Chapter Eight
Rhoane touched the cynfar Taryn gave him for his birthing day. He was neither accustomed to nor prepared for the constant singing from the pendant nor the influx of emotions it brought. Not only could he sense Taryn’s feelings, he felt them as if they were his own. Even though Taryn had shown him how to mute his cynfar, every now and again a flash of sensation would burn his skin.
He tapped the pendant with a calming hush. Taryn’s meeting with her mother had not gone well. The empress was livid Taryn and Rhoane would not be traveling with them to Celyn Eryri in preparation for the Light Celebrations, but instead would be accompanying Carga to the Narthvier. They’d kept it a secret from everyone, knowing Lliandra would not approve. Well, almost everyone.
After checking for the fifth time his plan was in order, he went to the stables to ready their horses. When Taryn arrived a short time later, it was with resigned melancholy. Her maids would give their friends the notes they’d written, explaining their delay in joining them at the winter palace. Taryn suppressed her guilt but not enough to keep it from creeping through his cynfar.
He tightened both girths once more and gave a last glance at the palace. Taryn wasn’t the only one tamping down guilt. He’d not told her of his secret plan and as they made their way out of the palace gates, he hoped it would work.
Stars blanketed the moonless sky, giving scant light by which to traverse the convoluted streets. Most of the lanterns had been snuffed and stillness cloaked the city. They kept a casual pace, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Yet each step of their horses’ hooves clanged on the paved streets, echoing down every alley they passed. Eventually, they rode through the city gates and raced up the hill north of Talaith, where they both took their first real breath since leaving the palace.
Rhoane folded time, making bells last but a minute. It was the only way he could be certain they weren’t followed. None but Eleri could manipulate time and they needed to be far from Talaith before Baehlon and Faelara set out with the decoys.
Carina and Timor, Taryn’s two most-trusted guards, would disguise themselves as Taryn and Rhoane. It had taken several tries before the guards perfected their looks by manipulating their ShantiMari. Not only was it difficult to achieve, but maintaining the effect took vast amounts of energy. With Faelara’s help, Rhoane hoped they would manage over the next few weeks. Taryn’s life depended on it.
As for Kaida, they’d found a large grey mutt only too happy for a warm meal twice a day. He hated that he had to plan such an elaborate ruse, but to keep anyone at court from guessing his and Taryn’s true whereabouts, it was necessary. If the Shadow Assassin or his master were watching, Rhoane wanted their eyes on the decoys and not his beloved.
With the rising sun, Rhoane stopped them on the banks of Lake Oster. “We will stay here for a brief rest and then be on our way.”
“This lake is a two-day ride from Talaith. How did we get here so quickly?” Taryn asked in a sleepy, confused voice.
“An Eleri skill. Someday, I will teach it to you.”
“You can manipulate time?”
“It is more of folding time around us. The days pass normally for everyone else.” He led Fayngaar to the lake, leaving the reins loose and allowing him to drink.
“Can’t we just camp here for the day? It’s so pretty.” Ashanni joined Fayngaar at the water’s edge while Taryn slumped against a tree. Kaida nudged her hand and settled against her leg. The grierbas could easily keep up with the horses, but even she looked tired.
“I want to put many leagues between us and anyone who might wish to follow. Besides, I promised Carga we would be there tomorrow.”
“Do you think we’re being followed?”
“No, but I do not want to be surprised, either.”
Taryn turned to the grierbas. “Kaida, you better go find some breakfast. It looks like it will be a long day.”
AS IT turned out, the day was relatively short, as was the night. They managed several days of travel in little more than two. When they arrived unannounced in Paderau Palace’s courtyard, Duke Anje waited.
“So, you thought you could just sneak in here without any warning?” The duke scowled to Rhoane, but his smile belied the harshness of his words. To Taryn, he said, “Come here, my lovely niece.” He clasped her in a massive embrace. “I’ve missed you.”
Rhoane stepped aside to allow them their reunion. Taryn made a face from within Anje’s embrace before winking at Rhoane. His grin was response enough. Taryn pretended to be annoyed by Anje’s affections, but he knew better.
“And I you, Uncle, but do you really need to crush the breath from me?”
Anje held her out, looking her over from head to toe. “Are you recovered from the ordeal with Kaldaar? You took ten seasons from my life with that scare. You and Hayden both. What were you thinking?”
Taryn opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “No, don’t tell me. You saved Sabina from that madman.” Anje spit on the ground and crushed his heel hard against the pebbled dirt. “To Herbret’s relations, I curse them to the depths of Dal Ferran, which is where I’m certain Celia and Herbret are at this moment.”
“Uncle, please,” Taryn said, touching Anje’s face with her fingertips. “All is well. Hayden and I did exactly what you would’ve done in our situation. Celia and Herbret paid for their crimes and I’m exhausted from our travels. If we could put the past behind us?”
Chagrined, Anje took her hand in his own. “Of course. I’m sorry, Taryn.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss before turning to Rhoane. “Always a pleasure to see you. How has Talaith been of late?”
Rhoane embraced the duke. “Talaith is as Talaith has always been.”
“That bad, eh?”
“I am afraid your son is most vexing to some on the council.” Rhoane hoped to turn the conversation away from Kaldaar. Anje didn’t need to know about the assassin being in Talaith, or the nightmares Taryn continued to have. “Hayden’s knowledge of the laws and customs of Aelinae is impressive.”
“Yes, it is. That boy was always too clever by half.” His gaze drifted to the gardens before snapping back to them. “Come inside. Taryn, I have a surprise for you, but in truth I did think I’d have more time, so you must forgive me that it isn’t quite ready.”
Anje had remodeled a suite of rooms exclusively for Taryn’s use. The decor was understated yet elegant, like Taryn. Small couches and overstuffed chairs filled her sitting room and on every table was a vase of freshly cut flowers. A row of windows overlooked the gardens and river beyond.
In her sleeping chamber, a huge bed dominated the space. Velvet panels in midnight blue hung from the four posts with a matching canopy wrapped protectively around the bed. Woven throughout the velvet in silver thread were tiny suns and moons—Taryn’s insignia. It was sleeping quarters worthy of an empress. Rhoane glanced at Taryn, who wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, a look of awe on her face.
“Uncle, this is too much. Too fine.”
“Nonsense, my dear. This is nothing more than what you deserve. But there’s more.”
Rhoane followed the pair into the next room, where the duke’s next surprise was a mystery to him.
Taryn nearly broke her uncle’s neck hugging him for the thing she called a shower.
“What does it do?” A curtain hid a tall box with several knobs in the wall.
Taryn stepped into the space and gazed dreamily at the decorative tiles, each with her insignia stamped in the center. “You bathe in here. You stand under this.” She pointed to a funny-looking disc. “And water falls over you. It’s heavenly, trust me.”
He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “If you say so.”
“I thought you would be pleased.” Anje’s expression showed his excitement, but an apologetic tone edged his next words. “I’m afraid the library and study won’t be completed for several moonturns. I have my agents scouring all of Aelinae for books and scrolls.”
“A librar
y? For me?” Taryn threw her arms around her uncle again. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve given me so much already.”
A wave of her ShantiMari washed over them and Rhoane lifted his face to absorb her love and gratitude. He’d sensed throughout the rooms Anje’s protective wards and the combination of the two powers raised the hairs on his skin. He added his Eleri ShantiMari to the mix and Taryn raised her eyes to him. The room filled with warmth, a cocoon of security that Rhoane wrapped around his beloved and her uncle.
Thank you, Taryn whispered in his mind.
A soft knock brought them out of the moment. Carga stood in the doorway, wearing a long gown of beige silk. Her dark hair hung around her face in loose curls.
“Carga.” Rhoane knelt before his sister, kissing his thumb and placing it over his heart. “It fills my heart with joy to see you once more.”
“You look so beautiful.” Taryn embraced her friend.
Carga held Taryn tightly for a moment. “I was so worried when I heard the news.”
Taryn’s features pinched and Carga continued, “I have searched the collective knowledge of the Eleri and cannot uncover who is working on Kaldaar’s behalf. Be careful, sister.”
Taryn’s wry smile belied the apprehension she tamped down, but not before it coursed through Rhoane’s cynfar.
“Always,” Taryn said and Carga’s stern look made her laugh. “Fine, almost always. I’ll work on that.”
“Please do.” Carga turned to embrace Rhoane. “I am well pleased you will be joining us, brother.”
He put his forehead to hers, holding her face in his hands. “I have long waited for the day when you will be full Eleri once more and standing at the side of Verdaine.”
“I am afraid that is no longer my path.”
“You do not know that for certain.” She was their high priestess before Zakael took advantage of her and it was not only Rhoane’s wish but his father’s that she resume the honored position.
Carga touched his cheek with her fingertips before turning away, saying, “Shall we give these travelers a chance to freshen up and then have dinner together? I have made the most amazing roast you will ever taste.”
“You’re still cooking?” Taryn asked, surprise lifting her tone.
“What else would you have me do?” She bowed her head to Duke Anje. “His Grace has been kind enough to provide shelter and anonymity for this long—the least I could do was prepare him one final meal.”
“I’m going to miss your cooking,” the duke said. “And your sage advice.”
“Yes, I imagine you will,” Carga said without a hint of sarcasm.
After they had dined, Rhoane left Taryn with the duke, giving them a chance for private conversation. He donned a heavy coat and left the palace by a lesser used gate. He roamed the city of Paderau, staying as much in shadow as possible. The streets near the palace were quiet with most of the inhabitants abed for the night, but the closer he got to the northern port district, the louder it became.
Street by street, tavern by tavern, he searched for clues the assassin had followed them. When the last of the bells rang for the night, he made a final sweep of the Golden Feiche. A weathered-looking whore, hoping for one last customer before retiring, sidled close to him. The rank smell of her breath made him gag, but he smiled into her pockmarked face.
“What’ll ya say, sweetie? How ’bout a romp upstairs afore sunrise?”
“I would love nothing more, but I am in search of a friend.” He gazed lovingly at her, as if she were the most desirable woman he’d ever met. “You have not seen a man dressed in black, hood worn low, most likely, hair of spun gold and eyes the color of frozen cliffs?”
“Aye, you be a poet, dontcha?” She reeked of cheap mead and piss. Her body odor assaulted his nostrils as she scratched absently at her armpit. “Naw, can’t say that I have. Since ’e ain’t here, love, how ’bout a toss?”
Rhoane chucked her on the chin. “Perhaps another time.” He slipped a silver feather into her palm before turning away from her watery grey eyes.
An old crone sat alone at a corner table, watching him with a little too much interest. As he hoped, when he exited the tavern, she followed him into the night. Half a block from the dock where he had fought the assassin several moonturns earlier, he spun around, grabbing the crone’s cloak. Her feet dangled above the ground as he held her close to his face.
“Speak,” Rhoane commanded, using an ancient tongue of Elennish.
A hiss came from deep within her, a fetid snarl that escaped her lips in an inky haze.
“Who is your master? Tell me now or I will end his command over you.” Her fragile bones would snap with just a touch of added pressure.
“No. I beg of you.” Her hood slipped back, revealing a wrinkled forehead with short wisps of white hair. Her master’s hold was the only thing keeping her bound to Aelinae.
“Does your master control the assassin who hunts my beloved?”
Her eyes clouded and then rolled to the back of her head. Another deeper, yet equally foul voice came from her. “The Dark One controls your assassin. None of my brethren can see them nor do we know where they are. They keep themselves hidden even from us.”
“Why send your crone to me?”
“A warning. If the Dark One succeeds in destroying your beloved, all will be lost. Even now, the balance of ShantiMari weakens.”
“Is this Dark One behind the efforts to free Kaldaar? I sensed much Black ShantiMari at Kaldaar’s Stones and in the one called Celia.”
“The Black Brotherhood has survived many ages without a new vessel. Whoever wished to use the Summerlands princess for this purpose did it without the consent of the brethren.”
The Black Brotherhood were the sworn agents of Kaldaar, dating back as far as the Great War. If they didn’t know who wanted Kaldaar freed, then who did? Who, or what, was behind Sabina’s attempted rape? Rhoane tightened his grip on the crone.
“Are you telling me the Brotherhood does not wish for the release of your god?”
The crone gave a dangerous shake of her head. Rhoane loosened his grip, fearing her neck might snap. “Neither Kaldaar’s nor Rykoto’s freedom would benefit us.”
Dammit. More riddles. Kaldaar was their source of power. “One last question. Why does the Brotherhood want Taryn to succeed? If the balance of Aelinae is weakening, is that not the perfect time for you to spread your Black teachings?”
“You asked two questions, Prince Rhoane of the Eleri. I will answer only one.” Rhoane resented the smugness in the master’s voice, but he was in no position to bicker. He needed whatever knowledge the Brotherhood had. “Without the Eirielle, Aelinae will fall into dangerous times. The Brotherhood cannot survive without the balance of power. The trinity does not reside within your beloved.”
“She has the three strains of ShantiMari—she is the Eirielle,” Rhoane insisted.
“It is a shame you feel you must limit her. Should our assistance be needed, my brethren and I offer it willingly.” The crone slumped against his grip with the loss of the master’s connection.
Not knowing where she lived, Rhoane found a secure alcove off the main road and gently placed the crone within the shadows. Hopefully, her master would protect her until she regained consciousness.
He stalked the streets, half looking for the assassin. His thoughts were a tumble of curses and riddles. If the Brotherhood were nervous about this mysterious “Dark One,” they indeed had reason to be alarmed. But then, the master might be misleading him. Kaldaar could be the Dark One. After all, a god could hide himself easily enough. Assuming the master wasn’t lying and the Dark One was not Kaldaar, then who? Someone far more powerful than Rhoane had originally guessed. Which meant Taryn needed to be even stronger.
He worried the master’s words over and over in his mind. The trinity had to reside in Taryn, but he’d spoken otherwise. And if it didn’t, how was Rhoane limiting her? He swore silently and
kicked at the gravel path. The damned gods and their capricious games! Hopefully his father could help unravel the puzzle. Time was short and they needed answers.
The palace gate creaked as he pressed against the old wood, the sound echoing in the early morning quiet, disturbing a nesting owl who hooted his discomfort. Rhoane strode through the gardens to the large glass doors that led to the atrium.
He was almost fully across the room when Duke Anje’s voice came from a darkened corner. “Was your search successful?” Anje lowered a book, his intense gaze visible to the Eleri prince despite the lack of light.
Caught, Rhoane took a seat beside the man and sighed. “It was enlightening and frustrating. The Black Brotherhood does not know who controls the assassin. I had hoped one of their own was behind the attacks, but now,” he took a staggering breath and ran his hands through his hair, pulling free one of his braids, “I am just as ignorant.”
“What happened at the Stones? Hayden is remiss and has yet to tell me everything. Did Taryn truly defeat the phantom?”
“As you know, it is difficult to fully vanquish a projection. The phantom’s master was most likely injured after the attack, but I fear he is at this moment recovering still. There will be more attacks, and not just from the assassin or phantom.”
“Do you think the two are linked?”
“I wish I knew. Kaldaar, Rykoto, the phantom, the assassin, Valterys, Zakael—Lliandra, even. There are too many unknowns. Too many who wish to use Taryn’s power or destroy her.”
“Tell me the truth, how concerned should we be?”
Rhoane leveled a look at the man. “If I were you, I would reacquaint myself with Dark ShantiMari. You will have need of it by the time this is over.” Rhoane exhaled slowly. “Your time of living in the Light has come to an end, my friend.”
Chapter Nine
The Temple of Sacrifice Page 7
