Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  With a groan, he sank down beside Avena. She sniffed and glanced at him, her brown eyes rimmed red. “You weren’t helpless today,” he said. “Were you?”

  “Pharon still died.” Her hand stroked the dead man’s forehead. Her hair ruffled in a stirring breeze, the tails of her bandage swaying along her cheek.

  “Wasn’t your fault. Ust came for me.”

  Her brow tightened, shifting her bandage. “No, he came for me. He wanted to violate me.”

  “You were just how he was going to hurt me. It wasn’t your fault. I made the choice to stay.”

  “Because I convinced you.” She shook her head. “Pharon died for me. How is that not my fault?”

  He sighed and then bit the end of his left glove above his middle finger’s tip. He pulled hard, drawing his hand free. A warmth burned across his cheeks as he exposed himself to her. He let the glove drop then cupped her face. His thumb brushed away her tear. A tingle raced through him. He savored the warmth of her skin. The softness of it.

  The last woman’s bare face he’d touched had belonged to Foonauri.

  Shock crossed her expression. “Isn’t this like going naked for you?”

  “So is you going around with your face uncovered,” he said. “We’re not in Qoth, and you need this.”

  “My face touched?”

  “I thought we were going to do this together,” he said, brushing away another falling tear. “Polishing our souls. Today was a good start, Avena.”

  She stared at him then she smiled despite the tears. For one moment, her grief vanished. He pulled his hand away from her face, glad to give her a moment of peace.

  Her smile faltered after a moment. “Dje’awsa is out there.”

  “And we’ve learned about him,” Ōbhin said as he picked up his glove he’d spat from his mouth. He winced as he gripped it in his right hand and slid his left into it. “What he can do. How his abominations work. He can’t hide forever.”

  “You’re going to kill him?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Is it murder to kill a monster?”

  She shook her head.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said and grunted as he rose, his glove mostly on his left hand.

  “Advice you should take.” Her hands pushed up on her knees as she stood. She glanced behind her. “Is that smoke rising over Kash?”

  He glanced at the city. Dark tendrils rose around the dawning sun. “More riots.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Forty-Fifth Day of Compassion, 755 EU

  Avena studied Miguil as he stood over Pharon’s grave at the top of the blackberry hill. The tree’s shade covered them from the light drizzle falling out of the murky skies. It had been two days since the attack. She’d spent much of it sleeping. The second riots in Kash had ended in the meantime, sparked by rumors of dark sorceries raising the dead.

  She squeezed Miguil’s shoulder. “If you need anything.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight. “Just . . . I want to be alone with him.”

  She nodded, her hand falling away from him. She headed down the trail, her heeled shoes thudding on the hard-packed dirt. She held up her skirt as she descended, the misting rain caressing her face and wetting her hair.

  She prodded the emptiness she often felt as she descended. Was it guilt for watching Evane’s death? I was just a little girl. I didn’t know how to fight. How to react. It was Mother doing it. I never thought she’d harm us.

  She kept telling herself that, hoping it would shrink the hole in her. Maybe nothing ever would. Maybe she would spend her entire life missing her twin. They had lived in their mother’s womb for nine cycles of a moon. They had come together into this world. Until that fateful day, they had never been apart. They’d often babbled together in their own language.

  Happy.

  She had no answers as she descended the hill and entered the estate. Bran guarded the gate, a big smile on his face. The healers had mended his stomach. The wound hadn’t gone deeper than the muscles in his abdomen wall, so it was an easy repair, much like her own forehead. Dajouth’s leg and Cerdyn’s skull would take longer to mend.

  The drizzle lessened as she headed to the manor house. She frowned at the sight of a carriage parked on the driveway before the main doors. She didn’t recognize the black coach with golden embossing trimming the frame. A pair of gray horses drew it, their manes sable. She frowned as she approached. The groom stroked one of the horses. He looked up at her and nodded, his smile revealing two of his top teeth missing. He knuckled his forehead as she passed. She returned his greeting and marched up the porch’s steps to find Dualayn speaking in the damaged foyer with two figures she’d met before.

  Anger blazed inside of her at the sight of the White Lady and Grey, the head of the Brotherhood of Masons and Builders.

  “Dje’awsa almost got us killed!” she blurted out as hot anger flashed through her. She glared at the pair. “I thought we were under your protection.”

  Grey and the White Lady both turned. Her snow-pure hair swayed like strands of Demochian silk about her shoulders and down her back. She wore a delicate gown of silvery gray that fit her tall and slender body. She stood Grey’s height, forcing Avena to look up at her. Her eyes at first appeared yellow but shifted to blue as she smiled at Avena.

  “I see she’s still as headstrong,” said Grey, wearing a genial smile. “I am sorry, Madam Avena, for our associates’ actions.”

  “Actions?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You kidnapped us, forced us to work for you, then your associates tried to murder us with abominations!”

  “Let me speak with her, Grey,” the White Lady said, her voice soothing. “Shall we stroll the grounds? It appears that the rain has stopped.” She placed a hand on Avena’s shoulder.

  The woman’s touch sent a vibration through Avena, almost reaching into her bones, a soothing, massaging touch. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the White Lady. The woman hummed, if faintly, a note of pure beauty.

  Diamond truth.

  Avena’s bowels liquefied. She felt a trembling fear rippling through her that met a calming tingle. Despite the youth of the White Lady’s features—she appeared only a few years older than Avena—her eyes held eons.

  “Who are you?” whispered Avena as the White Lady led her back outside. The clouds parted, allowing shafts of sunlight to slide across the wet lawn.

  “Someone who is sorry for the deeds wrought by my associate,” she said, taking Avena’s arm. The White Lady set a slow pace as they followed the lawn’s slope from the manor house. “He has been punished and understands now the full importance of Dualayn’s work with the Recorder.”

  “Which is?”

  “A great injustice was performed, and I hope Dualayn can help undo it.” The woman spoke the words with confidence, her words ringing with truth. At this moment, Avena felt like every person she had ever spoken to had told her nothing but lies.

  “When?” Avena swallowed to moisten her drying throat. “What injustice?”

  The White Lady smiled.

  “Who are you?”

  “Raya.”

  That feeling of absolute truth slipped for a moment. “That’s not your real name.”

  “It is the name my friends and husband call me,” the White Lady responded, the ringing honesty returning.

  “I’m not your friend.”

  The White Lady paused her stroll and faced Avena. Delicate fingers cupped the Lothonian woman’s cheeks. The vibration increased. The humming from Raya intensified. Her blue eyes faded to yellow.

  “You could be, Avena.” She placed a kiss upon Avena’s forehead. For a heartbeat, her body resonated, a shiver racing through her from the tingling contact. Then the White Lady broke away.

  A sudden breathlessness seized Avena. “What are you? Are you one of Elohm’s devas? Raya could be short for Reylis.”

  “I am not the Archon-Supreme,” Raya answered, amusement in her tone. Her eyes faded back to b
lue.

  “You didn’t deny that you’re a deva.” The certainty gripped Avena. The way the woman felt, the ringing truth of her words, crystallized this fact in Avena’s mind.

  Raya’s laughter was as light as wind chimes. “Oh, no, I am as human as you. I had a mother and father like you.”

  “I doubt that,” muttered Avena, her eyes falling. She fidgeted, studying the pattern of flowers in the gray lace adorning the hem of Raya’s gown.

  “Well, no one but siblings have the exact same parents.” Raya kissed Avena on the forehead again, her lips hot. “I like you. Dje’awsa will stay away.”

  “He disobeyed you once,” Avena retorted, her fire returning. She flashed her gaze to meet Raya’s. The woman’s eyes hovered between blue and yellow. “What will stop him again?”

  “I impressed upon him that Dualayn is the man for this deed. Your employer has the proper motivation to study the Recorder and find what we are searching for.” Raya glanced to her right and smiled. “He understands what it means to strive to reclaim what was lost and fix past mistakes.”

  Dualayn pushed his wife’s wheelchair onto the lawn. He paused in a shaft of sunlight and bent over to kiss Bravine’s cheek. Then he moved around to kneel before his invalid wife and take her wizened hand. He spoke to her, his words too faint to hear. The way he looked at her . . .

  “You lost someone you loved,” Avena whispered.

  “Haven’t we all,” Raya stated, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we can get them back.”

  “But why Dje’awsa?” Avena fixed her gaze back at this woman who seemed so bright and light. Every word, save when she gave her name as Raya, rang with truth. Avena felt it in her soul. “Why work with that dark and foul man?”

  “Without him, I never would have seen the way. I was lost to despair. Wearied to my bones by grief, and then he appeared before me, and it was all so clear. I could see that injustice could be repaired. I know he is a dark man. A foul man, but he is necessary.”

  “He killed Pharon. A good man. He used Ust and inflicted pain. He stole Carstin’s body and turned it into an abomination. He deserves to die!”

  “Revenge goes against Elohm’s teachings,” Raya said. “It’s better to right wrongs than create new ones.”

  *

  Worry gnawed at Ōbhin as he watched Grey and Dualayn speak. His concerns had nothing to do with the Brotherhood’s leader. Over and over, Ōbhin replayed the events on that foggy night. It itched at him, like a scratch at the one spot on his back he could never reach.

  The possibility disturbed Ōbhin as much as the walking corpses had.

  “Well, the sun is out. I shall take my wife for a walk,” Dualayn said. “Thank you for your assurances, Grey. Ōbhin more than proved a match for what we faced.”

  Ōbhin snorted at that. Without Avena and the others . . .

  “I knew he would take care of you,” Grey said. He turned his gleaming smile on Ōbhin, nodding. “Well, enjoy your walk, Master Dualayn. I hope you find what you seek.”

  “You, too.”

  Grey crossed the few paces to Ōbhin. The Qothian straightened. His ribs still ached. The healers were being used on those more injured than him. “Grey.”

  “I am appalled that this happened,” Grey said, clapping a friendly hand on Ōbhin’s shoulder. “I did not think Dje’awsa would go against the White Lady. He seemed . . . cowed by her.”

  “Someone can intimidate that monster?”

  “Apparently. I saw him after she finished. He’d soaked his doublet in sweat and looked a ghastly shade of gray.”

  “He seemed to think that I have something . . . special about me that would benefit his sorcerous arts.” Ōbhin shuddered. “I can’t think why.”

  “You’re skilled with the sword. Brave. Quick on your feet.” Grey’s smile grew broader, friendly. “Anyone would want you on their side.”

  “He didn’t want to recruit me.”

  “Oh, in his own way,” Grey said, his face darkening. “I’ve heard rumors about the things prowling Kash two nights ago. I certainly do not know why the White Lady works with him.”

  “Why does Dualayn work with you?” Ōbhin asked.

  Grey winced. “Pointed, though I like to think that I’m not creating walking corpses.”

  “No, just normal ones.”

  The leader of the Brotherhood let out a weary sigh. “True. It’s a burden many of us carry.”

  The constraining thickness of Ōbhin’s gloves squeezed about his hands. “What do you need, Grey?”

  “I could use your help. The time you’ve spent here has done you good. You look healthy, if not quite happy. Not the dark mess you were when we last met.”

  “I work for Dualayn now.”

  “There’s no danger to Dualayn.” Before Ōbhin could interject, Gray added, “Now. I have taken care of things. My people won’t harm him. I have taken steps to make sure he is protected.”

  Those words soothed the itch in Ōbhin’s mind. Understanding rushed through him. “I see.”

  “He’ll be as safe as if you were here,” continued Grey. “All of them will be. And you will be here in Kash. When you’re free, you could visit them.”

  “So, what do you need me to do? Assassinate high refractors?”

  Grey didn’t flinch this time. His face hardened. “Change needs to come to Lothon. The king is ruining this country. He’s crushing the people with burdensome taxes to feed his territorial ambitions.”

  “You don’t care about the people, only fleecing them. Soiling them.” Ōbhin fixed hard eyes on Grey. “What do you get out of ‘helping’ the people the Brotherhood preys upon?”

  “You are wrong,” Grey said, his voice tight. “I do care.”

  “The Brotherhood’s crimes hurt people. I used to be a bandit for you, Grey. I know what your organization does. I was in the thick of the riots you sparked!” Anger flashed through him. “I had to add to the Brotherhood’s body count that day protecting Dualayn.”

  “You don’t affect change without there being consequences,” Grey said. “I grieve for the people of Kash, but the high refractor was a mouthpiece for King Anglon Exustin.”

  “And who will the next one speak for?”

  “Why, Elohm, of course.” Grey inclined his head. “You have a place in Lothon’s future without its king.”

  “I have a place here,” Ōbhin said.

  “My offer is open.” Grey extended his hand. “I recognize valuable men even through the muck. I can’t wait to see how you’ll shine once you’re polished.”

  Ōbhin clasped Grey’s hand, the black leather contrasting with the beige skin. For a moment, Ōbhin imagined wearing gloves of a different color. The deep purple of a warrior . . .

  Grey broke the handshake and departed. Through the open door, Ōbhin saw the White Lady seated in the carriage. She smiled at Grey as he joined her. He closed the door. The coach trundled away, revealing Avena on the far side.

  The itch he felt, the one whose answers he feared, prodded him forward. Avena wore a red shawl over her dark-blue dress, her brown hair pulled back in her braid. She didn’t even have a scar from her head injury.

  “Did you notice anything unusual during the fight?”

  His words caught her off-guard. She furrowed her brow and turned her head to the side. “I . . . What?”

  “When we fought Ust, did anything stand out?”

  “Well . . .” Her eyes flicked to the side. “When Smiles got thrown into the wall, he cracked his head. There was a patch of blood, and yet he had no wound.”

  “Did his flesh look weird for a moment?” Ōbhin said, a dreadful weight sinking into his stomach. “White and pasty?”

  “Like sculptor’s clay,” she whispered.

  “Outside the gates, Ust hit Smiles in the head. I could have sworn it crushed his skull. And yet he returned to the fight. He even ran faster than me. I know I was injured, but he moved with a burst of speed that shocked m
e.”

  Avena swallowed. “What does that mean? He healed two injuries to his head faster than any topaz jewelchine could? How is that possible?”

  “You saw how fast Ust healed.”

  Her face paled. “I’ve seen Smiles get injured.”

  “Yeah, he was injured during the riots. He limped for, what, a few days? Then he went out drinking with Aduan, Bran, and Dajouth. It was the night you found Miguil and . . . Anyway, he wasn’t limping the next day. He was running.”

  “You think Dje’awsa did something to Smiles?”

  “Grey just told me that he has the means to protect Dualayn,” Ōbhin said.

  She shook her head. “Smiles? He’s worked here for three years. He’s a good man. A good husband. He wouldn’t work with Dje’awsa. When would the man have time to modify him anyways? When would he be alone long enough? It took Dje’awsa hours to enchant Ust.”

  “What if that isn’t Smiles?”

  Avena gasped, her face paling. “You mean . . . Is it a darkling?”

  “More like a grumliicho,” he said. “A shapechanger. We have stories of them up in Qoth. Campfire tales. They say if you went out in a blizzard and died, a grumliicho would take your appearance and wear your form back to your house. Pretend to be an icy version of you.”

  “He’s not icy,” Avena whispered.

  “Still . . . his face went white. Inhuman. He healed. I don’t think Smiles ever came back from drinking that night.”

  Avena grabbed the front of Ōbhin’s leather jerkin, swaying. “You think Dje’awsa created this thing for Grey? A grumliicho to pose as Smiles?”

  “I didn’t imagine what I saw.” Ōbhin shuddered. “I wished to all of the Harmonic Tones I had. We can’t tell anyone. Can’t let it know we suspect.”

  “What about Jilly? She’s pregnant.”

  “This impostor is here to protect Dualayn. For now, it won’t be a threat. So long as we pretend . . .” Ōbhin’s back straightened. He clenched a gloved fist. “The Brotherhood is using Dualayn. You have to find out what’s in the Recorder that they want so badly. We have to protect him.”