Palom (World of Linaria Book 2)

by L. L. McNeil

  ‘What am I going to tell Manilo?’

  Palom shrugged. ‘Tell him what you want. The truth. A lie. It does not matter. At least Mateli is no longer problem for him.’

  He continued up the path, afraid that if he stopped again, he’d never leave.

  He had grown fond of the captain. ‘Goodbye, Chyro. Asfali.’

  ‘Palom…’ Chyro stopped trying to call him back, trying to bring him back into conversation.

  He hated it. Hated what he was becoming.

  If Lathri was right—and she was rarely wrong—he only had the sword to blame for it.

  The dragon leapt at him, grabbing hold of his leg with its claws and scrambling up his back to sit on his shoulder.

  Saving a dragon couldn’t be wrong…could it?

  He glanced at the hatchling and adjusted his hold on his bag.

  No. The sword might have more powers than even he understood or could control, but it allowed him to find the egg. Allowed him to save a life.

  It couldn’t only be a weapon of destruction if that had happened, surely.

  ‘I guess I am not completely alone, then,’ he muttered to the dragon, who chirped in response.

  Before Palom reached a bend in the road, where the trees grew even thicker, he glanced back to see Chyro stood in the falling snow, watching him leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sapora sat on the floor, his back against the stone, panting. The stale air was thin and tasted disgusting, but it was sweet relief after almost losing himself in dirt. He wiped a handful of it off his chin and used his forearm to clear the sweat that had gathered at his hairline.

  Sapora squinted in the dark, trying to make out the room’s features, but all he could tell was the chamber was circular, and made of stone. He ran his hand along the wall beside him, and saw ancient writing carved into it. A Varkain tongue, he thought, recognising a few of the symbols.

  An old one, for sure.

  It made sense. Malashash had to be five thousand years old at least.

  He grinned.

  Once he’d recovered from his excursion through the tunnel, Sapora got to his feet and walked forwards, he steps echoing all around him, highlighting how cavernous the crypt really was.

  Sapora shuddered a little at the cold, or was it leftover blood magic that caused the chill?

  He approached the centre and felt the stone shift underfoot.

  He glanced down and saw narrow channels carved into the stone—six of them, and all deep. Sapora crouched and put a claw in one but couldn’t feel anything of significance.

  Did he…Did he need more blood?

  He stood up again and frowned. He certainly hoped not.

  Thralls he could rustle up from Sereth, but getting so many down here to fill those channels…?

  No. There had to be another way.

  Sapora followed the channels in a straight line until he reached a plinth, upon which sat an enormous stone statue. It looked to have been carved by a master stone smith—every scale, every piece of armour had been fashioned perfectly, and in such exquisite detail.

  ‘As though the real thing simply turned to stone…’ Sapora hissed, his pupils dilating.

  He glanced down to the base of the plinth and saw a shallow dish—like a deep platter.

  He reached forward with his bloodied and dirty hand and rested it against the stone statue.

  At his touch, the wall sconces surrounding him immediately burst into blue flame. The crypt had been so dark, Sapora hadn’t even known sconces had been mounted to the wall.

  When he looked back to the statue, Sapora saw Malashash staring back at him with deep green eyes.

  Sapora swallowed and took a reflexive step backwards, his scimitar clutched in his good hand.

  ‘Malashash,’ he said, regaining his composure after a moment.

  The eyes didn’t move, didn’t blink, their green the only colour in the stone body.

  Sapora pulled his small knife from his sleeve and placed it in the dish in front of the plinth. What little of Tacio’s blood had survived the tunnels dropped to the bottom of the dish.

  The fires in the sconces flickered, hardly noticeable, and then continued to burn.

  Sapora narrowed his eyes.

  He’d brought the blood. His and another willing to partake in the ritual. The fires burned.

  Why hadn’t Malashash responded?

  He checked the dish again—plenty of Tacio’s blood there…

  He looked around the room, looked for some clue as to how to get Malashash free.

  Was there something in the sconces?

  On the floor?

  The plinth itself?

  Sapora stalked around the room, feeling for anything out of place, any lever he needed to activate, stone he needed to move.

  But the crypt gave away nothing.

  He cursed.

  ‘Naja…’

  Sapora whirled around. Malashash hadn’t moved. The word echoed off the stone—or had he imagined it?

  Too long underground, without fresh air to breathe?

  He scowled. There had to be something obvious that he’d overlooked. Something he had to have done or said.

  Some kind of key…?

  Sapora pulled the map from his inside pocket and held it up by one of the blue flames. The coloured light threw shadows across the parchment, but Sapora narrowed his eyes, trying to look past the abstract shapes and movement.

  But the map revealed no secret, not hidden password to access Malashash and reverse the stone imprisonment.

  He cursed again and transformed.

  His coils filled the stone crypt and circled Malashash in the centre. The flames licked his scales, but he was too large to avoid their touch.

  Sapora moved as close to Malashash as he could, lowered his fangs until their tips brushed the stone. He allowed a drop of venom to fall down.

  It hissed as it touched the stone, and then disappeared, absorbed by it.

  Still nothing.

  Sapora flicked out his tongue, tasting the air for something, anything, that he’d missed in his weaker form.

  He must have overlooked something.

  None of the Arks had ever been freed—he was deep in the unknown. The histories had hinted at what happened, guessed at their locations, and he’d filled in the blanks.

  He knew how they’d risen, what their strengths were.

  But bringing them back?

  Uncharted waters.

  It made sense that it wouldn’t be as simple as a drop of blood.

  He transformed back, knelt on the stone floor in front of the plinth. ‘Forgive my haste, Malashash. It won’t be long. I swear it.’

  *

  Isa thumbed through the books in Sapora’s Council tower. He and Tacio spent most of their time holed up here, flicking through one book or another while Koraki and Voulhrik carried messages for them.

  She’d done what Sapora had asked—she’d overseen the arrival of the Sevastos into the palace grounds and arranged for the canvas to cover the width of the gardens, covering it from anyone flying overhead.

  Now, she needed to figure out where Sapora and Tacio had charged off to in such a hurry.

  Without telling her.

  Lathri’s words replayed in her mind. Sapora’s dislike of the Ittallan. He’s a Varkain, not one of them.

  It was clear that she and he were on different pages. He didn’t trust her as much as she claimed, otherwise she’d be privy to his secrets.

  And Tacio didn’t trust her at all.

  She huffed, shoving reams of paper across the table as she tried to find what had obsessed Sapora for so long. For what might explain his sudden disappearance.

  The tomes he’d been reading were histories. Ancient histories. From the Ittallan-Varkain war, mostly. She snorted. Why was he reading those if he supposedly had the Ittallan’s best interests at heart?

  Her stomach sank.

  Had she been naïve all this time? Believing him to be somethin
g better than he was?

  He’d shown her respect, kindness, compassion, when no-one else had. Even the Varkain today still belittled her.

  But did that mean Sapora was good?

  Of course not.

  He acted in his own best interests.

  She bit her thumbnail, shoved books out of the way with her free hand, and unearthed a ream of loose parchment. ‘Maps?’

  Come to think of it, Sapora had been studying maps more than books recently.

  She grabbed the nearest one, pulled it close. As to be expected, it was a map of Val Sharis dating back an estimated 4,000 years. A little after the war, then.

  As she studied it, Isa noticed ink marks—recent ones—splotched all over the country at random intervals. He’d written and crossed over the words, circles blank spaces on the map—where Isa knew there to be towns now—and had also circles towns which no longer existed. He’d sectioned up the Feor Mountains, Rio Neva forest, the snow plains to the far north and the estuaries and lush meadows to the south and east.

  What was he looking for?

  What had he found?

  She cast the map aside and looked at another, smaller version. It depicted Val Sharis some 6,000 years prior and had even less detail.

  Footsteps outside. Isa glanced up, holding her breath.

  She hadn’t been expressly forbidden from being in here, but it was an almost unsaid rule that no-one entered the council tower without Sapora himself being there.

  The footsteps disappeared, and she relaxed, dropping her shoulders. Probably Roke looking to report.

  She had to be careful.

  At least she could escape through the window when she needed to get away.

  Isa made her way to the bookcase next. They books had been arranged relatively neatly, and she glanced over the spines.

  Histories.

  Geographies.

  Law.

  Studies of Arillians.

  Wait…Arillians? The book seemed out of place, so she plucked it from the shelf and opened the cover.

  It seemed to have been read and re-read as there was a crease in the pages, and Isa let the book naturally open to them.

  A passage had been marked in the same ink that was all over the maps:

  The Ice Golems of the floating isles have a power unlike anything else in Linaria. They are landscape made living and have shaped the Arillians’ cities in a way that hasn’t been seen since. Many have attempted to recreate their power, with little success.

  Isa scratched her head. Was Sapora trying to create some kind of super weapon? But he already had a Sevastos.

  She paced, mind reeling. Thinking to all the conversations she’d heard him have with Tacio. All the talk he’d had with Roke.

  She went back to the big map on the table, looked to the far north, where the Arillian islands were. She’d ignored them at first because no-one considered their land as part of Val Sharis, but now she looked, she saw Sapora had written four very distinct names:

  Malashash.

  Brahm.

  Veynothi.

  Karekis.

  Isa swallowed. She knew those names.

  She picked up one of the history books, just to be sure. Isa thumbed through the pages, eyes scanning, looking for just those names and nothing else.

  Her breath caught.

  The Arks.

  Sapora wasn’t trying to make a super weapon.

  He was trying to bring them back.

  Panic rose in her gut. It was no wonder Sapora kept referring to the treasures. If anyone knew, anyone believed that was his goal…

  She had to tell someone who would appreciate the magnitude of her discovery. Someone she could trust.

  ‘Lathri,’ Isa whispered to herself. She shoved the books back as she’d found them, transformed into her wild cat form, and ran straight for the window.

  *

  Isa pounded on the door. She didn’t care who saw her, didn’t care if anyone thought her behaviour didn’t fit royalty. ‘Lathri! It’s me, Isa! Please, open.’

  She heard the door unlock, chains slide across, and then Kylos answered the door. ‘Please, princess…There are sick people in here.’

  Isa swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, this is urgent.’

  Kylos narrowed her eyes, and Isa saw her look past her.

  ‘I’ve come alone. I swear,’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Lathri isn’t here, she had to see to someone late last night. She isn’t back yet.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll wait.’ Isa took a step forward, but Kylos blocked her.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you in, princess. Not while Lathri’s not here.’

  Isa frowned. ‘I knocked on the front door to be nice. If I wanted, I could climb up the building and come in through the balcony. I thought you wanted me on your side?’

  Kylos considered for a moment. She sighed, and then stepped back, holding the door open for her.

  The lounge was much as Isa remembered, though there were blankets on the sofa that hadn’t been there before. Isa suspected she’d woken Kylos up. ‘When will Lathri be back?’

  The woman shrugged, running a hand through her hair. ‘I don’t know. Hopefully soon. She only went to Feoras Sol.’

  Isa’s eyes widened. Healing those in Mateli’s wake?

  She didn’t want to pry.

  ‘Kylos…Who’s there? Is Lathri back…?’

  Isa looked over to the bedroom open bedroom door, through which a young Ittallan woman stepped through, and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Solvi, you shouldn’t be up yet. Lathri said you had to rest until she could look at you,’ Kylos said, stepping over to shoo her away.

  But Solvi’s eyes were locked on Isa.

  ‘P…Princess Isa…?’ She stammered.

  Isa blinked and nodded.

  ‘You’re…I…’ She turned a bright shade of pink. ‘I used to…We went to the same school together and…’

  Isa smiled. ‘I remember.’ She didn’t, but it was kind to pretend with these kinds of people. It was rare anyone knew her as anything other than “the kitten princess.”

  ‘Really!’ Solvi asked, her face lighting up with a wide smile. ‘I mean, I only ever saw you from afar and…And we’re both feline Ittallan, and…’

  ‘Solvi! Back to bed!’ Kylos pointed.

  Isa couldn’t help but grin as Solvi struggled, caught between obedience of Kylos and reverence of Isa. It certainly made a nice change.

  Kylos won in the end, physically pushing her back into the room and closing the door. ‘She’s sick,’ Kylos said by way of explanation.

  ‘It’s okay. What’s wrong with her? She looked fine to me?’

  The woman licked her lips, and Isa had the impression she was choosing whether or not to be truthful. ‘Something’s happening with the Ittallan in Taban Yul. Some kind of trance. If you touch them, you get sick too. Even if you regain your senses, you can be ill for quite a while. Lathri and the other healers have been working flat out to control it, but…’

  Isa swallowed. She had an answer for that too.

  Sapora had a Sevastos, was on his way to bringing one of the Arks back, and now Aciel somehow had influence in her city. Couple that with the dragons attacking villages and it seemed Linaria was on the brink of collapse.

  She’d been about to say more, when a shrill cry pierced the air, and Kylos hurried to the balcony. ‘They’re back!’

  Isa followed Kylos, and looked up just in time to see the black eagle from before dive for the balcony. He transformed in a flash of light a few feet above—his vast wingspan dwarfed the small balcony—and Aetos landed a moment later.

  He looked tired, and Isa wondered if he’d been flying all night and day. Aetos came inside, making room on the balcony for an owl of stunning white and brown plumage swoop in. She was much smaller than the eagle, and landed on the balcony railings. After setting her wings and feathers right, she, too, transformed, and Lathri slid off the railings to stand on t
he balcony.

  Any relief Isa felt at seeing the healer vanished when she saw her face. If Aetos looked tired, Lathri looked utterly exhausted. Now there was no question—they had to have been flying all night and day.

  ‘Lathri? Dragons above, you need to rest, woman!’ Kylos scolded, taking her by the arm and leading her inside to sit down.

  ‘It’s been so long since I’ve flown so far,’ Lathri said. ‘Palom’s wounds were severe. I doubt I’ll be of much use to anyone for a while.’

  ‘Palom?’ Isa said, stepping forward.

  ‘Princess Isa? You did come back, then,’ Lathri smiled. ‘Yes. Mateli had tracked him down and torn him half to pieces.’

  Isa looked away. That had been her fault. ‘Palom is…okay though?’

  ‘Oh yes. He has that damned sword,’ Lathri said. ‘Whether it’ll keep him alive just to kill him more slowly though…’

  ‘Is everything okay, Isa? I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,’ Aetos said, smoothing down his clothes.

  Isa couldn’t think of an easy way to put anything to them, and she didn’t particularly want to with Lathri looking so weak, but she had no choice. ‘Tacio no longer trusts me. He suspects conspirators, so I warn you now, any of you may be being watched by his Cerastes.’ She let that sink in for a moment, ensuring the seriousness of her words was understood.

  When they didn’t object, Isa continued. ‘Early this morning, a large wagon arrived at the palace. This contained…a Sevastos.’

  ‘What?’ Aetos and Kylos said in unison.

  ‘I didn’t know either. Despite being his sister, he hasn’t shared…much with me,’ she said. She wanted to bite her thumbnail but resisted the urge. ‘Shortly after its arrival, Sapora took Tacio off in one of my personal airships. I’d never seen him so distressed.’

  ‘Off on a hunt?’ Aetos asked.

  ‘I considered it. But I went to the council tower, looked through the books he’d been studying to work out why…after obtaining the most powerful creature in Linaria—a god by all standards—did he desperately need to head off?’

  ‘What did the books tell you…?’ Lathri asked.

  ‘I think…I think Sapora’s gone off to find Malashash.’

  Lathri, Aetos and Kylos immediately began talking over one another. Cries of outrage and huffs of disbelief.

  ‘…Who’s Malashash?’ A quiet voice from behind Isa.