Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  A long-forgotten emotion stirred inside Sara. She grappled with it, trying to name it...Ah, yes. This was impatience. His game tired her.

  She grabbed the brand, a little surprised by how hot the rod was, but not surprised enough to drop it, and pressed the red-hot iron to her neck.

  A wave of white pain flashed through her body from her head to her toes. Fascinating, how one tiny area could produce such extreme sensation. She almost closed her eyes to concentrate on the intense feeling, but she wanted to watch Nir.

  Their eyes met and held. The smell of burning flesh reached her nose. Nir yanked the brand away—and she let him. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. In a way he hadn’t. “Sara’s not hiding,” she told him. “Sara’s not here.”

  Though Sara was coming back, slowly, as the soul shared by her and the baby grew.

  * * *

  The branding weakened Sara’s body.

  The pain kept her awake all night, even as it wrapped a veil around her thoughts.

  When Cassia came at sunrise to pinch and slap her, Sara continued to lie on the rough blanket in a stupor. Cassia’s voice turned shrill, but Sara couldn’t pick out a single word in the jumble.

  With a last kick, Cassia went away. Wettar came.

  His mouth moved, but only gibberish came out.

  Wettar touched the side of her neck where the new brand throbbed. A piece of skin pulled off in his hand, and he grimaced. The touch sent a wave of nausea through her, and she retched.

  Sara remembered noticing a whole green pea floating in the vomit...and not much after that.

  She had the confused impression of being carried on a litter, of being first so cold her body shuddered and then too hot.

  Someone forced her to swallow bitter mercia, but she only retched it back up. Then the person applied salve to her neck, briefly cooling the fierce burn.

  An indeterminate time later voices interrupted dark. Sara struggled to see, but her eyes wouldn’t open.

  “Why bring her here?” A woman’s voice.

  “She’s pregnant,” a man replied. Wettar.

  “Then take her to the Temple of Fertility. We know little about pregnancies here.” A rueful laugh.

  “No, high priestess, but you do know about miscarriages.”

  “Is she bleeding?” Sharply.

  “It might be best if she did. Nobody would be surprised given what her body’s going through right now.”

  A long silence. Feet shuffled.

  “I’ll not do anything against her will,” the woman said.

  Wettar sighed. “Then, perhaps, while she’s recovering, you could give her some advice on pleasing men. Or he’ll kill her.”

  “I was trained in Temborium. Your master’s predilections were well-known at the temple there. We both know what truly pleases him is hurting women.” A huff of breath. “Very well. Bring her into the temple.”

  The litter jostled into motion, and Sara faded out again.

  * * *

  Panic constricted Lance’s throat. He wanted to shove past the gray-haired acolyte barring his way into the Temple of Mercy and search it himself. “What do you mean Sara’s not here?”

  “Exactly as I said,” the moon-faced woman said primly. “She left after only two days. Just walked off without a word to anyone.” She sniffed.

  Unfortunately, that sounded very like something Sara would do.

  “If you ask me, the girl’s simple-minded.”

  Lance swallowed back a blast of rage. “If that’s so, why didn’t you follow her?”

  “We’re a Temple of Mercy, not Justice. No one is kept prisoner.” Haughty words, but the acolyte looked away guiltily. “I did call her and take a look down the street, but I saw no sign of her, and I had two sick boys, twins, to nurse.”

  Lance rubbed at his swollen eyelid, some of his anger draining away. From what he’d seen the gray-haired acolyte all but ran the temple, with very little help from the even more elderly priestess. “You’ve no idea where she might have gone?”

  The acolyte shook her head. She eyed him warily. “Would you like to come inside? I can make up a warm compress for your eye.”

  “No. I have to go.” He thanked her brusquely, then left, his thoughts spinning.

  Where could Sara have gone? Had she tried to return to him, like an iron fragment pulled by a lodestone? But eight days was more than enough time for her to walk back to the rebel camp. Dread chilled his skin. Something had happened to her.

  Lance hurried up and down the cobbled streets of Tolium, peering into the eyes of every woman he passed. None of them were Sara.

  After an hour of walking, his shoulders hunched in despair. He’d never find her, flailing around like this. He needed a better plan.

  Ignoring the other passersby, he stood in the middle of the street, thinking. Not moving. Except every time he blinked, the stye scratched his eyeball, causing it to water.

  Ignore it. Think.

  Rhiain. Maybe Rhiain could sniff out her trail. How many days had passed since the last rain? Too few, he feared, but he had to do something. The thought of Sara out there, on her own, in the wide Republic made him frantic. His teeth clenched, every muscle knotted with fear. She might do anything, stab anyone.

  He never should’ve left her.

  Lance bent his footsteps to crossing the bridge out of Tolium, speeding up as he neared the small camp in the shelter of a ring of giant cedars.

  “Where’s Rhiain?” he asked Edvard. Rhiain had insisted he not journey alone, and Edvard had clamoured to come, too, as “an extra pair of hands.” Lance had guessed their real motives, but he’d welcomed their company.

  “She didn’t go looking for Fitch, did she?” Lance asked, when Edvard didn’t immediately answer. Fitch was recruiting at the Temples of Wine in Tolium.

  “Not exactly,” Edvard mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

  Lance didn’t have time for all this young love drama. “Then where is she? I need her help.”

  “I told her Fitch sometimes visits the Temple of Beauty.”

  Lance understood at once. He fought the urge to smack Edvard. Though sometimes called the Temple of Beauty, Jazor’s temple was usually called by another name. When Lance had been the Hostage for Peace, Primus Varet had once tried to bribe him with a visit from an acolyte of the Goddess of Desire. “Did you tell Rhiain what kind of Temple it was?”

  “No.” Edvard’s pale skin flushed.

  “Wait.” Lance put a hand to his forehead. “Rhiain can’t enter the city.”

  “The temple has its own gate in the city wall, for privacy. Fitch always uses it.”

  “And you told her where to find it. Why?” Rhiain, Fitch and a Temple of Desire were a disaster waiting to happen.

  “I couldn’t stand it any more!” Edvard burst out. “She looks at Fitch like he’s a god.”

  “And you wanted to show Rhiain the feet of clay.” Part of Lance sympathized. A small part. “You snail-brained fool.” He cursed until he noticed Edvard was staring at him, round-eyed. The boy still didn’t understand what he’d done. Lance painted him a picture. “What do you think will happen when Rhiain discovers her prospective mate has been untrue to her? Do you think she’ll slink off and cry? Rhiain has the emotions of a young woman, but her instincts are that of a shandy, a warrior. What do animals do when they’re wounded?”

  Edvard paled. “I—I never—”

  Lance had no sympathy
for him. The youth had to understand what he was dealing with in Rhiain. “They strike out at what hurt them. She may tear his throat out.” Not that Fitch didn’t half deserve it, for petting and flattering Rhiain.

  “Even if Rhiain were an ordinary woman, do you think this is how to earn her love? By setting her up to be humiliated? She’ll know that you know, and she’ll avoid your company like the plague.”

  Edvard winced.

  Lance shook his head. “And here I thought you were smarter than Fitch.”

  Edvard’s head jerked up, colour blooming in his cheeks.

  That one had stung, had it? Good. Lance was cheering for the boy, but he had to start thinking.

  “Tell me how to get to the temple,” Lance demanded.

  “I’ll show you the way,” Edvard said at once.

  “Oh, no. You’ll stay right here.” Lance pointed at the forest floor. “Far away from Fitch and Rhiain. If I can reach Rhiain before Fitch leaves the temple, I may still be able to avert disaster.”

  * * *

  Rhiain’s lope slowed as a pink marble cupola soared into view over the top of the city wall. This must be the Temple of Beauty. It looked like a rose in bloom.

  Shallow steps of pale marble led up to a pink door.

  The two guards flanking the heavy doors impressed Rhiain less. Unlike legionnaires, gems encrusted their armour and helmets and even the pommels of their swords. Could they even fight with all that extra weight? Rhiain snorted. They’d probably be too worried about losing a bauble to even use their weapons.

  Still, she had no desire to kill them. She just wanted to see Fitch and ask how his recruitment had gone.

  She could’ve just lurked beside the gate, but curiosity hooked its claws into her. She wanted to see the rest of the temple.

  A little farther down the wall she found an olive tree that had grown close. She used its lower branch as a jump off point. The tree shuddered wildly, branches scratching against stone, but she landed neatly on top of the city wall, only having to dig her claws in a little to regain her balance. Then it was like strolling down a road.

  Though it was daylight, the guards didn’t glance up as she padded along the foot-wide ledge over their heads. Perhaps their helmets obstructed their hearing.

  Rhiain tried to scent Fitch, but instead a wonderful perfume filled her nostrils. Judging herself to be inside the temple grounds, she leaped down from the wall, landing on her feet in a...garden?

  Shandies didn’t grow plants, but Rhiain had visited plenty of farmers and seen their gardens: straight rows of vegetables, miniature crops.

  The Temple of Beauty had flower gardens.

  Amarasave was a ubiquitous crop in Kandrith. Rhiain had seen fields of the purple flower and had thought them very pretty, but this...this was beauty.

  Roses in a dozen shades from red to pink and into orange rioted in tiered boxes. Yellow tulips marched in rows. Delicate violets and bluebells fringed a small pool.

  The pool was quite shallow, and instead of being green with moss and algae, was perfectly clear, reflecting an upside-down image of the cupola-crowned pink temple.

  “It’s beautiful,” Rhiain breathed.

  “Yes,” Lance agreed, surprising her. To her shame, she’d been so caught up in the temple’s beauty that she hadn’t noticed him walk in through the gate. “But it’s also artificial. Give me a meadow in Kandrith any time. It’s not as pretty, but it’s wilder.”

  Rhiain coughed in disbelief. The temple made the Hall in Kandrith look like a crude shed.

  “Rhiain, I need your help. Sara’s—”

  Rhiain didn’t hear the rest, every nerve in her body coming to quivering attention as Fitch exited the temple, his arm looped around a second man’s shoulder, holding him up. Rhiain barely heeded his wine-smelling companion, focused on Fitch. He was so, so manly. And his face...She lived to see his smile and to feel his hand stroke her back.

  As they were in the shadow of the wall, Fitch didn’t notice them until Rhiain gave a loud purr. “Fitch!” She bounded down the length of the pool to meet him.

  Beside her, Lance swore and followed.

  Rhiain didn’t wait for him. She padded forward and met Fitch, rubbing her great head against his palm. Then stopped dead. Sniffed. Her scent had been replaced with another. She smelled sex!

  Did it come from the other man? No, the smell of perfume and musk clung to both Fitch and his companion. He’d mated with some woman! Rhiain raised her hackles and growled.

  The second man gave her a loose-lipped smile. “This your tame kitty? Pretty puss.” He lifted a hand to pet her.

  Lance knocked it down, before Rhiain bit it off. “Stay back!”

  Anger and jealousy beat at her like successive blows. She wanted to pounce on Fitch, knock him down, wash the other scent off of him. Didn’t he know that he was hers?

  And then humiliation crawled over her, stinging like fire ants. Because he wasn’t hers—she’d been fooling herself. He was a virile man, and she was a shandy. A beast. Not human.

  She could track down the woman he’d lain with and claw her throat out, but her blood wouldn’t make Rhiain feel better. She wanted Fitch, wanted a mate, and she couldn’t have either.

  Choking on rage, embarrassment and jealousy, Rhiain lifted her head and gave vent to a full-throated roar, before letting her legs carry her away. She sprang onto the wall in one leap and jumped down the other side, losing herself in the woods.

  * * *

  Fitch paled, but he masked his fear with a shrug. “What’s got her tail in a twist?”

  Lance resisted the urge to black his eyes. “Cats are possessive. They don’t like to share. Stop petting her. It means something different to her than it does to you.”

  Fitch sidestepped the issue. “I’m glad to see you, priest. You’ve saved me a trip. I need a favour and you owe me for taking in your strays.”

  Lance had no desire to grant Fitch any favours. The world did enough of that. Remember your goal. Kandrith needs an independent Gotia to challenge the Republic. He gritted his teeth. “What?”

  “There’s a woman staying in the temple. Jazor says she’s the high priest of Nir’s slave.” Fitch’s eyes glittered with excitement.

  Lance hung onto his patience. “What’s the favour?”

  “The woman’s delirious with fever. Jazor says she may die. If you heal her, she might divulge something of Nir’s plans, in gratitude.” Fitch waggled his eyebrows.

  Lance clenched his fists. Time pressed on him. He needed to find Sara. But Rhiain had run off, heartbroken, and probably wouldn’t return for hours. And if someone was dying, his duty was clear. “I’ll heal her,” he said, grudgingly, “but I’ll not badger the poor woman with questions about her owner.”

  If this was the same high priest that Sara had spoken about with such loathing, then the slave would doubtless be too terrified to talk.

  Fitch nodded, unfazed. “It would probably be best if I questioned her anyway. You don’t know what to ask.” Turning, he addressed his companion. “Breslin, wait for me here.”

  Breslin didn’t reply, slumped either asleep or passed out, on a bench by the pool.

  “Is he your newest recruit? He looks like a great warrior, much better than my ‘strays.’” Lance couldn’t resist poking at Fitch.

  Fitch’s lips tightened. He headed back to the temple.

  Once through the mother-of-pearl do
ors, he tossed off a command for Lance to wait while he spoke to Jazor.

  Lance paced the marble floors instead. If Rhiain couldn’t pick up Sara’s scent, what was he going to do? Ask after her in the market and wine temples? Both options seemed fruitless. His stomach knotted with worry.

  The door Fitch had gone through opened again, and a statuesque redhead with a regal carriage glided toward him, a practiced smile on her lips. “Welcome, kind sir. You look weary. May I offer you a bath?” She placed a perfumed hand on his shoulder.

  Lance resisted the beautiful redhead’s tug on his arm. “I don’t need a bath.” Well, that was a lie. He smelled of sweat, and road dust coated him. “I don’t want a bath now,” he amended. He especially didn’t want the green-eyed beauty to wash his back, which he suspected she’d insist on. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  She giggled. “I know. Fitch sent me here to keep you company. Jazor was naked and well...” A sigh of envy. “They’re honouring the Goddess.”

  Again? Hadn’t Fitch just lain with a woman? “How long is he likely to take?” he asked bluntly.

  The redhead fanned herself. “It’s hard to tear those two apart.”

  Lance frowned. “Are they in love, then?” He wouldn’t have guessed Fitch capable of such tender feelings.

  The redhead tinkled a laugh. “Don’t be silly! But the air almost combusts with passion whenever they’re in the same room. It’s because Fitch is favoured by Nir, of course.”

  His expression must have shown his incomprehension because she smiled seductively and brushed her breast against his arm. “Surely you’ve heard the story? Only the Goddess of Beauty and Desire can tame the heart of the God of War.”

  “Jazor is the name of both your high priestess and your Goddess?” He’d forgotten that Republican custom. It had always seemed odd, verging on blasphemous, to Lance, as if implying that the priestess was equal to that of a Goddess.

  The redhead looked puzzled. She drew in a deep breath, inflating her already abundant cleavage. “Of course!”