Palom (World of Linaria Book 2)

by L. L. McNeil

  Grimacing against the putrid smell, Palom covered his nose with his arm and continued forward, walking deeper into the cave, feeling smaller with every step.

  He held his sword before him and looked at it closely. He thought back to the teachings of Berel University. He tried to recall Topeko’s words and Moroda’s skill with her Samolen crystal.

  ‘I…wonder…’ Closing his eyes, he focussed on the blade, and on his own meraki—tapping into the powers he used when he transformed, but not giving into them completely.

  Palom held the magic on his skin and pushed it out on the blade. Goose bumps rose along his arms, and his fingers lost their strength.

  He dropped the Valta Forinja and opened his eyes, half Ittallan, half tiger. His vision blurred, lost in some part-transformation as the dragon ore which lay within began to respond.

  ‘Palom! What is this?’ Solvi gasped and leaped back.

  The Valta Forinja glowed bright, vivid blue, bursts of light leaping from it every so often, colouring the cave.

  Palom dropped to his knees, unable to stand as his power left his body and lit up the dragon-forged blade.

  ‘It…is…some melding of… meraki and… Samolen magic,’ he panted, struggling to stand up. ‘It was how…Moroda found Sevastos…She used…her own magic…with Samolen’s.’ He smiled, weak. ‘I cannot…hold this power…for long. Quickly, follow the…blade. It…maybe will show what…Varkain were here for…’

  ‘Palom…’ Solvi’s eyes were wide as she shuffled towards him.

  With a grunt, Palom heaved himself to his feet. His hands shook, and he struggled to lift the sword. Using every ounce of strength, he lifted the tip from the ground and immediately felt a pull. ‘It is like compass…’

  Solvi walked closer, watching Palom and the sword with something akin to awe, as he slowly took a step forward, then another, following the sword all the while.

  ‘Gently…gently.’ Palom said.

  Sweat rolled down his cheeks. Even standing up was agony—without his strength, he had nothing. ‘Look, look, you see it? Look! The light… is brighter this way!’

  ‘I see!’ Solvi said, darting away.

  Palom hurried after her as quickly as his weakened body would let him.

  Solvi shuffled forward a few steps at a time, looking back at Palom and the sword every few seconds. ‘This is what the Samolen taught you?’

  ‘A little.’ Palom acknowledged, the pulsing sword sending burning energy up his arms. ‘But…but I had never tried…this until now.’ Excitement gripped him—of seeing a new magic work, and of what he might find.

  The light grew brighter until Palom could hardly open his eyes to it. ‘We are close. It is…here…somewhere here…’ He looked left and right, squinting around the Valta Forinja’s light.

  They’d reached one of the cave’s walls; it sloped away from them, stone giving way to soft, loose soil which had been recently stirred up. Solvi crouched and edged towards the wall as Palom watched.

  Both Ittallan held their breath, listening intently. Solvi inched forward another few steps, before freezing. ‘There is no dragon.’ She looked back at Palom. ‘But…there is an old nest.’

  Palom’s breath caught, and dropped the sword, shambling forward to her side. His eyes took several moments to adjust to the dim light, and his mouth dropped open.

  In amongst the upturned soil and loose rocks, pressed against the cave wall, Palom counted seventeen dragon eggs—or what was left of them. Most of the shells were cracked open, some with large holes where hatchlings had presumably escaped.

  ‘The dragon’s last clutch?’ Solvi asked, reaching out to brush the eggs with her fingers. ‘Were the Varkain looking for eggs? Doing something with them? These are old, hatched years ago…’

  ‘Maybe...’ Palom knelt in the soil and looked over the nest. He had no idea if the Varkain had been after eggs or were here for some other sinister purpose.

  ‘Palom! There’s one still whole!’ Solvi gasped.

  He followed her finger. ‘It did not hatch...’

  ‘Why not?’

  He shrugged. ‘Many reasons why young do not survive.’ He leaned forward to caress the egg with one hand, its roughness coarse against his palms. Though his Valta Forinja lay on the ground a few feet away, its energy rippled through him again.

  Palom focussed on the egg, his world shrinking to a growing idea. He licked his lips and plucked the egg from its spot in the soil.

  ‘Palom? What are you doing? You can’t take it!’

  ‘Why not? There is no dragon. It is dead. If Varkain are wanting it, I will keep it from them.’

  He sat down, cradling the egg in his hand, and released his power from the Valta Forinja.

  It flickered again, once, before the light disappeared, plunging them in the darkness of the cave. He took several shuddering breaths as the sudden return of his strength hit him.

  Palom held the egg close, felt it hum in his hands, similar to his sword. Aciel had messed with dragons once before, and now Linaria was suffering their wrath.

  He did not want to anger them further.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isa stalked away from the palace, angered by her half-brothers. Sapora was aggressive. Tacio was arrogant. Both were far too controlling.

  Neither had her best interests at heart, it seemed, and she doubted they wanted the best for Val Sharis, either.

  Sapora, she could deal with. He’d been there for her as much as he could throughout his errantry. Certainly more than their father ever had been. Sapora was the only one who’d seen her for what she was—a queen worthy of respect.

  She knew he and Tacio were capable of horrific acts, of violence and killing. They were necessary, most of the time. But today, she had the feeling that she was just as much a pawn in their plans as Koraki, or Voulhrik, or the Imperial Guard, or anyone else in the service of the palace.

  It had been just over a week since Sapora and Tacio arrived in Taban Yul with an entourage of Varkain, and while Sapora had made a number of changes, none of them were what she’d thought they’d be.

  She bit her thumbnail as she wandered across the palace grounds to the surrounding wall, leaving footprints in the snow.

  She trusted Sapora.

  He wasn’t like the other Varkain.

  He’d never been like them.

  Perhaps he spoke truthfully, that his plans really would take more time to implement. He still didn’t have a new council, after all.

  Releasing Mateli, though? That was a step too far.

  Palom had been an ally to her, had taken part in the funeral procession, and given back to her city. To set the old War Chief on him didn’t seem right.

  If she was quick…She might be able to stop him before he left Taban Yul.

  Isa clambered up the wall surrounding the palace and stood beside one of the many golden statues—this one an elephant—taking a moment to survey the alley below. Satisfied, she dropped from the wall and landed in the shadow of the palace. It was one of her favourite shortcuts—she could scale the wall and council tower in less than a minute if she really put her mind to it, and the return route dropped her just north of the heaviest tourist spot in the whole city.

  East Cross was a maze of taverns and shops—not the fine wares you’d find in Trader’s Alley—this was cheap garbage sold for great expense, mostly to tourists from Corhaven, but Isa loved the fact you could get lost in the crowds here at any time of day.

  Never quite accepted and never quite shunned, Isa had lived half-in, half-out of high society all her life. It was supposed to change with Sapora’s rule, but, if anything, things had got even worse.

  Now he had dissolved the council, any “friends” she’d had had been forced out of the palace. People she would spend time with, confide in, or even enjoy the company of, were no longer there.

  Several moved into the city’s richer districts, but most went to live with friends and relatives elsewhere in Val Sharis, no doubt waiting
for the Varkain King to grow weary of the surface and return to his tunnels in Sereth.

  Isa didn’t believe that was ever going to happen, and she knew Sapora better than anyone else in all Linaria.

  It was funny, she’d not slept in her palace rooms for several moons—she much preferred to sleep outside under the stars. Isa seemed to be every bit the commoner the other Goldstones said she was.

  She’d always been light on her feet, a trait that strengthened when she came of age and could tap in to her meraki, and she used it to full effect when travelling through the city. She slipped in between crowds and shadows, moving purposefully, quietly, listening all the while.

  Isa made her way south using smaller paths and side streets, taking the most direct approach to cut through the snow-covered city.

  Following the fire in Trader’s alley, Taban Yul’s East Gate had been sealed off to enable repairs.

  The North Gate had been sealed since the battle with Aciel and was guarded night and day. Isa realised that Mateli would need to leave by the city’s South Gate, and she hurried to catch him before he got out.

  What exactly she’d say to him, she didn’t know—the man scared her more than anything she could remember—but she couldn’t stand the idea of him loose in Val Sharis, hunting one of her few remaining allies.

  A shrill, piercing cry carried from the sky, and Isa looked up. Her heart sank a little at the lack of dragons. They’d once been a common sight, but after Aciel had stirred up everything, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one.

  There were plenty of birds in the sky: a mixture of wild and Ittallan—including a black eagle that soared high above, no doubt the one who’d made the noise.

  Sometimes she wished she had wings.

  How easy life must be when you could just fly away?

  Isa continued on, crossing over a bridge of semi-frozen water into the southern part of Taban Yul.

  Ittallan and Varkain—now many of them had moved in—huddled in thick furs as they went about their business. It wouldn’t be long until it was dark, and then the cold really would set in. She kept eyes on where she was travelling for the most part, but occasionally chanced a look at someone who stood nearby or walked through a shop door and out onto the street.

  A small group of elderly Ittallan sat hunched around a table outside a tavern smoking pipes and the smell of hot sausage pie wafted across the street. She licked her lips as she passed, suddenly thinking to her empty stomach.

  ‘Dirty people.’

  Isa narrowed her eyes. A woman had spoken—spat, really—in her direction. She stopped and looked back.

  Of the four Ittallan seated, three rocked where they sat. They all muttered to themselves, but the old woman’s voice carried louder than her companions. ‘Horrid. Dirty. Kill them. Kill them all.’

  Now she had Isa’s attention. She thought to the nearest patrol of Imperial Guard, how quickly she could rally them. But as she watched, the old woman turned to her companion and struck him with a fist.

  The thin man didn’t make a sound as he toppled from his seat, landing with a thud on the snowy streets. Blood trickled from his temple, tinging the snow pink, and still he said nothing.

  ‘What…?’ Isa muttered, her eyes drawn to the old woman who carried on her tirade of abuse.

  ‘How dare they. How dare they!’

  Isa’s skin prickled in the way it did when she was being watched, but the quiet street seemed deserted save the group of Ittallan.

  She carried a knife on her at all times, though she rarely needed it, but the woman’s actions and voice were so unnerving that she fumbled to grab it, just in case. ‘Excuse me?’ Isa called out in an attempt to get the woman’s attention, but her call went ignored.

  ‘Ugh. My city. Full of…full of…poison…’

  Isa approached cautiously, glancing to the woman’s companions, who didn’t move or speak. ‘What’s full of poison? Taban Yul?’

  The arrival of so many Varkain so quickly had infuriated a lot of the resident Ittallan. Sapora’s rule and changes had not been met with welcome. “Poison” was often used as a derogatory term.

  Was she another conspirator?

  Tacio wanted them all rounded up and killed or sent back to Sereth as fresh thralls. Sapora, thankfully, had stopped that. But it was hard to rule a city full of people who hated you.

  The woman didn’t seem to hear Isa, or simply ignored her question. She carried on rocking where she sat, her hands shaking violently as though she were on the brink of having a fit.

  ‘Kill the poison…Cleanse the world…’

  Concern replaced curiosity. Perhaps the woman had a fever. ‘Are you okay?’ Isa asked and reached out with her free hand to touch the woman’s forehead. The moment her skin touched the woman’s, electricity burst through her. Blinding pain surged across her skin, crippling her.

  ‘Isa…’

  A voice in her mind, a central point around which the pain revolved. An intense cold washed over her, filling her up. It drove the electricity out and felt as though she’d jumped into a frozen lake.

  ‘Isa,’ the voice repeated, irritation edging its tone.

  She bared her fangs and closed her eyes. Her hand still rested upon the woman’s forehead, but her body had been locked into place as if held by an invisible force.

  ‘Isa.’ The voice boomed this time.

  A command.

  A demand of her attention.

  The echo of her name floated around her mind, the voice expecting an answer.

  She refused to respond.

  She was a princess.

  No—she was a queen.

  She obeyed no-one.

  Isa forced her eyes open and found herself staring into the blank face of the old woman. Her mouth slightly agape, wispy hair blowing in the breeze, she looked minutes from death. Her eyes stared into nothing, and that terrified Isa more than the disembodied voice.

  She strained to pull her hand away from the old woman’s skin. She heard her name again but continued to ignore it. With a cry, she finally ripped her hand from the old woman and leapt back several feet.

  Panting, she doubled over, her knife forgotten on the ground near the table. Whatever dark magic had claimed the old woman, Isa wanted no part in it. She shook, the remnants of her name’s echo fading from her mind.

  The woman’s comrades certainly seemed to be under a similar spell, though perhaps not as advanced as hers. Whoever found it amusing to curse the vulnerable in the middle of winter needed imprisonment.

  Perhaps she’d be able to get Mateli locked up again alongside whoever had done this to the people in her city.

  A little shaken, Isa noted the street name and turned around, hurrying further south, kicking up snow as she ran. She needed to report the curse to someone in the Guard she trusted—but she couldn’t risk losing Mateli. The curse could wait.

  She had to stop Mateli now, before he left Taban Yul.

  *

  South Gate loomed ahead: a wide archway built into the taller inner wall of Taban Yul which stretched to the outer wall built thirty feet further out.

  A gleaming showcase of marble and jewels, the city’s entrances and exits displayed the wealth of the Ittallan. Other than the palace itself, the four city gates were marvels of architecture, manned by sets of four guards on either side of both walls. The bailey in between them was busy all year round—large stables to hold traveller’s horses, barracks to house the Guard on rotation, and kitchens to feed everyone passing through.

  Isa had spent much of her youth here—never leaving the confines of the city, and yet not cooped up in the palace, and was on speaking terms with almost every worker here, in the Guard or otherwise.

  Or, at least she had been, until Sapora began replacing them with Varkain of his choosing.

  Varkain who looked down on her as they did any Ittallan.

  With Mateli’s reputation, however, she didn’t need to talk to the Guard to know whether or not he�
�d passed through. She simply needed to be patient and listen. Residents and workers of Taban Yul, or travellers from Val Sharis and beyond, would not miss the opportunity to gossip about the great Mateli passing by.

  The walls surrounding Taban Yul were far taller than those around the palace, and she could not easily scale them. If she wanted to get in to the bailey, she had to do it the old-fashioned way.

  Two members of the Imperial Guard stood on either side of the first archway, resplendent in gleaming golden armour.

  Three were Varkain.

  She sighed and produced a small onyx stone from her pocket, holding it up to them so they could see what insignia it bore.

  ‘Ah, the cat princess!’ One Varkain hissed, gleeful. ‘Where are you off to, little kitten?’

  Isa raised an eyebrow, screaming internally but maintaining passive composure on her face. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Years of weathering this type of condescension had given her a vast amount of patience to deal with it.

  ‘Who is some snake to ask the business of royalty?’

  ‘None at all,’ he said, still cheerful. ‘Only the great King Sapora has asked to be informed should you leave the city. I’d like to give him a valid reason rather than explain how secretive you were about it.’

  Isa didn’t believe that for a second. Sapora might have been controlling, but he had bigger things to worry about than how and where she spent her time. She shifted her weight and looked the Varkain straight in the eyes. ‘My movements are none of his business either.’

  Snickering, the Varkain looked at each other.

  Isa had to put a stop to their behaviour. ‘I think my brother would be more annoyed with some low-life snakes preventing me from doing as I wish. We are both very good at replacing people. You’re only where you are because your predecessor met an unfortunate end during the winter ball. You aren’t immune from our fangs.’ She didn’t smile when she spoke, didn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they got under her skin. ‘Now, get out of my way.’