warrior woman. The helmet and chest guard she wore were as golden as her skin.

  The woman reached her sword out to Sinead, who took it without hesitation. Then the woman hurled herself back up and into the painting. The wind receded, the lightning stilled, and the woman, horse, boy, and bird froze back into their places within the fresco.

  No one moved or made a sound. Several addled minutes went by before anyone stirred.

  “We have a Chiave.” Sinead held the sword out to Arik. “It must be in the care of our leader.”

  Arik seized the sword.

  The hallway erupted in celebration. All but Bastien, who whispered something to one of his Sentinels. The guy’s face hardened.

  Lei stopped in mid-celebration. “What’s going on here? How did Gia know where to find a Chiave?”

  My throat tightened. What could I say? The grim expression on Arik’s face did nothing to make me feel better.

  Arik cleared his throat. “Gia is the daughter of two Sentinels.”

  The collective gasp echoed against the walls.

  “I knew she was dangerous,” Lei spat.

  “You’re saying we’re in the end times?” Kale’s voice was scratchy.

  Bastien’s Sentinel sidled up next to me, sword drawn, as if to protect me.

  “No one touch her,” Bastien warned.

  Arik took an angry step toward Bastien, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Why would we hurt her?”

  My chest tightened as I scanned the Sentinels—would one of them try to hurt me? Trust no one, Gia rang in my mind.

  Sinead stepped into the middle of the group. “Her birth may have put the events in motion to cause the end of the worlds as we know them, but that doesn’t mean she will cause the destruction. You’ve all taken an oath to protect innocents. No matter what. Gia is an innocent. She’s one of you. You cannot turn your back on her. I can feel every emotion in this room, and I’m surprised by some.” She looked pointedly at Lei. “What I feel from Gia is her desire to do what is right.”

  “I’m with you, Gia,” Demos said.

  I smiled at him, and my muscles relaxed a little.

  “I will never let you lose who you are,” Kale added.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed, remembering the cab ride when I told him I was afraid of losing myself. I swallowed the emotion building in my throat, trying to keep it at bay.

  Lei huffed, not saying a word as she checked Kale’s wounds. I wanted to be anywhere but in the same place as her. Her coldness toward me could have frozen an ocean.

  Arik came to my side, leaned over, and lowered his voice. “Follow me. I have to talk to you, privately.”

  It sounded like an order, so I crossed my arms. “Don’t boss me, like the others. Remember I’m not a Sentinel yet.”

  “Are you barmy?”

  I loved how his strong brows pushed together over his dark eyes when he wasn’t sure about something. “What is that supposed to mean? Speak English, already.”

  “I live in England. I am speaking English,” he said. “Have you gone mad?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Will you please follow me? Is that better?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  I plodded after him into a long corridor with interminable rows of coat racks lining the walls. It had to be where the senators left their coats and stuff when visiting the library.

  “What is it?” I asked when we were out of view from the others.

  “Remove your sword.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to replace the Chiave with your sword. No one has seen yours or the Chiave up close. They won’t even notice the difference. It’s the only way to keep it safe.”

  “All right.”

  He took my sword and handed me the Chiave. I slid it into my scabbard and ran a finger over the golden hilt. An intense pain hit my breastbone. I gasped. My hand flew to my chest, and warm liquid drenched my fingers. I staggered into Arik’s arms.

  Arik removed my hand from my chest. “You’re bleeding.” He pulled back, examining my wound.

  “I think someone shot me,” I mumbled against his shoulder. I buried my chin into my neck, straining to see the wound. My scar was bleeding. I swiped the bloodied mark with my fingertips.

  “There isn’t a wound.” Arik paused. “I think your blood is calling you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I panted, more than a little freaked.

  “A calling is used to communicate with spirit seers. They’re seers who have died.” He rubbed his chin. “Usually, a seer cuts themselves and uses their blood with a crystal ball to get a vision from a spirit, but you’re not a seer. So it has to be coming from the other side.”

  “Are you saying a ghost made me bleed?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I’ve heard about spirit seers trying to communicate from the other side through nosebleeds and bloody tears and such. Perhaps you should try and perform a truth globe with it.”

  “That’s just crazy.”

  He punched out a breath. “Will you please try?”

  “Okay.” I smeared the blood onto my palm. “What do I ask it?”

  “Perhaps, you should ask it what it wants.”

  I frowned at him. “You know this is creepy, right?”

  He nodded. “But just do it.”

  My hand twitched as I created a truth globe. The silver sphere struggled to form in my hand. Pain shot across my brain, and I winced.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I guess it’s just a side effect of using the globes.” The pain subsided, and the globe balanced on my palm. “What would you like to show me?” I asked it.

  I gasped as the sphere’s shape changed. It became a silver hourglass, then the bottom half split into legs and the top half grew arms and a head. When the process was complete, a beautiful silver image of a naked woman perched on my palm. Her thigh-length hair draped over the front of her body.

  “It is an honor to come before the one Agnost presaged,” the woman said, sounding like she spoke through a tin can. “I am Agnes, the spirit of the Chiave found. Until all the Chiavi are recovered, this one will serve you well. This sword is a destroyer of all swords. May you fare well, heir of the Seventh Wizard.”

  Agnes’s silver body thinned and stretched until it turned into a line of silver smoke and dissipated.

  “Now, that I’ve never seen before,” Arik said.

  “Why am I not panicking?” I lowered my shaky hand. “This is crazy. It’s a dream. It has to be.” My breath quickened.

  Arik took my face in his hands. “You are panicking. Take a deep breath.”

  I gulped in some air. “I h
ave to get to Asile and get Gian’s book.”

  “We must get to Couve.”

  “No,” I protested. “You don’t understand. The chart is inside that book. It’s on the desk in my room.”

  “Calm down,” he said. “No one in Asile knows the chart is in your book. It will be safe until we return.”

  “How can you possibly know that? Conemar asked for the chart. It’s right in the open. Anyone can find it.”

  “If they knew where it was, he wouldn’t have asked you for it. We can’t afford to lose an ally. It’s imperative we aid Couve. Will you trust me?”

  “Yes, okay,” I said with a shaky voice.

  “Good.” He let go of my face. “Remember, keep mum about the sword exchange.”

  I nodded, placing my hand to my cheek where his had been.

  When we joined the others, Bastien met my gaze. His eyes were almost the color of blue ink on white paper. I absentmindedly rubbed at my throbbing scar. “You’re bleeding,” he said. The tender concern on his face made me speechless. Why did this guy seem to care so much when he didn’t even know me?

  “It’s not her blood,” Arik lied for me, walking between us and blocking my view of Bastien. “Let’s be on our way.”

  We entered Couve through a secret door behind an antique card catalogue. The tunnel was the same as Asile’s—dark, damp, and musty. Golf carts, tethered to outlets in the wall, waited at the bottom of the stairwell.

  I hopped into the front passenger seat of the last golf cart with Demos and Sinead. It was a tight fit. If I reached my arm out, I could touch the wall racing by.

  “Hey, there’s only room for one cart in here,” I hollered over the revving engine. “What happens if another one comes from the other side?”

  “We die,” Demos shouted from the driver’s seat around a wide grin.

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”

  “Did you see the red and green lights above the tunnel as we entered?” Sinead said from the back seat. “The lights let the driver know if he can go through or not.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t seen them. I glanced up at the ceiling on our next turn. There were two square lights, and, thankfully, the green one was lit.

  The carts buzzed around corners for nearly an hour before the tunnel came to a wide cavern. We stopped at another staircase and plugged the carts back in. The narrow steps were slimy underfoot, so I grabbed on to the railing going up. We stepped into an outbuilding identical to the one in Asile and went through the door.

  The castle of Couve sat on the bank of a large lake. The salt-white walls gleamed in the setting sun, its reflection twinkling on the water. Moss crept over a retaining wall surrounding it. We pushed through the gate and walked the narrow cobbled streets snaking through the tiny village at its base.

  Bastien’s aristocratic demeanor was gone. His shoulders sagged with the sorrow of his father’s death.

  Small gatherings of people lined the interior walls of the castle. People crowded each room off the foyer, and many sat on the wide stairway that led to the upper floors. Bastien moved into the crowd. When the somber people noticed him, they gave him compassionate smiles or whispered their sympathy as he passed by, and his shoulders drooped even more. I wanted to ease his pain, but the closer he got to the entrance, the faster he moved, and I couldn’t catch him.

  Bastien returned each smile given him with a warm one. His hand gently patted each person he passed. Witnessing the love his people had for him, despite his anguish, made me admire his bravery. I would have been a slobbering mess, but he spared time for a nod or quiet word.

  The crowd slowed him, enabling me to reach his side. He looked down at me, and a faint smile pressed at the corners of his mouth. We ascended the stairs together. Everyone else kept a respectful distance, but I saw him as someone in pain, and I wanted to be there for him. I knew how horrible it was to lose a parent.

  We crossed a catwalk and headed toward a closed door. It unnerved me to catch Arik’s tortured eyes on us through the railing of the banister. Was he jealous? The confusion in my heart flipped my stomach.

  I tore my gaze away from Arik and focused on the door ahead. Bastien turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. I stopped, and he turned to face me.

  “I’ll wait for you here,” I said.

  “You don’t have to. You could go with the others.”

  “No, I want to. I’ll stay.” I gave him a warm smile.

  He nodded. As he closed the door, I caught a glimpse of a woman with a regal posture kneeling beside a body stretched across a low table and draped with a sheer cover. Candles flickered dim light across her face. She brightened slightly after spotting Bastien.

  “Mon cher fils,” she said, grabbing the side of the table and pushing herself up to her feet. “Une terrible—”

  The door closed. I sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and hugged my knees. The only noise in the quiet corridor was my own breathing. Images of the recent battle haunted me. Nana and Faith facing unknown dangers in Asile terrified me. And whether Pop, Nick, and Afton made it to the shelter safely or not worried me.

  I wanted to go home. I wanted things back to the way they were.

  I needed Nana and Pop.

  Time crept by as I waited for Bastien, and I closed my eyes. But the nightmare of where I was and who I didn’t know I was, strangled my breath. Gia Kearns didn’t exist anymore. She’d been lost somewhere on that first day when the gateway book ripped her from her world, dumping her in a dark hole. A fog surrounded me.

  I startled awake when the door suddenly opened.

  “Je t’aime, Mère,” Bastien said.

  “Je t’aime, mon fils,” his mother returned.

  I slid up the wall to my feet. “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her that I love her. Shall we meet the others in the dining hall?”

  “If you want to stay with her, I can find the dining hall on my own.”

  His face was heavy with sadness. “She asked that I tend to our guests. As firstborn, I have certain duties to uphold.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as making sure you eat something.”

  “Seriously? I think that should be the least of your concerns.”

  We headed down the catwalk. “In all seriousness, I must, as my mother said, put on a brave face.”

  He certainly had the brave face down, all but the sad blue eyes part.

  What do you say to someone after suffering a great loss? I decided to make small talk to lift the uncomfortable feeling I had. “How come you don’t have an accent like your mother and Veronique?”

  “I spent my youth in Asile training to be a wizard and a few years in the States studying with a Native American witch, affording me the opportunity to practice my English. Veronique trained with a private coach in the French countryside, so her English is unpolished.”

  I watched my feet as we went down the staircase. We walked in silence through the lobby and down a long corridor. I couldn’t imagine how he was feeling. The loss of my mother when I was four still stung even after all these years. If I were to lose Pop, I couldn’t handle it.

  “All this must be scary for you.” There was sincerity in his voice. Despite the fact that he was beyond gorgeous and somewhat arrogant, there was an ease to him, a welcoming spirit. No wonder his people showed him so much love.

  “It is. I just want to be home.” He halted, and I stopped to face him.

  He brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. His touch was soft, caring. “It will never be the same for you, Gianna, but perhaps you will find new relationships here. Meaningful ones. You won’t lose those relationships back home,” he said. “They are your foundation. Your tether to that world.”

  It was as if he could see into my soul, and I felt naked. I turned from him and continued walking down the corridor.

  What’s going on with you, Gia? Get your emotions in check.

  He strolled beside me. “I didn’t mean to u
pset you.”

  “No, you didn’t. It’s just been a long day.” Why did he make me so nervous? “It’s weird that someone I just met understands me so well.”

  “That’s encouraging.” His lips raised slightly at the corners. “I’d like to get to know you better, if you would allow it.”

  I understood how he earned his rock-star status. He was the complete package—sexy and sincere, but I needed to stay away from him and his charm. I would fight this betrothal arrangement every way I could. Still, he was hurting, and I refused to be rude. “I’d like that.”

  “This is the Hall of Honor for our Sentinels,” he said. Portraits of men and women from ages ago decorated the walls, and bronzed statues of knights stood between each door we passed. “When a Sentinel dies in service, they are immortalized here.”

  I read the dates on the plaques nailed to each statue’s stand we went by. “Wow, they all died young.”

  “A Sentinel enters service at sixteen and leaves it at twenty-four. If they die after their service, it is usually from natural causes, and they’re buried in their family’s crypt.” Bastien halted in front of a statue of a young woman.

  The vision of the woman falling to the ground, a sword stuck in her chest, flashed through my mind. I gasped, my hand flying to my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The woman was only twenty-two when she died. Though cast in bronze, I imagined her eyes burning with life, her soft brown hair flowing behind her as she ran, and her willowy body fooling her opponents into believing her weak just before she wielded her sword and each blow she threw was a strong, solid hit. She never gave up. She never lifted her guard.

  The vision sped to the young woman sitting on an iron bench, seemingly lost in thought, surrounded by a brilliant array of flowers, with her sword leaning on the bench beside her. She read a letter, and her voice played in my head.

  Dearest Cousin,

  I know you asked that I don’t risk sending you updates, but I know if it was me, I would want to receive them. I just hope you still check your postal box. Your baby is doing wonderfully, growing strong each day, trying to crawl and keep up with Gia, even. I send you my love and hope you are doing well.