by K. C. May
She pressed the doll’s head over Keturah’s face, not hard enough to awaken the wretch, but firmly enough to stop her breathing. At first, the girl made a hiccupping sound, and then her hands pushed lazily at the doll over her face.
“Mama?” Iriel was sitting up in bed. “I’m over here.”
Damn her. Feanna pulled the doll away. Keturah’s eyes were still closed, but her brow was wrinkled. Her mouth dropped open, and she took in a deep breath. Her hands relaxed. Feanna tucked the doll under the child’s arm, nestled against her chest, before rising. She took her map and candle and turned to Iriel.
“Darling,” she whispered, going to her daughter’s bed. “I didn’t realize you were sharing a room. I’ve missed you so.” She sat on the edge of the bed and embraced the girl.
“I’ve missed you, too. They won’t let us see you. Are you feeling better now?”
“Oh, yes. Much better. I needed to check in on you to make sure you’re all right. Are you getting enough to eat?” The role of doting mother felt like an old pair of shoes that had become molded to her feet over time, but the words came out sounding flat.
“Yeh, but we miss you at the table. You must have grand stories to tell about Ambryce.”
“Oh, I do, my sweet. I’ll be well enough to join you soon, and then you’ll hear all about them. Iriel, you mustn’t tell anyone I’ve come to see you tonight, all right?”
“How come?” the girl asked.
“Because your papa gave orders for me to stay in my rooms until he returns. I had to see you, and so I broke the rules. If you tell anyone, I’ll get into big trouble, and Papa will be very angry with me.”
“Awright,” she said. “I won’t tell.”
“Viragon Sisters always keep their promises. If you swear it, I’ll be able to rest assured this is our secret.”
Iriel smiled. “I swear it, Mama. I won’t tell nobody you came to see me.”
“Good girl.” She embraced the child once more and kissed her forehead. “I’ve always loved you the most. Now, go back to sleep, love.” She settled back against the pillow, and Feanna pulled the blanket up over her and smoothed it over her arms.
“G’night, Mama.”
“Goodnight, love.” She stood and cast one longing glance at Keturah before she slipped into the corridor and made her way back to the safety of her own rooms.
Chapter 28
Cirang lay face down on the cold, hard stone of the executioner’s dais, running her fingers over the grooves designed to carry blood to the buckets below and imagining her own blood being freed, along with her spirit and her guilt. Though she would’ve been grateful to die, her death belonged to King Gavin, and she’d already taken enough from him. She wouldn’t take that from him too. The debt she owed him would be paid or she would die trying.
Daia was sitting on the ground with her back against the gaolhouse and her chin on her chest. She was right to hate Cirang after the years Cirang had spent hurling taunts and insults and setting traps designed to get her kicked out of the Viragon Sisterhood. Though she wasn’t the same Cirang Daia had known, she understood why Daia couldn’t let go of her hatred, and that made Cirang sad. It was no way to live each day.
The Nilmarions believed that certain thoughts and emotions were destructive to the soul, and they were conditioned from birth to avoid them through redirection. Sithral Tyr had been a full-grown man the first time he ever felt angry enough to hurt another person, and Cirang believed with her entire being that that occasion had marked his descent into darkness. She watched Daia breathing the deepness of sleep and wished she could unburden her. King Gavin valued Daia greatly, and to imagine her going through what Tyr had broke Cirang’s heart, not only for Daia’s sake, but for the king’s.
A tear dribbled off the bridge of her nose and into the groove in the rock. She watched it make its way towards the edge and stop. If she could pay her debt in tears, she’d have been free by now.
Free. She snorted, chastising herself for the ludicrous thought. She would never be free. King Gavin would execute her as he’d promised, and rightly so. Yes, he was a merciful man, but he owed her a death, and he’d promised to give it to her once she helped him fix what she’d done. What could Cirang do? She had no magic power. She had no conduit thing like Daia. All she had were arms and legs to carry his bags.
And the talent for carving.
She propped herself upon her elbows, her thoughts whirling about. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Tyr had carved charms that his people believed were imbued with power from the gods. Maybe she could carve something that would be helpful to Gavin. First, she would have to convince him to give her a knife. Daia believed that she would try to off herself, but King Gavin knew better. He knew she was sincere, that she would do anything he asked of her without question or delay. Killing herself would only pass her debt on, through death and into her next life.
She turned and lay on her back, staring up at the star-speckled black sky, wishing he would come back so she could relax. It was Daia’s job to worry about him, but she was asleep. How could she sleep while the king was in the-gods-only-knew where? What was happening to him?
Footsteps approached. She sat up to peer into the darkness. “Daia,” she said softly. “Someone’s coming.”
Daia stood quickly, as if she hadn’t been asleep at all, and put a hand on her sword. They were on the Lordover Ambryce’s property, but Cirang understood the defense impulse that years of living as a Viragon Sister trained into a battler.
“Why are you two still here?” It was King Gavin, safe and unharmed.
Relief flooded her, and she exhaled it out.
“Where else would we be?” Daia asked. “Did you get what you needed?”
“I did. Let’s get some sleep, and we can get started in the morning.”
Although the idea of sleeping in the Lordover’s guesthouse made Gavin visibly uncomfortable, he agreed it would spare them the precious time of having to go to the Princess inn, only to return in the morning to get Hennah. He slept in the smaller bedchamber, while Daia took the one that Feanna had used to seduce Adro. Cirang slept in the foyer. She didn’t mind. With Gavin back home, safe, she sank easily into a deep slumber on the settee and didn’t awaken, not even to turn over, until Daia poked her with a booted foot the next morning.
One of the lordover’s servants came to invite them to break their fast. Cirang’s stomach rumbled, but Gavin dashed her hopes by declining. His eyes looked bright for the first time since she’d first dangled Crigoth Sevae’s journal in front of his nose. Cirang stuffed her feet into her boots and hurried to catch up to him and Daia as they strode across the dewy grass towards the gaol.
“Where are we going?” Daia asked. Cirang was glad she asked these things because she felt awkward speaking out of turn to ask herself.
“Back to Tern. I need one o’my summoning runes,” he said. “We’ll take Hennah with us so I can do the procedure on her afore I try it on Feanna.”
“Gavin, wait,” Daia said, halting. “Don’t be angry.” She dug into her knapsack and pulled out a smooth, gray river rock.
He gaped at her. “How did you get this?”
“I’m sorry. I’d forgotten I had it with me.”
“How the hell did you get this?” he shouted, snatching the stone from her hand. “It was locked in my chest.”
Gavin Kinshield was a large man, one of the biggest Cirang had ever met, and with his heavy brow pressed low over the deep-brown eyes boring into Daia from above, Cirang mouthed a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that she wasn’t the subject of his wrath. She might have pissed herself. Daia, on the other hand, didn’t shrink at all under his angry gaze. She calmly explained that when he’d gone to talk to King Arek about the Well of the Damned, she’d waited for him in the downstairs library.
“At first, I paced a bit as I always do when you go through the vortex, and I tripped over the edge of the rug. My hand accidentally bumped your chest and knocked the
gargoyle off.”
“How could it fall off?” he asked. “I put it back when I took the rings and the rune of the past. It should’ve stayed there until I took it off again.”
“I know,” she said. “I was as surprised as you are. Do you remember when you first gave Feanna your warrant tag?” He nodded, and she went on. “She brought her children to Tern because she said she couldn’t feel you anymore, and she became worried.”
He crooked one eyebrow.
“When you leave this realm, or apparently this time, you cease to exist as far as certain kinds of magic are concerned. Feanna’s empathy can’t reach you, and the gargoyle lock unlocked itself.”
“As if I were dead,” he said under his breath.
“I was curious and took one of the runes out to look at it. Edan happened by and saw me, and he begged me to give it to him so that he could draw the rune’s shape in the encyclopaedia. You know how he is about recording knowledge in that book.”
King Gavin nodded, more relaxed now but still standing over her.
“You came back before he returned the rune, and we made plans to take Cirang to the farmhouse. He gave it back to me later that day, and I intended to return it to the chest, but he convinced me to bring it in case you needed it. I knew that if I’d told you I was bringing it along, you’d insist on leaving it behind, and so I put it in my knapsack. If you didn’t need it, no harm done. But if you did...”
“And I do,” he said.
“Then you’d be ever so grateful.” Daia smiled sweetly.
King Gavin put a hand on the back of her neck and squeezed. “My thanks, but swear to me you won’t ever do something like that behind my back again.”
“Not even if I’m sure you’ll thank me later?”
He gave her an impatient look.
“Fine,” she said. “I promise.”
“Awright, let’s do this.”
They continued on towards the gaol, their footsteps invigorated. Cirang couldn’t help but sense King Gavin’s excitement, though she had no idea what was to come.
“What, exactly, are we doing?” Daia asked, her strides nearly long enough to match his. “You never did explain what Carthis told you.”
He grinned at her and wagged his eyebrows. “The idea I had about swapping one person’s essence with another was almost right. The essences have to be complements, and our complements are in the yellow realm.”
“Yellow? Isn’t that one of the kho realms?” Daia asked.
“Yeh. Carthis gave me a spell that lets me imprint a person’s essence in a gem, like pressing your finger into clay to get the fingerprint. I can use the gems in my sword for that.”
Cirang nodded along with Daia. She didn’t truly understand magic, but she followed his explanation so far.
“Then you find someone in the yellow realm who’s the opposite of Hennah or Feanna?”
“Not quite,” Gavin said. “Hennah’s khozhi balance was reversed by the water, so I have to find someone whose essence matches hers. If Hennah used to be, say, two-thirds zhi and one-third kho, drinking the water made her two-thirds kho and one-third zhi. When I find someone in the yellow realm with that balance, I summon him here, swap their essences, and send him home again.”
Daia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “And if Hennah drinks the water again, that turns her new essence from two-thirds kho to two-thirds zhi?”
“Exactly. Puts it back to the way it was.”
“What about the yellow-realm person? He gets her corrupted essence.”
“Yeh. He’s no different than he was, except that now he’s immune to the water’s effect. Everyone wins.”
Cirang understood now, and she shared his fervor. If this worked, her debt would soon be paid. She wasn’t counting on being released—the king had stated his intention to execute her several times—but he was a kind man, generous and, maybe, possibly, forgiving.
Inside the gaol, the warden unlocked the inner door, escorted them down the dim corridor, and then unlocked and opened one of the cell doors.
The battler inside looked like a wild animal with her matted, grayish-brown hair and her filthy face and hands. Even her clothes were grimy and smelly, though it had only been a week since Cirang had fed her the tainted water. “What do you want?” Hennah asked, sitting up on her cot. Her large mouth and nose were too close together, making her chin look huge, and her brown eyes were smaller and set farther apart than most. Her forehead looked rounded and seemed to end at the highest point of her head. She wasn’t a woman who turned heads like Daia did, or at least not in the same way.
Cirang and Hennah had known each other for a few years in the Viragon Sisterhood. As someone who’d looked for reasons to laugh at others, Cirang had always enjoyed Hennah’s self-deprecating sense of humor. Though Hennah had been quiet, preferring the company of her horse to other people, she had a way with children, breaking the ice by making fun of her own appearance.
The king drew his sword.
“Hey, now,” Hennah said, raising her hands, palms out.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held the weapon as if to show her the carved snakes that made up the hilt or the gems that decorated it. His eyes rolled back under his lids until only a sliver of the brown iris showed, then they quivered a moment before returning to normal. She’d seen him do that before, and it concerned her now as it had the first time, but he seemed to suffer no ill effects. “We’ll be back shortly.”
Cirang and Daia shared a confused look before following him back up the corridor. The sound of the cell door being locked behind them was followed by the warden’s footsteps as they all followed King Gavin back outside.
“What now?” Daia asked.
“Now we go to find her complement.”
“We?”
“This time, you’re coming with me.”
“I am?” Daia asked, blinking hard. “You mean, all this time I could’ve come with you? Damn it, Gavin.” She glared at him with those icy blue eyes that had always made Cirang a bit uncomfortable. “It’s my job, my purpose—”
“Calm yourself,” Gavin said. “Carthis reminded me yesterday that I could bring others with me.”
“Reminded you? How could you forget something like that? You’ve only been traveling to other realms for a few months.”
He shook his head. “Never mind. The point is that you can come with me from now on.”
Daia’s gaze drifted away while her eyebrows knitted, seemingly to puzzle out his words.
“Forget it,” he said with a grin. He sorted through his knapsack and pulled out a rune.
“What about her?” She pointed a thumb at Cirang.
Gavin looked her up and down.
“I won’t run off, I swear,” Cirang said. If she had to, she would drop to her knees and beg him not to make her wait in a gaol cell.
He looked at the warden. “Anya’s mail and weapons.”
“We’ve got them in storage.” The warden held up a finger and then went inside.
“You’re not going to arm her,” Daia said warily.
“Where we’re going is a bit dangerous, and they’ll want to kill me to become Wayfarer. I’ll be more comfortable with two battlers at my back.”
Chapter 29
Gavin ran the edge of his thumb and middle finger under the strap across his chest to make sure it was snug. He hoped he wouldn’t need to use his sword, but if he did, he wanted it ready. He put the summoning rune Daia had given him into his knapsack and slung it onto his right shoulder.
“You’re bringing everything?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Why not? Who knows what I’ll need when we get there? Isn’t that what you just told me by bringing along the summoning rune?”
Daia smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “All right. I only worry that the Guardians’ crystal might be highly sought after.”
“Nobody’ll know I have it. Besides, I worry about leaving it here unattended.”
&n
bsp; The warden brought a sword, dagger, and mail shirt formerly worn by one of the three imprisoned First Royal Guards and handed them to Cirang. She dressed herself in the armor and weapons, looking brighter and not so glum.
“I’m glad for the opportunity to help and protect you as a battler.” She went to one knee and bowed her head. “My service is yours in whatever capacity you desire for as long as you have need of it.”
Daia grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to her feet. “Get up. You’re still a prisoner. Don’t forget that.”
Cirang complied, though she met Gavin’s eyes with an earnest expression. “Be that as it may, my pledge of fealty stands.”
He nodded once. “Awright, then. Are you ready?”
“How does this work?” Daia asked.
“I guess I got to hold onto both o’you as I go through. Let’s hope we don’t land in the middle of a crowd o’people.”
He took them both by the wrist, used Daia’s orange tendril to strengthen his mystical vision, and when the vortex appeared, he watched it go through its colors. “Get ready.” The instant it changed to yellow, he stepped through, pulling Daia and Cirang with him.
As a threesome, they were immensely heavy for the instant they transitioned through the portal. Had he not had a good grip on their wrists, he’d have lost them. He dared not wonder what would’ve happened if he had.
The three of them fell to their knees on a wooden floor. It was dark, though Gavin’s magic-enhanced vision enabled him to see the sacks of what was likely grain stacked haphazardly along three walls. Wooden stairs led to a double door.
“Is anyone else dizzy?” Cirang asked. “Or only me?”
“Oh, sorry,” Gavin said. “Forgot to warn you about that. It’ll pass.”
“Where are we?” Daia whispered. “I can’t see a damned thing.”
He stood and offered a hand to Daia to help her up and then created a light ball for his two protectors and gave it to Cirang to carry. She was the first to stand and tiptoe up the steps to the door. With her ear pressed against it, she listened for a moment. “I don’t hear anything.”
