Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  She sat down at the small desk in her room, pulled out paper and inked her quill. She wrote quickly—no time for delay—then slipped through the antechamber and into the unoccupied Empir’s bedchamber. There, she opened the wardrobe door, stepped into the secret passage and headed down to her office. With Jazel having undoubtedly placed the family in some other room to wait, Ariannas could complete this duty first.

  “My Liege,” Jazel Iscador said, rising from her desk as Ariannas entered the clerk’s office.

  “Sit,” Ariannas ordered, waving the clerk down with one hand. “This letter must go to Solsta immediately and be put directly into the hands of Hermit Eloise Tuane. Immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my Liege,” the clerk answered. “I know how to handle urgent matters,” she added respectfully.

  “Of course you do,” Ariannas said. “Forgive me. I’m still learning.”

  “You need never ask for forgiveness from me, my Liege.” Jazel took the folded-up note. “Do you wish for me to apply the seal?”

  “Yes, definitely. Thank you. And you can send our visitors in now.”

  “And Holder Corday?”

  Ariannas paused. Nalin knew nothing of what had happened to the watcher that night although he did know she’d been dealt with. He was quick enough and smart enough to follow her lead, but should she risk it?

  “Yes, ask him to join us.” That decision made, she stepped back into her office and sat down at her desk. All actions had consequences, often unforeseen. This was one of those moments when she wished the choices presented to her had been different, less soul consuming, but she’d begun learning to expect unpleasantness. It seemed to be a large part of her duty.

  The door from the hall opened, and Nalin stepped in with a middle-aged man and two young people, a boy and a girl. Ariannas could sense no aura of magic about any of them; their lack of gifts would make her job easier.

  “Please,” Nalin said to the family, “take these three seats here.”

  “But, my lord, you should—” the man began to protest, gesturing towards one of the chairs.

  “No, no. You sit,” Nalin interrupted. “I can stand.” And proving his point, he stepped around the desk and took his place beside his Empir.

  Ariannas reached out an open palm, encouraging the man to join his children who had already sat. Once he’d settled into the middle chair, she smiled. “I hear you’re seeking someone.”

  “Yes, my spouse, my Liege,” the man said. “I am Reger Lostin, Opseth Geranda’s spouse. Do you know her? Is it possible that you know her? My children and I have been searching since the day Council opened, and nothing. It’s as though she disappeared into the ocean or something.”

  “What does she look like?” Ariannas asked, seeking confirmation even though she didn’t really need it.

  “Rather plain, actually,” Reger said. “Brown hair. Short. Her hair, I mean. She’s never been much for fussing about how she looks. It’s her eyes that you notice, my Liege.”

  Ariannas nodded. “Yes, I know about her eyes, Reger. Almost yellow.”

  “You’ve seen her then? Oh, we should have come here in the beginning, but it never…. What can you tell us?”

  She sighed. “Did you know your spouse is a watcher?”

  “Opseth? Oh, no, my Liege. You must be thinking of somebody else.”

  “She and my brother conspired to bring down my mother.”

  “No, no. That can’t be,” the man protested. “She gardens, devotes everything to the family.”

  “How well do you live, Reger?” Nalin asked, and Ariannas admired him for catching on so quickly.

  “Ethal, Gerif, wait in the hall,” Reger ordered his children.

  “Go ahead,” Nalin said. “The guard outside will escort you.”

  The two young people—the girl about her own age, Ariannas realized—rose and exited the room in a rush.

  “Now, about those living circumstances?” Nalin pressed.

  “She always said it was family money,” Reger replied. “But I never…met any family, and…. Oh, Creators. You’re telling me she killed Empir Flandari?” He looked ill at the thought.

  Ariannas rose and stepped around to sit in the chair beside him. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I believe she was trained as a necropath. Most of those who can push start out that way.”

  “So.” Reger looked down at his hands then back up at Ariannas. “You speak of her as though she’s still alive.” Ariannas hadn’t felt this much compassion since before she’d murdered her brother. She took a deep breath to center herself and gain some detachment.

  “Yes, she’s alive, but she’s not the woman you remember.” Now came the delicate interweaving of truth and deception. “She’d expended so much energy seeking out the necropath who knew the truth of what she’d done, unaware that same necropath was also her Empir’s sister.”

  “That must have been…difficult. For you, I mean.”

  Ariannas waved her hand in dismissal. She had to get through this. “She came here the night of Empir Ariel’s suicide intending to interfere with my claim to the throne. She failed, but not before she nearly destroyed herself.”

  “So…she’s not dead,” the man said slowly, clearly trying to take in what Ariannas was telling him.

  “No, as I said, she is alive, but her essence seems to be gone. We didn’t know what to do with her. We had no idea she had family.” Ariannas hesitated for the length of a breath, contemplating her lie, then moved on. “So we sent her to Solsta where they can care for her better than anyone.”

  “Oh, my Liege, thank you.” Reger stood up. “We’ll book the ferry immediately.”

  “No, wait.” Ariannas rose from the chair and looked to Nalin. “What about the barge? Can they…?”

  “Of course,” Nalin replied. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

  She walked around to the back of her desk, watching as Nalin escorted the man from her office. She felt dirty and foul, the taste in her mouth bitter with the lies she had told and the lives she had changed for the worse. Would it always be like this? She wished that it wouldn’t but suspected she would never escape the consequences of pushing her brother.

  Word that a letter had arrived for her had drawn Hermit Eloise out of personal meditation, and, driven by curiosity, she made her way to the haven’s small office next to the infirmary and stepped inside.

  “You have something for me?” she asked Hermit Nansel.

  “Yes, arrived by private messenger. An Emperi guard, looked to me. I’m told he came by the royal ferry, the small one, you know? Ran up the road from the dock. Completely out of breath when he got here—”

  “Yes, yes,” Eloise interrupted her. Nansel loved to make short stories long. “The letter, if you please.”

  “Of course.” And Nansel handed the small note with the green wax seal over to Eloise.

  “Thank you,” Eloise said, then left as quickly as she’d come.

  It bore the Empir’s seal. Lisen was writing to her? This didn’t fit into what she’d foreseen at all. Of course, even a sooth’s vision could contain holes. Perhaps she hadn’t expected this because it involved her, and she had no outside reference to help her perceive it.

  Eloise, stop. Just open the letter.

  She slipped her thumb under the top flap and separated the seal from the paper below it. She opened the letter and began to read Lisen’s unmistakable handwriting.

  To the Sooth of Solsta,

  This letter will likely reach you right before the family of our mutual captive arrives at the Isle. They are here at the Keep requesting an audience, and I will see them. I plan to tell them that Opseth was a watcher and that she was here the night of my brother’s suicide when her use of magic nearly obliterated her soul. I will tell them that I sent her to Solsta where she can be properly cared for, and then I will allow them to come to you to see for themselves. Be there to greet them and answer their questions, but keep to the story I plan to tell them.
Please destroy this letter after you’ve read it.

  Ariannas Ilazer

  Empir of Garla

  With a deep breath, Eloise stepped out of the alcove. The halls rang with the slap of her sandaled feet on stone as she headed down to the kitchen. Those assigned to cooking and serving duties this week were the only ones not observing the hour of personal time, and although a few looked up as she stepped into the kitchen, no one said a word when she slipped the letter into the stove’s fire. Maintaining her silence, she left them to head for the dock. If her Empir wanted her to greet Opseth’s family, then she would, but she would do it where prying ears couldn’t listen in.

  The barge pulled into port soon after she arrived there. Eloise had settled on her strategy for approaching these people, and it would begin here and now. One of the sailors jumped off the barge to moor it to the dock, and Eloise stepped past him and onto the ship. Before her stood a man, presumably Opseth’s spouse, and two young people. The girl looked to be nearly grown; the boy, a few years younger.

  “Welcome to Solsta Haven,” she said, holding her hands out in greeting.

  “Thank you,” the man said. “We were told that—”

  “You needn’t explain,” Eloise interrupted. “I already received word from the Empir. Why don’t we all sit in the front cabin.” She gestured with one hand towards the door behind them.

  “We…uh…were hesitant to….”

  Eloise touched the man’s hand. “Don’t worry. The Empir’s not on board, so it’s just a cabin with room for us all to sit and talk.”

  She escorted them and waited until they’d all settled onto the chair and the bench in front of the desk. She didn’t sit. She felt loathe to do so when the news she had for them was so brutal.

  “You’re here to learn more about your spouse”—she nodded to the man—“and your mother.” This time, a nod to the children. They all looked up at her expectantly, though what they hoped for she couldn’t give them. “I knew Opseth Geranda when she was a novice here. Oh, I can see by your reaction you didn’t know about that. The short of it is this. She went to Rossla Haven to train as a necropath and never returned to us. I didn’t know what had become of her until I was taken prisoner by Empir Ariel, and she was sent to torture me in an attempt to obtain information. You see, a few of us here at Solsta knew that Empir Flandari’s murderer had been pushed by someone quite powerful, and it turned out that Opseth was the one who pushed her.”

  This elicited gasps from all of them. “Are you sure?” Opseth’s spouse asked.

  “I would bet you live well,” Eloise replied, “somewhere not too far removed from Avaret.” She held up a hand. “No, no. Don’t answer that. I suspect that Ariel was not her only client, but we’ll likely never know who all employed her. She was very good at what she did, so they paid her well.”

  The cabin went silent, save for the soft lapping of the waves against the hull of the barge. After a moment, the young woman spoke up. “May we…see her?”

  “It’s a long hike up a steep road to the haven, but you are certainly welcome to visit her.” Eloise wasn’t trying to dissuade them; she wanted to warn them that neither the journey nor its outcome was likely to be pleasant.

  The man cleared his throat. “Can we take her home?”

  “Perhaps once you’ve seen her you’ll understand why I would discourage you doing that. Maybe later, if she shows signs of recovery, but she can do nothing for herself at the moment.”

  “Will she recover?” the young woman asked.

  “To be honest,” Eloise replied with a sigh, “it’s too hard to tell.”

  “Well, then,” the girl continued, “should we give up hope?”

  “There’s always hope,” Eloise said as she led them from the cabin, off the barge and towards the path. “There’s always hope.”

  ~

  Two hours later Opseth’s family had boarded the barge and set out for the return to Avaret. Eloise had hastily written a note to Lisen and pressed it directly into the barge captain’s hand with instructions to give it to no one save the Empir or the Commander of the Emperi guard. Once he’d given his promise to her, the barge had pulled away from the dock.

  Eloise thought sadly of the woman they’d seen—eyes incapable of focusing, spittle coming from her mouth and a bottom wrapped up like a baby’s. Her letter to the Empir was simple.

  They came, they saw, and they viewed hopelessness. I don’t believe they’ll ever come back again.

  Solsta’s Sooth

  Early morning, and Korin followed the others down through the trap door from the top of the mesa. More than three weeks since his return, and he felt good after a night’s work. The child he nurtured grew every day and suckled the milk Korin produced, and although he sometimes found the miracle cumbersome, he reveled in the life that was not his life nestled safely inside his pouch.

  Ironically, the taskers had assigned him to malla duty. He’d nearly laughed when they’d told him, and he still smiled when he thought about it. He’d stopped applying the stuff to his gums once he’d pouched, and yet here he was, tending the hardy plants alone while others cared for the foodstuff that, with assistance, could survive the heat and direct sun on the mesa’s crown.

  He made his way down, ever downward, to his solitary chamber in the lowest habitable level of the mesa. It was home, and since he’d returned, he’d grown comfortable with his self-inflicted seclusion. He shared meals with the others but said little unless asked direct questions. His thoughts centered on the bond between himself and this child swelling his belly.

  He slipped out of the dusty robe he wore every night and changed his tunic, tossing the dirty one into the pile of clothes to be washed. He sighed. He couldn’t put that off much longer. His usual discipline, honed by his time in the Guard, had deserted him as he’d shifted to favoring the care of the babe at his teat over attention to himself. Perhaps I’ll tackle washing tonight before breakfast.

  Most of his usual mealtime companions had already settled in to eat when he stepped into the cave they shared for dining. From the far end of the long table, Ondra raised a hand towards him and gestured to the empty spot on the bench beside her. He sighed, dished out some rabbit stew, grabbed a goblet of what passed as wine and made his way somewhat awkwardly to Ondra’s side. There he sat, saying nothing at first, only staring at the stew. Pouched, he was allowed to take all that he wanted of the morning’s meat dish, but he never wanted more than a normal portion.

  “So, Korin,” Ondra began, and he cringed then made himself relax as he turned to look at her. “We’ve been discussing our new Empir—what’s her name again? Oh, yes, Ariannas.”

  About once a week, Ondra extended this invitation to him to sit with her and Rika and a few of their friends. The discussion always centered on some Garlan abuse of the Thristans. He agreed that problems existed, but he knew something they didn’t—that this Ariannas whom Ondra spoke of so casually had shared her life with theirs for over a month and could, if given time, prove to be the first Empir to respond to their problems. But he said nothing. He’d already admitted that the child he’d pouched had been Lisen’s, but if they knew it was an Empir’s Heir, they’d either kill it or take it from him to use for their own purposes.

  “Is it true,” Ondra continued, “that she was raised as a hermit?”

  “How would I know?” he retorted and took a bite of his stew.

  “You were a guard. Seems like the sort of thing you should know.”

  “Well, I don’t. Lisen hibernated and died. I never went to Avaret.” He’d hoped that would silence Ondra, but he quickly realized he was foolish to think so.

  “If it’s true,” she said to anyone who would listen, “then she’s worse than the brother.”

  “A hermit upbringing doesn’t make her a bad Empir,” Korin protested.

  “Now you’re defending her?” Ondra asked, playing hurt and shocked though Korin suspected she was neither.

  “No. I’m just
saying you shouldn’t assume that she’s worse than her brother. She may turn out to be better. But who am I? I know nothing.” He smiled and shrugged, hoping to make a joke of it. Ondra was right. He should never have defended Lisen in the first place. Disgusted with himself and with the conversation, he rose to leave, but Ondra grabbed his tunic.

  “We must talk,” she mouthed and nodded towards the hall. With another shrug, he followed her out, setting his dishes on the washing tray on the way. Once in the hall, she touched his pouch, a gesture which left him feeling breached.

  “What?” he asked impatiently. He was tired and wanted to sleep.

  “I’m leaving tonight. I’ll be gone for a while. Will you miss me?”

  “I’m pouched with a dead woman’s child. What do you think?” She continuously astounded him with her complete lack of concern or compassion about his situation and what it might mean to him. He decided that she and Ariel could have competed for grandest ego in the world.

  She rubbed her hand up from his belly onto his chest. It always surprised him how Rika put up with her dalliances with other men. “I’m taking a risk,” she whispered into his ear, the warmth of her breath doing nothing more for him than making his ear itch. “A risk,” she continued, “for the sake of all Thristans. I would think that would matter to you.”

  “It matters to me, Ondra, but a great many things matter more. And now I’m going to bed.” He left her there, and he imagined her shock at his lack of interest in her comings and goings.

  In his little cave, he paused for a moment to think about what she’d just said, and his stomach took a quick turn. What sort of thing might she, one of the militants who ached for Thristan freedom, plan “for the sake of all Thristans”? Alone, she’d prove no match for Lisen, but what if her plan included engaging the few others who were as committed as she was to the Thristan cause?