Definitely some kind of poison.
With the curiosity of a scientist, he observed the rapid response to the poison, his victim first arching on the ground, jerking, and then frothing white foam from his mouth. Xavier regretted that he hadn’t pricked him on the hand or some other place to draw out the effect. Bloating and intense swelling happened almost immediately, and blood gathered under the skin, creating dark purple blisters.
A window shutter finally opened and a teenage boy leaned out. “Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m well and fine.” He glanced at the scorched bodies surrounding him then quirked a brow. Something told him the guard wouldn’t arrive for a while, if at all, unless someone notified them personally. “But there’s a gold coin in it for you if you’ll run and fetch the guard.”
23
Sacrifice
No amount of struggle freed Rosalia from the powerful current sweeping her away from the cliffside. Salt burned down her throat and seared up her nasal passages, while her lungs screamed for air. Flailing in panic, she reached up and felt open air with her fingertips, only to be ripped further away and torn below the surface again.
Her life flashed before her eyes in snatches of conversation, pieces of broken memories, and flickers of the many accomplishments she’d had as a thief and dancer. She saw precious moments with loved ones lost, the incomplete goals she’d set, the new friends she’d made, and the lover she’d taken.
Of all the things she longed to do, seeing Xavier one more time ranked at the top, as high as earning justice for her wrongfully murdered friends. The first thing she would do—if she survived plummeting from a few hundred feet of treacherous cliffside—would be to show him the treehouse. As the waves tossed and turned her through foaming salt water, she held on to that wish with everything she had.
Don’t give up, a little voice said, the voice of reason that always arose whenever she wanted to throw in the towel. You’re not a quitter. You’ve never been a quitter.
Yes, she agreed with her subconscience, though it sounded more like her mother than it did her own voice these days. Or was it that she had begun to sound like her mother?
Regardless, the voice was right. Fighting the current will only exhaust me. I have to let it take me where it wants. Wait it out.
She wanted to go on a thousand more adventures and carve out a title for herself, whether they were sanctioned quests across the elven kingdom or illegal heists into forgotten mausoleums and extravagant galleries owned by filthy rich heiresses.
Rosalia tumbled weightless through a black abyss. Seconds had passed since her death-defying dive, but it felt like an eternity of forced introspection. For as many lifetime achievements to receive her reflection, an equal number of failures and misadventures had shaped her life. At seven, Hadrian took her on their first group job to rob a noble family’s tomb of a priceless relic buried with an ancient ancestor. Her small body squeezed into little places no adult could fit, making her an asset to their team. She’d been bright-eyed and eager to please, desperate to impress. Then she walked through a tripwire, initiating a sequence of traps that sent them scrambling as gears began to turn. Floor spikes rose from the floor and jagged lances sliced through the air from holes in the walls. A thief shoved her aside and was impaled through the calf for his trouble.
It could have been her. She’d cried all night. It was a silly mistake, and they had been furious with Hadrian for bringing her.
At ten, a jewel merchant overlooked Rosalia long enough for her to grasp a handful of gem-studded bracelets dangling from a display behind his counter. He’d been fetching a cup of tea from the adjacent room but returned to catch her hand in the case. She bolted like a startled filly. He pulled a lever, and an immovable steel panel fell down over the door and clicked in place, while matching grates rolled into place to cover the windows. That was the first time Hadrian bailed her out of jail. Money exchanged hands; the guards purged her record.
She learned from it, though she’d sobbed when they denied her dessert that night. But he’d hugged Rosalia before tucking her into bed for one of the last times before she outgrew the habit. And he’d told her he loved her no matter what.
That one day, she’d be among the best, if only she continued to practice.
At eleven, Rosalia once more bit off more than she could chew, breaking an unspoken rule among thieves to never take on a theft beyond their skill level unassisted. A mechahound cornered her in the dining room of a wealthy nobleman, barking until the homeowner found her in the fetal position in the living room, afraid the metal beast would tear out her throat.
Lacherra fetched her that time, paying a hefty silence fee to both the homeowner and the city watchman holding Rosalia by the wrist when her guardian arrived. The bribe had cost her one hundred golden ducats. A small fortune. During the longest walk of Rosalia’s life from Opal Park to the docks, Lacherra said nothing to her, exuding silent disappointment with every step.
Hadrian had been away on business visiting Ilyria, but for one terrifying week, Rosalia knew she’d find herself homeless when he returned and Lacherra told him what happened. How she’d failed again and cost them more than a month’s earnings. Again, he sat on her bedside while she laid beneath the covers, trembling and afraid, distraught after making Lacherra mute with anger. He’d rubbed her arm, said he loved her, and asked her to try harder next time.
Rosalia made no mistakes after that. If she did, she got herself out of them, refusing to ever rely on Hadrian or Lacherra bribing her out of trouble again. She learned the Ghost Walks and furiously threw herself into taking any small job that came across the boards, accompanying Hadrian any time he was willing to have her alongside him.
Looking back, she realized her adopted mother’s love had been circumstantial, bestowed only when Rosalia performed to her expectations.
Water tore her on a runaway current, but she had too much to live for to give in when she’d fought her entire life.
Rosalia let herself slide with the current to see where it took her, elongating her body and coasting with the flow. Daring to open her eyes, she saw a world of darkness and light all around her, a midnight sky studded with an immeasurable number of colorful stars. And then she wasn’t underwater at all, but on her knees with crystalline water all around her. She rose and coughed to clear her throat.
“What in the Void…? Where am I?”
“You have found and traversed the dangerous path to the Crystal Shores,” a woman said, words echoing from all around her in a voice competing as both the most haunting and gorgeously harmonic sound Rosalia had ever heard. “Your courage is proven, Daughter of Fortune, and I deem you worthy of my audience.”
Barely able to breathe, as her heart had launched itself into her throat, Rosalia whirled around and gazed at her surroundings. She stood on an endless shoreline with sand the color of pink quartz granules beneath her bare feet. Each time the rolling tide crashed against the sand, it glittered like liquid diamonds. There was no sunlight, but everything glowed and emitted a mystical presence. In the far distance a roaring waterfall crashed down an imposing mountain, each splash shining turquoise like the waters off the shore of Ilyria.
“Lady Nindar?” she whispered, knees quaking as the gravity of the situation fell over her.
“None other. There is nothing to fear, child. I have waited many years for this moment, to meet you.”
“For me?”
The goddess’s dulcet tones enfolded her in tranquility, wrapping around her like a reassuring hug. “Yes. For you. You passed the test, as I always knew you would, as she once did.”
An opalescent wave rolled from the tide, growing until it reached Rosalia’s chest. The geyser bore a flawless teardrop emerald in its center. When Rosalia claimed the gemstone, a shock raced down her arm. Gods, it was as magnificent as the Light of Arcadian or the Soul of Avarae, and she found herself staring at it, overwhelmed by the magical relic’s radiance.
Above her,
star clusters lost their sparkle and winked out like dying emberflies.
“Take it, little one. The Tear of Nindar is now yours. Guard it well from those who seek to misuse it.”
“But shouldn’t I leave the Tear here where it’s safe? Even if Lacherra or some other lackey finds their way to the Crystal Shores, they’d never be able to make you relinquish it. You could hide it indefinitely.” A conch shell near her foot lost its gleam.
“That is true, but these gemstones are a single piece of a puzzle, a portion of my essence voluntarily fragmented many millennia ago. It belongs in the mortal realm.” The voice quieted and became a subdued whisper she strained to hear. “Though it pains me to ask more of you than what already rests on your shoulders, there is no other way. This jewel must be restored to the Rod of New Life—the staff once carried by my high priests. Only then can you begin to undo the damage wrought by the Deceiver.”
“Wait, I’m only here because of the Devil’s Eyeglass. I don’t know anything about the staff or…the Deceiver?” Rosalia blinked once, awareness dawning over her. “Iblis?”
“The Father of Perdition,” Nindar murmured, sounding fainter. Mirroring her voice, stars faded one by one, vanishing from the sky. The waterfall no longer glowed, its flow reduced to a pathetic trickle. “I am weakening. Years, I have waited, sealing a small portion of myself here to commune with my followers and to aid my most beloved high elves…but so little of me remains. What once replenished my power has waned.”
The tide swept in again and licked around Rosalia’s calves and knees, rising higher. It tugged her, but she resisted it. “The sacrifices! All this time, the elves who jumped from the cliffs were sacrifices to you, weren’t they?”
“Yes. Queen Lisariel discovered this when she made her first leap of faith from the mountaintop for Ilyria. It was she who devised a way to furnish me with power.”
“But…people killed themselves without knowing why. They were lied to. They thought it was a ceremony! But they weren’t pleading to you for protection at all. You were just leeching power from them.”
“It was a ceremony, dear child; one of great importance. Those who gave their lives from the Cliffs of Silver Peril did not die in vain. They became one with me, restored me, live on within me and have extended my existence until this day—the day I knew you would come as your mother once did. Go now, Rosalia, while I still have the power to return you to the realm of the living. What remains here in the Crystal Shores is soon to fizzle out and become no more.”
Warm waves crested higher and lapped her thighs. Her heart hurt as she thought of the many hundreds, if not thousands of lives lost over the years, dashed to bits on the rocks below the cliffs, their souls used as fuel. “But how do I free you?” And did she want to free such a cruel creature, capable of murdering countless mortals to temporarily prolong its existence?
“You do,” Nindar whispered. “Because there are worse things than I lying in wait for your world to lower its guard, little one. This was not a matter of black or white, good or evil. What was done was done for the survival of mortalkind. Sometimes, true sacrifices must be made for the greater good. One day, you will learn this for yourself.”
Her heart slammed in her chest, a hard staccato beat. “What else is out there?”
“You already know. The Deceiver is only one evil, but more await to take his place. Find the staff and our prisons. Free us.”
“Where—”
The waves rolled Rosalia into the abyss again, dragging her under as the final lights went dim.
24
Wraith of Vengeance
With so many witnesses willing to corroborate his account, the city watch had no choice but to release Xavier. When asked what led to the attack, he told them the truth; he had no enemies in Saudonia that he knew of and had been minding his own business.
Someone from the watch must have anticipated his return, or word of the attack reached the men eager to rummage through his belongings. Within minutes of Xavier arriving home, they were at his door, banging with their gauntlet-clad fists and demanding entry.
And that was when it helped to have a magistrate in his pocket. Along the way home, he’d stopped by the office of Judge Vinosera, told the man of the unjust harassment during business hours, and received an injunction against their warrant until they provided a persuasive argument in his court the next day. Another watchman arrived bearing that news.
It wouldn’t last, of course, and Xavier knew they’d be there the next day storming up and down his shop aisles, tossing his storerooms, and investigating his secondary properties as if he’d have a dragon hidden in a cabinet or a wooden toy box.
But it guaranteed an evening of privacy at least. He imagined Rosalia would be quite cross with him until he explained the situation. He enabled every trap, both magical and clockwork, set loose an additional rover—realizing the things hadn’t even activated the night Rosalia broke into his shop—and descended into his underground lair.
Crossing over to Ilyria had never felt so good. He shed the elven skin outside and stretched out in his draconic body, raking his claws against the soft soil and breathing in the smell of green. It struck him as regrettable that so little of Enimura was covered in flora.
He flew to Valanya with his clothes gripped in one claw and coasted over the city.
Rosalia was not where they’d vowed to meet. He scanned the crowd for her yellow dress and swore to himself, aware that he was arriving more than an hour after their planned meeting time.
Unsurprisingly, he found most streets vacant, thousands within the city gone to spectate the annual rite dedicated to Nindar—the very reason Xavier had looked forward to their afternoon date, and thanks to bothersome city watchmen, sailors arriving at inconvenient times, and inept assassins, he’d missed his chance.
Xavier soared above the cliffside to watch the procession descending the slope, hoping to spot Rosalia among the revelers. He saw no Rosalia, but he did spy a hint of sunflower yellow silk carried in the arms of a priestess.
That never happened unless…
No. He refused to entertain the idea of Rosalia flinging herself from the cliffside over an archaic, long-abolished tradition. That would press even her luck.
Just the same, he glided down and landed with a heavy thump when they reached the shoreline and stood on the still-warm sand to watch the moonlit water.
More spectators arrived who hadn’t been present on the cliff as he crossed the sand to the priestess standing at the forefront with her staff planted in the sand, blue eyes directed toward the ocean.
“Priestess Falina,” he murmured.
“Master Bane.” She inclined her head. “You arrived too late this year to watch the rite.”
“I did,” he agreed, panic tightening a vice around his chest, also constricting his throat. No matter how much he recited the same mental prayer in his head, he already knew the answer to the question on the tip of his tongue. “Someone jumped?”
“A Saudonian did this year. I know it was outlawed but—” His heart convulsed, and a ragged exhale blew from his lungs. Falina’s smile faded. “Master Bane? Are you all right?”
“That’s her dress. And her leather satchel.”
“Yes. I’m holding them here as is cus—”
“My Rosalia’s dress?”
Blue eyes widened with understanding and horror. “Oh no. I didn’t realize—she said—Master Bane, I’m sorry. If I’d known she was attached to you—”
She would have jumped anyway, he thought, even as grief trembled through his gut and wrung his insides.
“I would have done anything to stop her, Master Bane. I didn’t know. She came to us to observe the rite, and when I realized her mother had survived the leap, I thought…thought it was a sign from the goddess. Forgive me, I—”
“Look!” someone called.
“Someone’s coming out of the water!”
A hum rolled over the crowd as many excited worshippers all be
gan to speak up and call out at once, some of them breaking out in song. Xavier snapped his head toward the water and stared.
Like the ocean goddess herself, Rosalia strode from the water in only her undergarments, long hair lank and wet against her bare shoulders.
Ignoring that almost all of Valanya watched, he raced toward her and transformed mid-stride, the heart in his chest straining to burst free. Unconcerned with his nudity, not caring that she was soaking wet, he met her where the waves crashed over the sand and crushed her against him.
“Gods, you’re all right.”
“I’m all right.” She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, eyes shining gold. “And even better, I have this.” Rosalia opened her palm, revealing the Tear of Nindar.
The day had been a tremendous success for Caius, who stood in the center of his alchemical laboratory awaiting a special delivery from two loyal servants. Prior to receiving word from Lacherra about ferreting out another suspected traitor, he’d also heard grand news from Giashka.
They’d narrowed down their search, claiming there could only be so many locations in the city large enough to comfortably house a rainbow dragon’s hoard. Excellent. With Giashka covering one concern and Lacherra on another issue, their problems would be well in hand by the day’s end.
Two stocky, broad-shouldered men wheeled a covered cart into the spacious, shelf-lined chamber, though the thin white sheet did little to conceal the grisly contents. One of the corpses had been frozen hard as a marble slab, and the left leg stuck out at an awkward angle, leaving a boot exposed.
“Here are the bodies as promised, my lord,” Rizzo said.
“The elves?”
“All three, Lord Caius. At least, we believe they are what you requested. One is most certainly an elf. The ice has preserved her perfectly. Lady Lacherra assured us the other two are at the very least half-elven. Sent their names. Will that be enough?” Rizzo offered a scrap of parchment to Caius.
Fool's Gold: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 2) Page 18
