“The madness has not seized me yet, and it won’t.”
She chuckled. “Yet the fear remains, and for good reason.”
“You aren’t afraid.” Ezra folded his arms, leaning back in the chair. “And a carpenter accessor holds no threat.”
“Yet you seek him for a reason,” she mused, sitting across from him with a huff and groan. Something was different about her. She had the spark inside of her, but it glowed now, stronger than it had before. Did Constance trade a globe to Kyla for information? It stood to reason.
“You must have heard what transpired at the barn. And later, at the palace.”
If Ezra hadn’t known better, he would have thought Kyla shivered. But it must be from the cold, and not from fear, right? “Word travels swift. And wagging tongues have little better to do than pass around gossip of such magnitude.” She leaned forward, eyes alight. “Be careful where you walk, Carpy. There would be poisonous snakes ready to strike your leg when you are unwary.”
Hearing his old nickname that the Governor used to call him was a bit jolting coming from the old hag. Did she know about his past? But of course she did.
“Surely there are rumors of the carpenter,” he pressed, leaning forward to match her gaze. “And it would be a shame if your enterprise should be discovered.”
To his surprise, the old woman burst into peals of laughter. Almond poked his head in, as if making sure everything was okay, before grunting and retreating into the room. Ezra waited until her mirth had faded.
“You threaten me, oh mighty warlock? What, do you not think the King knows exactly where I am and what I do? How do you think I stay in business?”
The King sanctioned her work? Did he know her spies were in his palace, so close that she knew his every move even before he made it? No. That spy must be well hidden indeed. Or maybe she was just lying.
But, if she had the ear of the King, maybe her threat to capture him wasn’t idle, after all. Should he make a run for it? He stayed put. If there was any chance she knew where Isa was, it was worth it to dig out.
“How much?” he asked, rubbing his fingers through his beard. He should shave it to be better disguised. Why hadn’t he thought of that before now?
“How much, what?” she said, shaking her head and climbing back to her feet. She rubbed her ass as if it hurt.
That gesture. Yes. Constance must have given her a globe.
“How much to give me the whereabouts of the carpenter?” He withdrew his coin pouch, shaking it for extra effect.
She didn’t even turn to look, instead grabbing a poker and stoking the flames. “Like I said, I don’t know where he is. But word has it that a strange man has been seen outside the walls with a filly that looks very much like a half-grown unicorn.”
Ezra started to chuckle and then stopped. She wasn’t laughing with him, but just continued with her task. What, she wasn’t joking? Her tone was even, and she hadn’t stopped poking the fire.
“You are serious.” He stood, placing his palms on the table and leaning forward. “This unicorn nonsense aside, you think this strange man is the carpenter?”
She turned to appraise him, frowning. “I do not know the truth of it. But three people have sworn to it.” She glanced at his coin pouch and then raised an eyebrow.
Carp dug into it to withdraw a sizable amount of coin. “You tell me a rumor and expect payment as if it is truth?”
“You stand here on your own volition, unharmed, while the search for your head continues.” She didn’t expound, merely turned back to the fire.
Carp set the coins on the table, running a thumb over his bottom lip. Turning, he marched from the room. The heat of her stare seemed to singe his back.
Chapter Nineteen
Anyia Shallowgold
Anyia steadied the racing of her heart as she gazed at the Vow Stone. The amphitheater held all two-hundred Sisters, each as silent as a glade in the dead of winter. It was as if the air itself had stopped circulating, and time stood on a point.
This was it. The revowing. Were Sisters long gone rolling in their graves? But Anyia was the harbinger of a new time. Yet, it would appear that some thought the new time wasn’t a good thing.
Many said it was so. Even now, their glares could melt snow. They could not be coerced to revow, and she had no desire to force them. Still, hopefully this era would bring about the change that was so desperately needed.
The small part of her wondering if it spelled doom instead of disaster kept prodding at her heart like a bur in a saddle.
Stepping forward, all eyes on her back, Anyia touched the black outer covering of the Stone. It fairly buzzed under her hand. Memories assailed her, of when she had first vowed to never lie to another Sister, never to kill, and never to bear false witness against friend for foe. She had witnessed countless other Sisters make the same vows, stalwart in their conviction that the vows were what set the Sisters apart, making them trustworthy. And so it had been, for thousands of years.
A whisper of stirring pulled Anyia from her reverie. The Sisters were moving, uneasy. Did they wonder if she would actually do it? Some spoke to each other in low voices. What did they say?
No matter.
Anyia pulled in a deep breath, then grasped the Stone and turned, holding it in her hands. She raised her eyes to the others present, searching. Did they trust her? Surely, they must!
Uncertainty would one day be her undoing, if she wasn’t careful.
“Upon this Stone, I make these vows.” Her voice was strong, thank the Creator. No hesitation, no faltering, no cracking. Not now. “I revoke the vow of no killing.” Again, a stirring. Some gave small gasps, as if they had thought she wouldn’t do it. Others nodded firm heads, their eyes encouraging.
Anyia found Justice Ma’allard in the crowd. She gave a small smile and a nod, her black hair bound tight and in braids that fell over her shoulder. Her white teeth shone stark against her black skin, indicative of her Greigan heritage. Justice had been the staunchest advocate of revowing.
“In its place, I vow to never do violence to another unless it is in self-defense of myself, or of another. I vow to never take up a violent cause that goes against the good of the people.” She had added that last part on a whim. It seemed to cause a small amount of discomfort, some Sisters frowning, others looking reflective. Anniston Numataka raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem perturbed. Melinde Dor’stala stood beside her, brow furrowed.
“I revoke my vow to never lie to another Sister.” As expected, this caused an audible gasp to ripple through the other Sisters. Anyia had made no mention of revoking this to anyone but Brate before he had left. His advice had been to leave it be. It would be too much too fast, he had said.
Anyia disagreed. Better to rip the bandage from the wound instead of a little at a time to prolong the agony.
“In its place, I vow to never lie to another Sister unless the outcome of that lie is for the betterment of the people.”
“Benefactress –” Mother Calliope Bray stepped forward, but then stopped. Her face went from alarm to speculation, and then she dipped her head and moved back. Anyia had figured she would see the sense in it.
“I affirm my vow to never bear false witness against friend or foe.” She lifted the Vow Stone toward the rock ceiling and embraced the Deep. It swirled within the Stone, then dropped onto her head from within, filling her with resolve. It wasn’t like a chain, exactly, but more like promise of retribution if she were to ever break those vows. She wasn’t sure how it worked, exactly, but the repercussions if she broke the vow would be felt. Similar to what she had experienced when she had broken them the first time, when she had killed the phalynk to protect Brynn. The grief had almost been her undoing.
Once the feeling dissipated, she set the Vow Stone on the pedestal and turned to face the others. Clasping her hands in front of her, Anyia waited. Now that the time was here, the misgivings and uncertainties that plagued her raised their ugly heads. How many would a
ctually see the wisdom of this?
As she had expected, Justice stepped down from her seat to stride forward, face stern yet eyes alight with fire. Anyia stepped aside, nodding once. Justice grasped the Stone and held it high, eyes never leaving its glinting, cold surface.
“Upon this stone, I make these vows. I revoke the vow of no killing, and in its place I vow to never do violence to another unless it is for a noble cause.”
Interesting. She changed it even more than Anyia had.
Dark mutterings swept throughout the assembly. Justice ignored them, instead speaking louder over the raised voices. “I affirm my vow to never lie to another Sister.”
The voices lessened. Justice had probably not changed it to appease those who would take offense from the first vow.
“I affirm to never bear false witness against friend or foe.” Justice embraced the Deep and copied Anyia by sending the flow into the Stone. The blue cloud descended back on her head, and Justice closed her eyes, breathing slow and even. She set the Stone down, opened her eyes, and shot a grin at Anyia before taking her place among the assembly once again.
No one moved to go forward, most staring at Justice and then back at Anyia as if they expected her to do something. What was there to do? She wouldn’t force anyone to do what was contrary to their conscience. It was Justice’s decision to do what she felt was right.
Mother Bray finally came forward, and word for word she repeated what Anyia had just moments before. Soon, Sisters were lining up to revow. Of the two hundred present, all but thirty or so repeated Anyia’s vows. The ones who stayed in their seats looked uncomfortable, eyes staring down or darting to see who else was staying in their chairs. Anyia glanced over at Tatiana. She was writing down what Anyia assumed was the names of those who did not revow.
After a long span of time, the Sisters had finally ceased and were back in their seats. Anyia faced them, stilling the racing of her heart as she gazed into their eyes, all expectant.
“Sisters, we stand perched on the edge of a chasm. Below us lie the flames of uncertainty, reaching with hands of burning coal to tear down the foundation of reality as we know it. The Liar’s reach is far, and he stirs from the Rift, seeking the destruction of the sphere.” She paused, turning her head to take in their reactions. Most of their faces were drawn, some filled with what appeared to be courage. Others looked afraid, as if the Liar was going to emerge before them this moment. “Take heart, Sisters. We place our faith in the Star’s will, who from the beginning Time decreed that the Liar would not overrun the Lands.”
Even as she spoke the words, doubt filled her mind. Who was she to say things she didn’t necessarily believe? Still, they needed to know that their efforts were not futile. In her heart of hearts, she still believed that the Stewards were their greatest chance at defeating the Rift.
“Take heart, for the Stewards work even now to carry out the destruction of the Liar. I beseech you, return home to your Covens. Show the people that we are a strong, united force that will stand against evil and bring about a new Time, where all will be subjected not to the yoke of slavery under a despot but be free to live their lives as they see fit.”
She turned and strode from the room as scattered applause echoed throughout. Not the rousing speech she had hoped it would be, but maybe it was enough to let them know she had a plan. And enough to convince them that hiding was no longer an option.
***
Ezra Carp
Ezra leaned against the outer wall of the city as a steady stream of travelers entered and exited the gate. The guards were relaxed, almost lazy, as they watched. Occasionally they would ask to see papers, especially if someone stood out as not being Westlandian. And, interestingly, stopped anyone with a dark beard who stood taller than six feet.
He rubbed his shaved face, missing the warmth. How did men stand to be bare like this? It was almost as bad as walking around stark naked.
Ezra glanced up. The descent of the sun stung his eyes. Two days had passed since he last spoke with Kyla. Two days, and nary a sign or word of Isa. Surely his luck wouldn’t hold out much longer. The longer time passed, the more likely he would be captured. If he didn’t find Isa soon, it would be too late. Pol would blaze a pathway of destruction to the Bright Lands, unseat the Flatland King, and not have much in his way to stop him from overcoming the rest of the Lands.
D’nie must come. He must. Even if it was several weeks from now, just his presence would be enough to go about proving Pol’s illegitimacy.
A shuffling at his side was the only alert before a figure materialized from the dark alley where Ezra kept hidden.
“What in the Liar’s teeth happened to your face?” Boyd Leanor shook his head, cloak hiding his expression. Ezra would know that voice anywhere.
“What? You don’t like my new look?”
“You were already ugly before. And now? Twice as hideous.” Leanor let the hood drop, revealing brows raised and a grimacing mouth. His tousled hair hung over his forehead, nearly hiding his dark eyes. Most women would probably think him handsome. But his roguish temperament would ward off any decent woman worth anything, and only attract the type who looked for a fun night and nothing more. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
Even as he thought it, Myra’s dark, expressive eyes filled Ezra’s vision. She had let him know that she did not appreciated his views on women. Could he blame her? No. But there weren’t many women like her.
“What do you want, Boyd?” Ezra grumbled. “Word on the street is that you’ve lost the inn and are operating your icepowder business from even lowlier places than a whorehouse.”
“Thanks to you, I might add.” Boyd’s tone was annoyed. Ezra glanced at him from his spot on the wall, where Leanor remained in the shadows. He was in hiding, then, too. Something close to guilt threatened to rise in Ezra’s being. He stamped it down. It would be a waste of time to feel bad for his friend. The lowbred could rot in the dungeons for his misdeeds and the Forest City would be the better for it.
Still. Ezra needed him.
“I ask for your assistance one last time, old friend,” Ezra said, easing off the wall and clapping a hand on Boyd’s shoulder.
He shoved him away as if Ezra were a leper. “Enough with this. I didn’t meet you to fall back into your scheming. You left me running from the King’s Guard after they found out I harbored you and those witches.”
“Watch.” Ezra nodded at the gate, glancing toward Boyd. “The cart will have a squeaky wheel and be full of manure. The guards think that it is fertilizer for the upper level of the city, but you and I know better.”
Boyd grit his teeth and took a small step forward. Ezra stayed where he was, refusing to look at his “old friend”. Sure enough, right before the gates closed at dusk, a cart came into the city. A bedraggled farmer, perhaps fifty winters old, growled at the guards to let him through, brandishing a stick and shouting about having to make it to the upper levels before the sun set.
“Who will stop you from your task, old man?” one guard bellowed, stepping back from the cart. “You carry shit and smell as bad as a pig’s slop!”
The cart rolled through, with the old man shouting something else incoherent. It passed out of sight.
“Well? Should I tell the guards what cargo you bear under all that tantalizing manure?”
“You take a step forward and I will slit your throat, Ezra Carp. Friends or not. You would send me into hiding and betray me?”
“I could be persuaded not to rat you out,” Ezra said with a shrug, striding deeper into the shadows. Creator, the alley smelled of piss and rotting meat. Who could live in such deplorable conditions? A cat hissed and ran from view.
“What do you seek?” Boyd asked, a defeated hint to his voice. “If I help you, you will leave and never come back?”
“I cannot promise to never return. I can, however, promise to never turn you in.” Carp crossed his arms. “I look for the carpenter.”
“The carpent
er.” Boyd’s tone held disbelief, his mouth gaping open. “Surely not the carpenter the King seeks? You are mad, old friend. If you are caught with him, you will both be killed.”
“Leave that up to me. You know where he is.” His reaction was all Ezra needed.
Boyd sighed, shaking his head. “Shake on it. Promise on your dead mother’s grave you will leave me alone.”
“I so promise,” Ezra said, spitting on his hand and thrusting it to Leanor. The man copied the gesture, and then waved a hand toward the wall.
“He resides outside. Stays with one of my suppliers, in fact.”
“Wait. We are speaking of the same carpenter? He goes by Isa.”
“The one and only.”
“The one I seek would not be found with someone of such dubious intent.”
“That’s the trouble of it,” Boyd said with a long sigh, running a hand through his thick hair. “I have not had any further contact with this man since Isa took up residence with him. He sends word that he will no longer be growing the plant on his property. I cannot help but see the connection between Isa living with him and his change of heart.”
“Yet you don’t turn the carpenter in?” Ezra asked. “Why do you not strike a deal with the Justice Guild, and have your charges dropped in exchange for turning him in?”
Something strange flashed across Boyd’s face, something indecipherable. His eyes grew misty, his face etched from stone as if he was trying to hide a sudden surge of emotion. “There is something about him, Ezra. If you have met him, I know you must have felt the same. I could not turn him in for all the coin in the whole of the city.”
What an odd thing to say, especially coming from Boyd. Yet, maybe not so strange, after all. There was definitely something about Isa that defied explanation. Maybe it was the strength of his countenance, or the burning power of the Deep that he commanded. Ezra himself had no desire to ever come on the wrong side of the man. He had seen what Isa had done to the Triumphant King, burning him and defeating the blonde warlock as if it meant nothing to him.
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