Fish—as long as her arm—with silver scales and white bellies were piled on a table outside one shop with an advertisement that they had been caught that morning. Nierne gagged and looked away, the smell of fish and brine making her eyes water.
They rode past a man shuffling along. His colorless garments hung limp on his thin body. Grizzly iron hair surrounded his face. Nierne tried discreetly to look at his eyes to see if they were different from her own. He looked up at her and stopped. Caught, she looked away and blushed.
They arrived at a second set of gates that separated the city from the castle. Just inside the gates was a courtyard with stables to the right. The area was covered in cobblestones, and everything was swept or put in its place, unlike the rest of the city.
The castle itself was at least three stories tall, made from sand-colored stone. Narrow windows lined the second and third floors. A set of double doors stood at ground level.
“Halt!”
Nierne and her two companions stopped just inside the gates. Her horse whinnied and pawed the ground.
A guard approached them from the right. “What business do you have here?”
Aiden dismounted and reached inside his satchel. He withdrew a rolled parchment. “Aiden, White City courier. Here with news for her ladyship, High Lady Astrea Celestis.”
The guard took the parchment and unrolled it. Nierne watched in fascination as his blue-grey eyes moved back and forth as he read. Sea eyes that changed with the mood of the sea. She wondered what they looked like when they changed.
Her own eyes were a dark grey, like a storm brewing off the coast, Father Reth used to say. Her chest tightened at the memory.
The guard rolled the parchment back up and handed it to Aiden. “You are free to proceed inside.”
Aiden took the parchment and tucked it back into his satchel. “Thank you. If possible, we need to see her ladyship right away.”
“I will see to it the head servant knows.”
Cormac swung a leg around and dismounted. Nierne did the same. Two men came from the direction of the stables.
Nierne left her horse, thankful to be done with the animal, and followed Aiden through the double set of doors. Inside, sunlight from nearby windows flickered off polished rose and gold-colored marble floor. Beige tapestries hung along the walls. One pictured a ship with full white masts on a stormy sea. Another showed a sea creature with a long neck and tail. On either side of its small head were yellow slit eyes. A dark wooden bench stood beneath the picture.
Nierne was tempted to sit down. Her insides coiled with fear, and her palms were sweaty. This was it. She had traveled over mountains and through marshes and forests to reach the Eldarans. And now she would finally meet them. Or specifically, meet her. But she didn’t sit—not after six days in a saddle.
Balint had said the Eldaran’s name was Rowen. And that she was one of Lady Astrea’s varors. Nierne closed her eyes and turned away from Aiden and Cormac.
Father Reth, I wish you were here. You would know what to say. What if I mess this up? What if they don’t believe me?
The question that had haunted the back of her mind came forward in one swift swoosh: Would Rowen come back with her to Thyra and save the people from the Shadonae?
“Nierne?”
Nierne started and turned.
Aiden looked at her. “Shall we go? Or do you need a moment?”
Nierne shook her head, not trusting her voice. Better to get it over with.
Aiden turned around, and Nierne saw a woman standing in the doorway, clothed in a long grey dress. “We are ready.”
The woman turned, and Nierne and the others followed her. Their boots clapped on the marble floor. After passing three doors, the servant stopped and knocked on the fourth. The door opened, and the servant stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind her.
Nierne waited, her insides twisting over each other. She looked at the door, then at Aiden, then at the window at the end of the hall. Puffy clouds dotted the bright blue sky. She took a deep breath and placed her hands over her stomach.
The door opened. A petite brunette walked out, dressed in a long blue gown and a thin, silver circlet on her head. She walked with grace, her head held high. Lady Astrea, Nierne thought, watching the woman approach Aiden.
Another woman followed her, with pale hair pulled back in a single braid and a dark blue tabard over her uniform. A smallsword hung at her side, and a leather glove covered her right hand.
A sizzling tingle swept across Nierne. Her gaze moved from the glove back up to the woman’s face, and her heart did a double beat. Lady Astrea’s varor. Rowen, the last known full Eldaran.
Aiden talked quietly with Lady Astrea and handed her a rolled parchment from his satchel. The other woman, the one Nierne thought must be Rowen, turned and looked at her. Her eyes were such a deep blue.
Nierne stared back, her mouth dry. Her body trembled. Should she say something? Do something? She opened her mouth to speak—
Lady Astrea gasped.
Rowen’s gaze left Nierne, and Nierne realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out and looked at Lady Astrea.
The woman’s face looked even paler than it had moments ago. She held the parchment up in a tight fist and stared at Nierne. “Is this—is this true? Shadonae…” Her hand shook slightly. “They are in the Lands?”
Nierne slowly nodded.
Lady Astrea’s eyes grew wide. “Dear Word, no,” she whispered. She slowly lowered the letter. Rowen gave Nierne a fleeting look and turned her attention back to Lady Astrea. Aiden stood next to her ladyship with a sober look.
Lady Astrea turned toward the window. The look on her face made Nierne feel as though she had just told the lady her mother had died. In a way, she had. She had just delivered a death sentence: for her, for her people, for every man, woman, and child.
“You were there when they attacked Thyra?” Lady Astrea asked.
“Yes, milady. They mind-possessed our soldiers and turned our military against us.”
“And you were taken prisoner?”
“Yes,” Nierne said.
“And you saw what they did?”
“You mean to the prisoners?” Nierne looked down at the floor. “Yes,” she whispered. “Also, they have released the Mordra, the shadows.”
There was a pause. The hall was silent. No one moved. “So how did you escape?” Lady Astrea asked finally.
“There was a breakout from Cragsmoor, the fortress where we were being held. One of the men who freed us was a father from my order, from the Monastery. He gave me a key that allowed me to escape Thyra through the catacombs.”
“Only you escaped?”
Nierne looked at the floor. “Yes.”
“And then you made your way to the White City, to find…help?”
Nierne looked up. Was Lady Astrea deliberately not saying the word Eldaran? “Yes.”
Lady Astrea said no more but continued to look out the window. Nierne pulled her cloak close and watched the young woman. Lady Astrea had just brought her country through a horrendous war with the Temanin Empire. She should be able to concentrate on healing and rebuilding. What a time to bring news like this.
Lady Astrea straightened and turned back around. A look of determination filled her face. “I must let the others know.” She looked at Nierne. “Please follow me. I want you to share your story with Prince Evander and Lord Tancred.”
Nierne’s eyes went wide, and her breath caught in her throat. The lords of the north were here? And Lady Astrea wanted her to speak to them? Father Reth, it should be you here, not me! I can’t do this!
“And Aiden?” Lady Astrea turned toward the courier.
Aiden took a step forward. “Yes, milady?”
“Wait here in the castle. I will want to send word back to the White City.”
Aiden bowed. “Yes, milady.”
Lady Astrea walked back toward the door. Cormac stood there, waiting. He pulled the door open.
Lady Astrea entered the room, Rowen followed. Nierne hesitated, then did likewise.
As they entered the room, all words flew from her mind, leaving behind a grey haze. Nierne clasped her hands in front of her. A long wooden table stretched the length of the room. Three windows in the far wall let in sunlight, illuminating the room. Two men sat on either side of the table.
Her gaze fell on the man sitting on the left. His skin was weathered and tan, and dark tattoos covered one side of his face. Bright blue eyes stared at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. His thick, wheat-colored hair fell over wide and muscled shoulders. His nose looked like it had been broken a couple of times. He wore a simple cream-colored tunic with a gold chain around his neck.
Nierne knew a little of the Nordic culture and had read about the Marks of Remembrance, but she had never met a Nordic. Was this tattooed man Lord Tancred of Nordica?
“Why is this young woman here?” a male voice said.
Nierne turned to her right and found the other man had stood. He was small in stature compared to the man with tattoos. Looked younger too. He wore a blue sash across his chest that brought out the strange blue color in his eyes. His sandy hair had been carefully parted and combed back. Prince Evander, maybe?
“I will explain, ” Lady Astrea said behind her.
The young man nodded and took his seat again.
Lady Astrea moved past Nierne and gripped the back of the nearest chair with one hand. Her other hand still clasped the parchment. Out of the corner of her eye, Nierne watched Rowen move to Lady Astrea’s right.
“Gentlemen.” Lady Astrea stood rigid behind the chair. “I have just received distressing news from our far western neighbor of Thyra.” She took a deep breath and laid the parchment down on the table. All eyes followed her movement. No one said a word. Nierne could hear herself breathe. Lady Astrea looked up. “The Shadonae are once again in the Lands.”
• • •
Shadonae. The word rang in Rowen’s ears. Shadonae. Somewhere nearby she could hear Lady Astrea speaking, but it was as though hearing through water. Her mind continued to spin over that single word. Shadonae.
Shadonae were here in the Lands.
Shock tingled along her limbs. Her mind lurched into the past, to a conversation with Lore. He had said these Shadonae had started the Nordic Wars. Powerful, twisted beings, he had called them.
Rowen knew little of the Nordic Wars other than they had wiped out most of the northern population over four hundred years ago. And that many of the Rylander people, including Commander Kelyn, were willing to do anything to make sure another bloody war like that never happened again. Including doing away with anyone with unusual powers. Like her.
She heard Lady Astrea refer to the red-haired woman as a scribe from Thyra named Nierne. This Nierne stepped forward to speak. Rowen felt lightheaded. Breathe in. Breathe out. She focused on the corner of the table. Fear prickled the back of her mind. Lore had sent her to Avonai to keep her safe, safe from those who would kill her if they found out what she was. But if the Shadonae were back, nowhere was safe. Furthermore, once those in this room found out she possessed such power, she would be put down.
Rowen listened as Nierne described the way the Shadonae would come into the dungeons and choose their victim. The Shadonae would then take hold of the captive’s arm, and by the mere touch of their hand, kill the person. Like they were draining the very life essence.
Rowen looked away. Anger surged through her, shoving aside her fear from moments before. And the people of the Ryland Plains thought she was a monster? She was nothing like these Shadonae! She did not kill people—she healed people! She would rather live with her leather glove than to ever hurt someone like that—
She stopped, her breath caught in her throat. But she did hurt people. Or rather, she terrified people. A wave of coldness swept her body. She made people see what lay deep within. Her power of truth tore away everything, stripping people bare, forcing them to see what they really were. Was that so different than what these Shadonae did?
You show people the truth so that they might be healed, a voice whispered inside her head. Not to hurt them.
But the people whom she had touched did not see it that way.
Nierne stopped speaking. Rowen looked up. Everyone was silent. Nierne stood rigidly at the end of the table like a statue. Lord Tancred stared out the windows at the end of the room. Lady Astrea stood to Rowen’s left, her face almost as pale as the wall behind her.
Prince Evander leaned across the table with hands clasped in front of him. “So what do we do?”
Lord Tancred turned back and looked at Prince Evander. “There is nothing we can do. My people tried everything to overthrow the Shadonae during the Nordic Wars. Weapons, poison, assassination. But they are too powerful, especially if they are guarded by the Mordra, like the young scribe says they are.” Lord Tancred shook his head. “Only the Eldarans had the power to stop them. But there are no more Eldarans. Not anymore.”
Rowen could barely breath. She kept her eyes focused on the rolled parchment. Only Eldarans had the power…
“No.” Lady Astrea’s voice rang across the room. “Lord Tancred, you are wrong.”
Rowen glanced up. Lord Tancred did not seem the kind of man one told no to.
“What do you mean?” he asked. The tattoos across his face pulled tight, and his eyes blazed. “I, more than anyone in this room, know about the Eldarans. We kept records of the last known remaining one. The line died out shortly after the Nordic Wars. All that is left are a couple of people with some Eldaran blood, but their powers are weak. There are no more true Eldarans left, none that could stand against the Shadonae.”
“There is one in this room.”
Shock hit Lord Tancred’s face like a slap. His expression would have looked comical if it had been any other time or topic. Instead, Rowen’s stomach turned to lead. She wished one of her abilities was to turn invisible. Nierne glanced at her, and Rowen saw a look of recognition. Did this woman know she was the Eldaran?
“I have kept her identity a secret,” Lady Astrea said softly. “Because there are those who would put her to death because of what she is.”
Rowen felt the stares of those in the room. She kept her gaze on the table, refusing to look up. A flush crept up her neck.
“My varor Rowen is under my full protection,” Lady Astrea continued. “I watched her heal my captain, and she saved my own life. She healed those injured during the bombing of my city. And the Word used her to save the entire White City. Therefore I have chosen to disregard my forefathers’ decision to dispose of anyone with unusual abilities. I have chosen to let Rowen live.”
“An Eldaran,” Lord Tancred said in a hushed voice bordering on reverence. Rowen glanced up and found him staring at her. “I never thought I would live to see one…” The heat from her cheeks spread across her face.
Prince Evander, however, folded his arms and frowned. “How do we know she really is an Eldaran? The scrolls I have read say the Rylander people freed themselves from the oppression of Nordica. That there were no Eldarans. And there never have been, not since the Great Battle.”
Lord Tancred’s eyes flashed, and he turned his gaze away from Rowen. “My people were there!” He pressed a finger against the table. “They know what happened!”
“Gentlemen!” Both men turned toward Lady Astrea. “This can be settled without raised voices and accusations. Rowen—” Lady Astrea looked at her with a pained expression on her face— “I’m sorry to ask you this, but would you show these men your mark?”
Prince Evander’s gaze darted to her face. His sea eyes were like Lore’s, yet they held none of the compassion and understanding that Lore’s did. Instead, they looked cold and hard. It seemed Prince Evander would not be an ally.
Word, please help me. Her hand shook as she reached for the glove. She glanced at the door that led to the hallway and pulled. The glove came off with little resistance. Rowen stared at her palm, fear
pooling inside her chest. Then slowly, carefully, she held up her hand.
Prince Evander’s gaze went to her hand.
The memory washed over Rowen of standing in that two-story house back in Cinad when the council of elders had asked her to hold up her hand.
“The Mark of the Word,” Nierne whispered.
Prince Evander leaned back in his chair, as far from Rowen as he could. “How do we know we can trust her?” He looked at Lady Astrea.
Rowen clenched her teeth. Prince Evander feared her, just like Commander Kelyn, just like her village. She brought her hand down, anger and disappointment swelling inside her.
“Because all she has ever done is help others.” Lady Astrea looked pointedly at Prince Evander.
Prince Evander gripped the arms of his chair, his eyes darting between Rowen and Lady Astrea. Rowen pulled her glove back on.
Nierne stepped toward the table. “That is why I came.” Her face looked white, and her hands twisted at the fabric of her pants. “We cannot fight the Shadonae alone. Our weapons cannot touch the shadows that serve them. Anyone who comes close to a Shadonae either dies or become mind possessed. But the Word—” she turned and looked at Rowen— “gifted the Eldarans with power. You can do what we cannot. You must come to Thyra and help us. Please.”
Rowen stood still. She wanted to laugh, cry, shout at those around her. They had no idea what they were saying. They didn’t know what she really did when she touched a person. “I don’t understand,” Rowen said, her voice cracking. She looked at Nierne. “What can I do against these-these Shadonae?” Dear Word! She couldn’t save anyone! Who was she compared to these beings who could possess minds and kill with just a touch of their hand? She was nothing!
“You can stop them.”
Rowen balled her hands into two tight fists. “How?” The word came out like a sharp slap.
Nierne blinked and took a step back. “I don’t know, exactly. Recorded history shows that your kind have stopped them in the past. And Father Reth, a man from my order, believed you could help us. He believed enough to—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “To give his life so I could find you.”
Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 6
