by L J Andrews
Roark glared at the man until he cowered back against the wall. With a sigh, he glanced at the woman again. “May I know your name? You told me you would tell me the next time we met.”
She chuckled darkly. “I’m almost tempted since you asked so politely for a heathen.”
“I’d like to think I have some humanity left. Your name, or should I call you halfling?”
“It’s Isabelle,” the Zaharan said with a tone of frustration like the man. “Now, either kill us, or leave us in peace. We’ve had a trying night.”
“Isabelle,” Roark grinned, satisfied by the way she seemed genuinely disappointed he’d learned her name. “Fine. I am asked to guard this door tonight. Should you need anything, fend for yourselves, I am not your servant, apart from you Oriana,” he added with a wink. The child smiled and there was a slight resemblance to the Baron. “You know to ask should you need anything.”
“The child receives kindness, but what are we, cattle?” The stern woman whispered.
Roark flicked his brow at her before backing through the door. “I do not trust you, Isabelle. Don’t do anything foolish, or I will become the heathen you claim.”
She watched him with disdain as Roark slammed the door on the pantry and leaned against the wooden door. Releasing a pent breath, Roark feared his legs would give out. Kawal was dead. The Zaharan couldn’t be telling the truth about Blood Knights, but Roark tended to believe the general had been killed. Swallowing a new, fierce anguish Roark settled against a barrel of dark rice and buried his face in his hands. Kawal was dead, but inside he felt as though he were dead the same as the night his family had been slaughtered.
Chapter 27
Lightborn
Roark jerked awake when the hinges on the pantry door creaked. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he remained silent as Isabelle slipped into the dark of the ship as it rocked and lulled the crew to sleep. She moved like a shadow; even the gown didn’t make a noise as she stepped into the wide chamber of the galley. Her hair hung beyond her shoulders in brown waves that had highlights of rich amber. Roark didn’t like being caught off guard, but even in the scribe square he’d been drawn to the woman. Now, knowing she carried secrets his intrigue only heightened.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked without moving.
Isabelle sighed and glanced over her shoulder. “I assume there are chamber pots, or something on this vessel. The little girl needs to go.”
Roark peered into the pantry where Oriana danced on her toes and bit her bottom lip. He smiled and slowly rose from his hard spot. Stretching the ache in his back, he glanced at the child. “Do you want the woman or me to show you?”
“She’s a girl like me,” Oriana whispered.
“Fair enough. They are beyond the dining area. Be careful not to wake the crew. They aren’t pleasant when stirred too early.”
Isabelle nodded and motioned for Oriana to follow. The girl pranced anxiously away in the dark. Roark gulped from a ladle filled with water that had a fishy taste. It wet his mouth, that’s what mattered. His joints ached from sleeping against the wooden barrel, and his body could use a good wash, but the cool sea breeze breathing through the cracks invigorated his senses.
Before long the patter of feet echoed near the pantry and Oriana returned with a grimace on her face. “It smelled.”
Roark chuckled. “That’s what happens on a ship filled with dirty men.”
She grinned and slipped back into the warmth of the pantry. Roark drew his eyes to the stern expression of Isabelle. Folding her arms over her chest she took an acute study of his face. Roark met her stare with equal intensity.
“You are kind to the child. Does she belong to you?”
Roark rolled his eyes and plopped onto the top of the barrel. “No. She’s a child who deserves kindness. Is it so difficult to believe I could give it?”
“In my experience kindness comes with conditions.”
He could say the same of his recent life, but he was fortunate to know good, genuine souls still existed. “That’s unfortunate. I only met the girl last night. She’s afraid, so I won’t add to her fear.”
“Just as you won’t claim me, though it is within your right as a member of this ship.” Roark looked away as each scar on his back seemed to ignite with fire. Rights over human lives festered the bitterness in his heart. Isabelle stepped closer. She had an aura that stunned him. Something about the woman radiated a force that both captivated and repelled. “Why don’t you claim me? I know you have an eye for women who have no hope of refusing.”
Narrowing his eyes, Roark leaned closer. “You keep speaking as though I am a fiend that ravishes women day and night. Did I give that impression in scribe square? Perhaps, I don’t claim you because a free life doesn’t deserve to be in bondage.”
Her full lips softened. Curling the sheer silk of her gown around her fingers she leaned against the wall, so their shoulders nearly touched. “You didn’t give that impression in the square, but I saw you shortly after at a red house.”
“You saw me in a red house, but I wonder why you were in such a place?”
Isabelle huffed and took a few moments to respond. “There was someone I was trying to reconnect with, someone I loved. But…it was pointless.”
Roark heard pain in her tone, and chose not to press the point. His shoulders relaxed as he eased his head against the pantry wall. “I don’t need to explain myself, but there was a young woman—a friend—who had been trapped and traded. I’ve tried to find her for several months, and finally found her in one of Skoka’s houses. I paid her debt, that is all.”
For the first time, the woman’s face truly softened as she spoke. “You didn’t feel the need to explain yourself, yet I’m pleased you just did.”
Roark felt the corners of his lips curl up in a small grin. “Has my once good reputation been restored?”
Isabelle didn’t smile as easily. “I suppose time will tell.” She hugged her middle and Roark could see the sword still tucked on her hip. “Where you a slave? The scars, bring me to wonder.”
He shifted as memories flooded his mind. “Something like that.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I know nothing about you. Tell me something, and give the opportunity to trust you and I will do the same.”
She seemed to consider the notion and Roark thought she might disappear back into the sanctuary of the pantry, but after a few heartbeats Isabelle nodded. “I didn’t lie to you in the square when I mentioned I had been away from Jershon for many years. I was banished from the empire and was forced to flee for my life because I am a halfling. And because of my father.”
Roark furrowed his brow and inched closer. “I lived in Jershon my entire life, but I don’t remember any banishments. I did encounter halflings, but none that were banished by official imperial order. At least non that I knew.”
“My father always told me Emperor Abram would never bring me harm, even if I couldn’t stay in the empire. I didn’t know why, all my father said was that I had meaning to the empire; for the Bloodlands. I thought those were only loving words from a father, but I wasn’t killed after his execution. I was run out. It caused me to wonder if Abram didn’t want me dead after all, but I’m certain the emperor wouldn’t have made my existence known. My identity was always kept secret, and nothing changed after the execution.”
“Executed?” As scribes his family was tasked with writing all legal trials, executions, death warrants, and imprisonments in the empire. His eyes widened. “The only execution I remember from several years ago was…Amos. The councilman who—”
“Went mad? Yes,” Isabelle snapped.
“You’re his daughter?”
“The ever-constant reminder of his infidelities, as my sister would say.” She smiled viciously and pointed to her skin. “I was raised by his wife as her own; I trained with the Shen; I was treated as a noble in my own home, but hidden away beneath paints and veils if I ever were
permitted to leave the property. Emperor Abram was aware of me, and even watched me train at times, but as I said, he required my father to hide me away for most of my life. I suppose, as a halfling I should count myself lucky for not being trapped or offered to Corian. When my father was killed, so was his wife by the soldiers. They said it was an accident, but who can say? My sister was left without a copper and forced into the life of a Skoka girl, and I was told to flee and never return.” As she finished, her knee was bouncing, and her thumbnail was between her teeth. “There, now I have told you something.”
Roark didn’t know what to say. “All the known halflings were registered up until four years ago when Abram began reparations for the lost lives and began accepting them into society. I assure you, there was no halfling daughter registered to Amos and his house. If the emperor hid you, it begs the question why?”
“I don’t worry over such things any longer. Anyone who could answer those questions is dead. But I am curious how you know so much about these things too.”
Roark stared at the markings on his arm and traced a curling symbol with his thumb. “I’m certain you can guess.”
Isabelle grinned and leaned back against the wall again. “I have a theory, yes. Seeing as I found you despondent and forlorn in scribe square, clearly knowing you are educated, and your inner knowledge of registries, I will say you were once a scribe.”
“I wasn’t despondent,” he muttered lightly. “But you’re correct. I suppose it doesn’t much matter if my name is known now since…he’s dead. I am of House Varonis; my name is Roark.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and Roark peered at her as she incessantly stroked the ends of her hair. Her voice was smaller than before, almost distant. “Then why does the child call you Ro and what was the other name…bruiser?”
He scoffed as he took another gulp of fishy water. “That is a story of its own. Does my true name upset you?”
Isabelle had curled away, her spirit seemed to fade from fierce killer to a woman distraught.
She smiled with a touch of sadness. “It brings one of my fonder memories, but also one of my most terrible since I learned that name the same day my father was killed.”
“I don’t understand.”
She met his eyes and the deep blue sent a thrill through his chest.
“You don’t know me?”
Roark’s brow gathered together as he studied her face. Forcing his mind to think, it took only a few moments before the memory he’d been fighting since seeing her first in scribe square was clear. The one memory of the only blue-eyed halfling he’d known before this day. He chuckled and leaned over his knees. “Yes. How I missed it before…” he whispered. “I see your ankle improved.”
She smiled. “I hope your game has improved.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “I’ll have you know, I’m undefeated in the game.”
“That won’t last.”
Roark’s voice lowered as his desire to touch her increased. “I often wondered about you after you disappeared. I was certain the Bloodlands killed you.”
“They nearly did. I’m not sure how I didn’t piece together who you were before now either.”
“I’m afraid time has changed us, annis.” Isabelle grinned as if the title placed them at the gameboard as children once more. “Your eyes should have reminded me, but my mind has been only focused on vengeance these long months.”
Her eyes brightened as if on cue, but her shoulders curled forward. “What happened to your house, Roark? Why change your name?”
He closed his eyes. “Kawal. The short version is I changed my name the night Kawal murdered my family.”
A shadow crossed her face and she seemed genuinely upset by the confession. “So, that is why you wanted to kill him.”
“Yes,” Roark said. “I watched him murder my parents and I ran for my life. Only surviving because I hid for hours in the rubble. Weeks before the siege of Baz my father had discovered ancient writings with the seal of the Mount. The scrolls spoke of the Lightborn, of their powers, of trapped magic in stone amulets. It was a remarkable find, and with the right resources could make a single empire more powerful than them all.
“Kawal had the descriptions of the amulets and the powers on one scroll, but the locations of the temples and possible hidden clans; I ran with that half.” Roark held up his arms. “I couldn’t risk losing the scroll, so I destroyed it and made it permanently part of me. After weeks of living in the Gaps, when I had no idea how to live such a life, I vowed to find the Lightborn and rise against Kawal. I lived and worked in the Gaps for months biding my time, but life often doesn’t go according to plan. Trappers came and I was forced into an existence I wouldn’t wish upon an enemy, only to be offered to the sea baron eventually. I returned to Jershon too early, and these last few nights I’ve feared discovery every moment. Since the siege, my only drive to survive was facing Kawal someday and taking my vengeance. Now, what do I have?”
She held her breath. Her lips parted slightly as she dug beneath the folds of her gown. A stone dangled from a chain Isabelle quickly unclasped and held out in her palm. “Tell me more about the amulets.”
Roark studied the stone, his pulse rapid in his head as he met her eye. “It…was written that the gods of the Mount blessed stones with powers of the Lightborn before the Light King fell to Emperor Mal. Legend says the amulets would help—for lack of a better word—heroes who would be called to restore peace and light magic once more. They would need stronger voices and rays to do their duty. The amulets were there to help.”
Turning her shoulders, Isabelle held out the stone for him to take. “You don’t believe it’s true?”
Roark smiled and shook his head. “I wanted to, but no, I don’t believe any gods are directing our paths and I don’t believe the valiance of heroes exists.”
With a gleam in her eye, one corner of her mouth curled up in a grin. “Pretend for a moment it’s true. Would…everyone feel the power of these amulets?”
Roark touched the stone and swallowed when a subtle shock burned across his fingertips. Not enough that he would notice if he weren’t paying attention, but enough that it quickened his breaths. “I’m not certain. I knew a Mount priest once who believed the rays of the Lightborn could be heard only by those whom destiny chose to use to free the enslaved and abused Lightborn clans.”
“The heroes?”
He nodded. Isabelle studied Roark. The small lantern swaying with the pull of the ship cast a gilded light over her face. The woman was beautiful, but carried a darkness inside that Roark saw burdened her with secrets.
“But you don’t believe in destiny like the Mount priest?”
Roark smiled with thoughts of Elder. “I tried my best not to believe in anything. I will admit there have been moments when I wonder if I am exactly where I’m meant to be.”
“I was raised to believe in the Lightborn, in the Mount, but abandoned my faith long ago,” Isabelle said. “Until recently. What can the amulets do if found?”
Excitement awakened his mind, and Roark couldn’t keep his smile hidden. “According to the scroll there were three amulets with the different rays of the fireshapers, earthbreakers, and mindweavers.”
“What if someone isn’t Lightborn or a hero? Could the powers be harnessed?”
He shrugged. “In theory, if you believe in the mystics, the rays of the Lightborn could choose their hero—if you will—and give power to someone who isn’t Lightborn, I suppose.” Roark shifted on the barrel, so he faced her directly. “Isabelle, do you believe that stone is an amulet?”
She bit her bottom lip and met his eye. “Kawal never parted with it and told his bride it would give him power over everything.”
Roark dragged his fingers over the stone gently. “I sense something when I touch it.”
“You feel it too?”
He nodded. “Very subtle.”
“So, it could be an amulet?”
“The trouble is, th
is stone doesn’t fit the description of the amulets from the scroll.”
“When you touched it the first time, did it feel as though you couldn’t breathe? Like something stole the breath right from your chest?”
Roark shook his head. “No, just warmth.” Her shoulders slumped and her eyes shadowed. “Did you feel such a power?”
Isabelle’s eyes were glistening when she looked up. Such a fierce woman and she had tears. Roark found the vulnerability encouraging, and easier to trust.
“When I took this from Kawal’s neck, I thought I was dying, or poisoned. I could hardly sit up. What does that mean? What is so important that my guild betrayed me, so I was forced to flee for my life and for Lady Angelet?” she asked with a nod toward the pantry.
“What do you mean?”
“My master believed me to be dangerous, but how can that be? I am still the same as I was before Jershon except there is something I can’t explain. A feeling that is telling me…there is more to this stone than I know.”
Roark’s heard thudded like a blacksmith mallet in his chest. “Your guild? Are you a thief?”
“The Tyv took me in after I was banished. There were no female thieves who make an oath in Tyv, women serve in other capacities. Until I demonstrated my ability to be swift and silent. Jershon was a run; I thought I’d succeeded, until my guild tried to kill me. I thought it was because I knew the truth, and they wanted to keep me silent. But now I wonder if something more is happening. Roark, I saw Blood Knights murder Kawal and his men and they were aided by a guild master.”
“You believe Sha’run is rising?” Bumps rippled across Roark’s arms at the thought.
Isabelle swallowed, but leaned forward. “Yes. Something is changing in the Bloodlands. Something dark is coming. Lady Angelet felt nothing when she touched this stone and she is Light…” Isabelle stopped speaking and glanced at Roark with wide eyes.
His voice was gritty and raw when he lowered his tone to a whisper. “Are you telling me the Zaharan is Lightborn?” Isabelle seemed ready to turn inside out with fear. Roark reached his hand and rested it over her fisted palms. She startled at his touch, but didn’t pull away. “Isabelle, you must trust me, I wouldn’t harm a Lightborn, I can’t…honestly, I can’t believe they truly exist. I thought I was chasing a foolish myth.”
