※
Tala was unusually pale that afternoon when Sari met her in the meeting house for the midday meal. Most of the singers and scribes of the village chose to eat together. It was a motley settlement, with as many wanderers as native French. While Irin families often moved, the tumult from revolution and war had made everything worse and driven many of their people far from home or kept them from returning as planned.
There were North Africans like Abra and her sister’s family, and two brothers and their families from Damascus who’d been waylaid on their way back from sojourn in Ireland. The rest were a mix of paler faces from all over Europe. French and Belgian. Dutch and Spanish. Sari had never lived with such a diverse group. Her natural curiosity loved it. As did her palate. That afternoon, Abra’s sister was cooking a lemon-scented lamb stew spiced with cumin and nutmeg. The scent made Sari’s mouth water, but Tala only looked ill.
Pregnancy exhausted her sister. Sari was beginning to recover her energy, but Tala, a month further along, was not as fortunate. She had only grown thinner, more wan. Her blue eyes were red and swollen many mornings, and her hair was limp. Abra told Sari that some mothers simply took to pregnancy worse than others but Tala was healthy enough. Both the healer and Sari suspected separation from her mate was more to blame than actual sickness. Sari would be glad when Gabriel arrived. Perhaps Abra would order him to stay. In her capacity as healer, she had the authority to override the watcher and even the council.
A large dish of the spicy stew was set in the middle of the table along with long loaves of bread.
“Shall I ask if there is something milder?” Sari reached over and grasped Tala’s hand.
Tala shook her head. “I want mother’s bread and fresh butter. That’s all I crave. And no one can make that but mother.”
“There is bread here. I can get you some butter if you wish.”
“Mother’s bread, Sari.” Tala shook her head. “I am fine. I am well.”
“You were sick last night. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“It was your last night with Damien. Of course I would not wake you.”
“He loves you too. You know we would have helped you.”
A faint smile crossed Tala’s face. “I’m not strong like you, but I can survive a little vision sickness. I’ve been doing it for years. I sent someone for Abra, and she brought back those ginger sweets her sister makes. They helped.”
Sari hesitated. Normally if a dream was for sharing, Tala would offer. Sari knew that not all visions were meant for everyone, even for family. But with Damien gone…
“The vision,” she asked. “Should I write to Damien about it?”
Tala shook her head. “It’s one I’ve had before.” A dark look crossed her face. “I don’t think it is pressing, but I promise I’ll consult Gabriel about it when he comes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, sister. Now eat. Enjoy the meal.” Tala smiled. “It really does smell lovely.”
※
Sari insisted on sleeping next to Tala that night. She’d abandon her twin’s bed when Tala’s mate came, but not before. Sari was worried about her. Tala was muttering in her sleep. Sari didn’t know if it was a vision or simply a dream. It was often impossible to tell. Then Tala sat bolt upright in bed; her eyes flew open.
“I know where it is.”
Sari blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Where what is?”
“The house. The house, of course. I know where it is. The clothes are mine. I can see them there, but this time everything is silent.”
A chill stole up Sari’s spine. “What are you talking about, Tala?”
“The clothes…” A moment later she bent over the side of the bed and retched into the ever-present basin.
Sari jumped into action. She threw one of Damien’s linen wraps around herself and got out of bed, pouring fresh water into a mug for Tala to drink after she emptied her stomach. She wet a clean cloth and wiped her sister’s forehead as Tala spat out the remnants of sickness into the basin. Then Sari covered it and took it to the hallway to dump in the morning. She went to the kitchen and brought some soft white bread along with a few of the wrapped ginger sweets.
When she got back, she roused Tala and made her drink more water and eat the bread, but her sister waved off the sweets and fell back into a deeper sleep before Sari could ask more about the vision.
I know where it is. The clothes are mine.
In the years since she and Damien had moved to Paris, Sari had often felt like there was something her mate and her sister had held back from her. She knew some secrets related to Tala’s visions were not for her ears. Some related to nothing Tala or Damien could share, even with their mates. They both reported directly to the elders in Vienna.
But this vision…
The clothes are mine.
This related to Tala. Sari knew Damien must know what the vision was—Sari suspected it was the same one that had plagued her sister for years—but he had not told her. Was he unable or unwilling? Had Tala forbidden it? Or had the council?
Thoughts of her sister and her mate circled Sari’s mind until the sun rose. She drifted into a fitful sleep just as the rooster crowed.
※
She was mending sheets when she heard the hoofbeats. Shouts and panicked cries filled the air. Sari put down her needlework and picked up her staff. She might be slower, but she could still defend her—
“Sari!”
She turned toward Damien’s voice. “What are you doing here? What has happened?”
“The Grigori.” He kissed her swiftly. “They are finally moving. Gabriel sent a messenger to us on the road. There are cries of plague amongst the court. Men and women dying in their sleep. Prominent generals. Wealthy men of trade. Well-known men and women in society. Inexplicable deaths, Sari. They are even going after the children. The city is in uproar. It must be the Grigori.”
“The humans, are they looking to blame someone?” Panic closed her throat. Visions of Irina burning. Cries of “witch” rising over a crowd.
“Milá, no.” Damien grasped her shoulders. “Think, Sari. Who would they blame?”
She took a deep breath and relaxed. There were no Irina in the city. They could not be targeted. No Irina had been in French society for one hundred years, at least. Her sisters were safe, even if the humans were not.
“Of course. I am sorry, Damien. The human deaths are awful enough.” She frowned. “But why—”
“I need your touch, mate.” He looked stricken for even asking. “But it is up to you. I go into battle and you cannot come. I have forbidden Gabriel from touching Tala as she is so ill, but the rest…”
Sari finally looked at who was in the company with him. She’d been so focused on Damien the other riders hadn’t even caught her attention. They were all there. Every mated Irin in the Paris house. Even the warriors of the village were readying mounts, kissing their mates and children good-bye.
“Then this is truly war,” she whispered. Mated Irin only asked for their singers to loan them power when they were going into battle. A simple patrol or strike was not deemed important or dangerous enough to weaken a mate.
“Sari, if you’re not feeling strong enough—”
“I am.” She took his hand and led him to their cottage. “Come, Damien. We must get all of you back to the city.”
“I am taking Farrin with me.”
She halted. “No.”
“Sari, I must. He is my weapons master. I need his arm.”
Something roared in her head. Some inner voice screamed alarm, but she tried to be rational. “But that will leave every warrior absent. Damien, I don’t think—”
“Sari, I don’t have time to argue with you. I need them in the city. Especially Farrin.”
“And we need someone here. The only able scribes will be the older men and apprentices.”
“What of the other townsmen? What of you and Abra? Sari, you’re making this worse than it is. The Grigori are
not here, they’re in Paris. That is where we need our forces.”
“The men here have plows, not swords. The women…” She almost cried from frustration. “They know nothing of defense.” The other Irin mates retreated to their homes, but she and Damien stood on the path to their cottage, still arguing. “These men will not follow my direction like they will Farrin. If Farrin tells them to fight, they will without question. If I tell them, they will argue with me.”
“I will instruct them not to.”
Sari snorted. “Of course! I’m sure that’s all that is needed.”
“I am their watcher.”
“And you will be hundreds of miles away should something happen.”
“A hundred, if that. Don’t exaggerate, milá.”
It felt like hundreds. Felt like thousands some days. Thousands of miles away from her hardheaded, stubborn mate.
“Do you think I would leave you unprotected if I thought a threat existed here?” he continued. “The Grigori are in the city. Attacking there. Not here.”
She dragged him to their cottage and closed the door, pushing him toward a chair as she stripped off the top of her shift so that her mating marks were exposed. They already glowed gold, roused by anger, hunger, and her mate’s addictive scent. Damien removed his shirt and sat, holding his arms out for her.
“Sari, please.”
She went to him in silence.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said.
“I don’t agree with your taking the strongest scribes here.”
He held both her wrists. “We have kept the Grigori away from the village. They don’t even know this place exists. We have watched for any sign of them for years, milá.”
“They are evil, not soft in the head.”
He kissed her. “Then I will depend on my fierce mate to protect her sisters.”
There was no arguing with him. He’d made up his mind, and Sari could not change it. He was most likely right, she just hated to feel vulnerable, especially when she was far from her fighting best.
“Leave your sword.”
He nodded. “If you wish it.”
He had others in the city, but Sari knew if Damien was hunting, he would use his black, heaven-forged blade. He had no need of the short, silver-tipped sword that Sari used for training.
He put one hand on her belly. “This won’t hurt the child, will it?”
“Of course not, Damien.” She softened toward him. “Loaning you power could never hurt him. I can hear his little voice already. The baby is fine.”
“Her voice.” The ache was in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
“But you must.” And he was taking all his warriors with him. For a moment, Sari felt relief. She wanted her mate surrounded by his fiercest in battle. If she couldn’t be with him, Farrin would have to do.
Damien pulled her forward until their skin pressed together. “Sing to me, reshon. Strengthen me that I may return to you whole and unbruised.”
Sari lifted her voice and poured her power into her song.
It wasn’t until hours later, after she’d slept away the worst of the exhaustion, that she realized Tala could not be found.
CHAPTER SIX
DAMIEN approached the small rider trailing behind the company when they stopped to water the horses an hour outside the city. He didn’t recognize the stride of the young man, but was not surprised that one of the youngsters had joined them. He’d been eager for battle himself when he was that age. If the young scribe proved skilled, he’d put him with Farrin and let him feel his first battle blood. If he was useless, Damien could always leave him at the house.
“Brother.” The cloaked figure tried to dart away, but Damien caught his arm. “Hold, son. I’m not sending you back, I just need to…” His voice died when he saw who he was holding. “Tala?”
Her face was even paler than it had been at the beginning of the week. She was wearing men’s clothes and her hair was tied back. Dark circles were under her eyes. Carrying a child had not been easy on her. He hadn’t truly commanded Gabriel not to ask for his mate’s power. The scribe had insisted he would not, even on pain of discipline. Damien had not argued because the man was right. Tala was not hearty enough to loan her power.
But she was hearty enough to sneak onto a horse and ride with them.
“Gabriel’s bloody fist, Tala. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve already had this argument with Abra. I am a good rider.” She turned back to her horse. “It will not harm the baby. Not for months.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” He strode after her.
“I need to go with you. If you send me back with a brother, you will be one warrior less and I will sneak away again.” Her voice was quiet but firm.
“Tala—”
“I have seen more, Damien. I know where the house is.”
Damien paused. That cursed house. The vision had plagued her for over two years, but Damien had never been certain. Tala was convinced the place was real and not symbolic. Was it coincidence that this new vision came just as the Grigori of Paris started to move? Could it be the heart of the conspiracy?
“How? You and Sari looked for it everywhere.”
“I had another vision last night. Almost the same, but with more detail. There is a linden tree I recognize. It leans at an odd angle, and I’ve seen it at the end of a lane we walk regularly. I did not think any houses were built there. Perhaps it has just been completed or renovated. It could be—”
“It could be many things, but humans are dying right now. The Grigori offensive is already underway. Whatever they have been planning, they are attacking now, Tala. I cannot investigate this.”
“You can if it means finding out what their plan is,” she said firmly. “Think, Damien. There is no sign of a Fallen in the city, your knife is not needed, therefore others can fight as effectively as you. This is more important. I’m certain of it. If we can find their base, perhaps interrogate whichever Grigori is in charge, we could warn other cities. We need the intelligence, Damien. It is not only Paris at stake.”
He debated silently. Sari would be furious. Gabriel would be enraged. But Tala was superior to both of them. As seer, he could not ignore her. This vision had been tormenting her for two years, and the location of the house had only now been revealed. There must be a purpose in it, though Leoc himself might be the only one who knew what it was.
“I will go with you,” he said. “Keep hidden. If Gabriel sees you, he won’t be able to think of anything else. Stay behind at the house when I send the teams out. I will keep a small company back and then we will search.”
“We don’t have to look. I know where it is. The neighborhood is only a few miles from our own house.”
※
Gabriel met them at the door.
“Is Tala safe? The retreat?”
Damien avoided the first question. “I left my sword with Sari, along with instructions for the village. There was no sign of Grigori anywhere on the road. All the movement seems to be in the city. What news since last night?”
They had ridden to the village and back in three days. Damien was exhausted and the horses were spent. But night was falling and his men, flush with borrowed power, needed to be set to hunt.
Gabriel didn’t notice the slight figure lingering in the hallway, her eyes huge and aching and fixed on her mate. Damien pulled Gabriel into the library and toward the spread map of Paris on the table, giving Tala time to hide.
“We already identified five of their safe houses,” Gabriel said, his fingers pointing toward five chess pieces he’d used to mark the targets. “I’ve sent scouts out and all appear to be empty.”
“So they’re hunting.”
“They’re doing something.” Gabriel scratched his jaw, rough from days and nights spent poring over missives from his many informants. “The Grigori we’d identified who were previously so popular in the society pages seem to have disappeared, but the
deaths continue. They are hunting in stealth now.”
A silent, awful part of Damien screamed, Finally! It had been torturous to watch their enemies grow and build in numbers without a single obstacle. The mandate of the council was sacrosanct. No Grigori could be killed unless he was attacking a human. Which meant, though Damien knew they had to be feeding somehow, they had not been killing, and he had not been able to attack them in their lairs.
“How many?”
“Sixty so far. One a cousin of the general himself. She was healthy two days ago. Napoleon’s people are in a quiet panic and the physicians have no answers. There are beginning to be rumors of poison and murder. I’ve sent men around to the priests, but we know not all have been reported.”
The poorest, the indigent, and the prostitutes usually made up the bulk of Grigori prey. Those deaths would always be overlooked.
“They’re moving in force,” Damien said. “It’s enough to justify our actions. Have you divided the men into teams?”
Gabriel nodded. “I haven’t made any changes to the plan you laid out. Every scribe is able and ready.”
“And those just back from the retreat are eager for combat. Make sure at least one is on every team.”
“Yes, Watcher.”
“I will stay behind for now.”
Gabriel looked up sharply, as Damien knew he would. It was unlike Damien to avoid a hunt.
“I have some intelligence I must act on,” he said quietly. “I cannot tell you more.”
Gabriel paused. “Is it related to her vision?”
“Yes.” That much Damien could confirm.
Gabriel nodded but didn’t press. “Very well. Farrin and I will take the lead in the field for now. If you are here, you can coordinate runners as they come in.”
“I’ll need a small team of men. Five or six should do. Men who know what it means to be quiet.”
“I’ll choose the most suited and shift the teams accordingly.”
“Good hunting, brother.”
Gabriel grasped his shoulder and squeezed. “And to you as well.”
The Staff and the Blade Page 16
