Lightfall, p.8
LightFall, page 8
She intoned much better than I did, but she had more practice. In preparation for this terrible moment.
All around us, the other carriages were disgorging their occupants—Chosen and companions blinking around them in uncertain awe and exhausted shock. “Come this way,” the guard said, no intonation, just a curt order considering he was speaking to a scion of the realm. All the other Chosen and attendants were falling into line, flanked by High Keep servants ushering them toward the towers.
My neck prickled. It reminded me too much of Orton’s headthumpers chiding at the vanquished members of a rival gang. But Lady Dyania followed, Zik right behind her.
I caught his arm. “Stay with her,” I said under my breath. “I’ll find you.”
He swiveled to me, eyes wide. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“Yes, but I want to talk to Lisel first.” She was the only one of the guards I’d felt any hint of kindness from. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The lady was walking away, stiff and focused, not realizing I wasn’t in tow. Zik kept glancing back at me. I waved him onward even as I melted toward the palace staff bustling around the carriage behind Sevaare’s. These servants were dressed in rougher fabric of duller hues, and they were caring for the burden beasts and unloading the mortal remains from the demon attack. In the fitful light, I blended with them as I whisked around the far side of the carriages next to the inner bailey wall. I caught a glimpse of Lisel between the conveyances and paralleled her as she strode forward.
I hung back while she spoke with a tall, distinguished man in excellent livery who I assumed was leader of the guard. And when they both bowed their heads, I suspected she was telling him of their losses. When he abruptly struck her across the face, I recoiled in surprise.
Lisel didn’t even rock back on her heels. I waited warily until the man spun on his boot and stalked away. Only then did I creep closer.
She caught sight of me and straightened. In the lights of the bailey, the handprint on her face was a brutal hue. “Why aren’t you with your Chosen?”
I kept my gaze on hers, not the bruise to come. “Lady Dyania asked me to pass our thanks to you for guarding us and then guiding us this last way.”
The hartier let out a rude grunt. “Did she now? What do you want, wily little urchin?”
While it was true I was smaller than she was and I was being wily, I didn’t like the way she was trying to look past me, already moving away although her body hadn’t shifted. “The lady is without some necessary belongings and supplies.” No need to mention what had been taken by her attendants, since it could’ve all been ruined in the attack. “I’m hoping you might tell me where to replace some items here in the lightkeep before…”
The spasming muscle in her jaw blanching some of the blood from the mark on her cheek. “The lady isn’t the only one who lost on this trip,” she growled. “And if the Devouring fails, we will all lose everything.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe the Dragon Prince shouldn’t be so voracious. I’ve had to work hungry before, and I’m sure you have too. He might not get everything he wants.”
She finally looked at me again. “And you will tell him so?”
I grinned at her. “Maybe I will. But for now, a reference to a friendly face or two in the kitchen and the laundry would be most welcome.”
She sighed. “You are a survivor, aren’t you, urchin?” She rattled off a series of names that I hastened to imprint to memory. “For all the good it will do you,” she finished.
I thanked her profusely, then hesitated, eyeing her sidelong. “Are you all right? Did that man not understand how you held the cavalcade together?”
Her jaw tensed again, not in anger this time, but hiding a tremble. “That man is the marshal of the king’s army. Captain Vreas was his esteemed second, groomed for command—and his son.” Her shoulders bowed. “Also, my brother.”
I sucked in a breath. “Ah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Why would you have? It was something even he and my father would rather have forgotten.” She shook her head hard. “Why did I just tell you that?”
“Because I don’t matter, and telling me is like saying it to the wind.” I bit my lip. “I am no devout believer, but shall I ask Lady Dyania to add your brother’s name to her prayers? I think she wouldn’t mind.”
Lisel nodded. “May I bring you the names of all the fallen?” Both brows arched over her knowing blue eyes. “If I bring a flagon of ambra-wine as well?”
“Not necessary,” I said very humbly. “But much appreciated.” I gave her a little bow. “If I might also ask you directions to where Sevaare’s Chosen is quartered?”
With those directions and the staff names in my head, I hastened—by way of a very circuitous route—to the guest rooms. As I went, I segued through the kitchen and dry storage. At this time of night, not many servants were about, and those few were absorbing the work of the arrivals or preparing for the next morning so they had barely a glance for me. I was able to beg some supplies from a kindly kitchen maid—and pocket some more—before I finally made my way to the rooms set aside for Sevaare. Though the High Keep was larger than Sevaare, the footprint of the inner palace wasn’t so widespread, with most of it confined to the towers. Still, I was winded and weak-kneed by the time I made my way to our new quarters.
To my surprise—although in retrospect I shouldn’t have been—a guard was posted at the door. “Delivery for the Chosen One,” I told him, and when he eyed me suspiciously, I continued, “But they gave me too much, so maybe you’ll take one of these off my hands?” I held out one of the pastries that had been cooling in the kitchen. The honey glaze hadn’t yet hardened, so the glisten was even more enticing.
With a harrumph I chose to translate as gratitude, he reached for the pastry. At the same time, I reached past him to grab the door latch and let myself through.
If he made a noise of protest, it was garbled by the sticky bun.
The sitting room was the finest I’ve ever entered without a lockpick. In the mellow glow of the banked hearth fire, the etched silverleaf of Sevaare’s motif shone all around except where the sheerest silkha draped in lavish abandon. The room might be the guarded cell of a condemned hostage, but it was a lovely prison.
Wide, hinged screens were drawn back to reveal a second, smaller room. More silkha was swathed around a bed. I peered through two smaller doorways—one a privacy chamber, the other a dressing room with two narrow cots, obviously intended for the Chosen One’s companions. The open wardrobe held only a single pure white robe.
I turned back to the bedroom. The curtains around the bed weren’t drawn all the way, and the gap framed Lady Dyania’s sleeping face. Her brow was furrowed and her hands drawn up to her throat, as if the luxurious blankets and reflected firelight weren’t enough to protect her. On the hearth, a pile of what I’d thought was discarded laundry and perhaps a small canid was actually Zik sleeping close enough to the embers to burn, only the brown mop of his hair visible. Apparently both of them were seeking the light.
Neh, the shadows had never been an enemy of mine. And the cot looked more comfortable than anything I remembered in recent times. I went back to the closet and dumped my stash. I cleaned up in the privacy chamber—endless hot water, such luxury—checked my slumbering charges one more time, and went to bed myself.
Despite my boast of befriending the dark, I didn’t want to be unaware of my wider surroundings, so I left the closet door ajar. Not much, but in the ambient light, the ceremonial robe for the Devouring glowed with an uncanny aura of its own.
I stared at the robe. I needed to keep the door open enough to listen for the lady and the boy, but if they awoke and saw the reminder of the Devouring, they might be frightened.
In the end, I moved my blanket to the hearth next to Zik, eased the closet door closed, and fell asleep.
When I dreamed, an errant ray from the moon shining through the black glass mountain turned into the pearlescent glow mesmerizing me from the Dragon Prince’s half-closed eyes.
The point, the edge, the weight. Let the bearer’s be the blood.
~ Inscription on the inherited blade of the l’Thine royals
CHAPTER 5
THE SILVERLEAF CHAMBERS in the High Keep were larger and more luxurious than the carriage, but in some ways not so different. When I tried to sneak out in the morning, the guard at the door—different from last night—thrust a wheeled cart into my path and told me to see to the lady’s comfort. Annoyed, I retreated. The cart was laden with treats and treasures that had Zik’s stomach growling like a canid, and even Lady Dyania blinked at the excess.
“Fêted and fattened for the slaughter,” she murmured.
With an obvious attempt to temper his enthusiasm, Zik crouched to one side but he dove right back in when I gestured for him to help himself. There was too much for the three of us, even if they kept us confined until…
I tried to harden my heart against what I knew was coming, but it felt real now, even more so than when the demons attacked. I helped Zik put away the lady’s belongings that had survived and everything else dropped off with the cart—he was a better lady’s maid than I—but by midafternoon I was restless. While the lady recited the day’s prayers including the names of the dead, as I told her I’d promised our hartier on her behalf, I made another attempt for the door. Only to be blocked by another wheeled cart with more delights.
This time, even Zik seemed overwhelmed. “No more honey buns, ya. I’ll be sick.”
“Why so restless?” Lady Dyania studied me. “You’ll be free of me soon enough.”
I sputtered. “That’s not why…” I plunked down at the hearth. “This is a new place, with new rules, and we should know how to get around it—how to get out of it.”
She shook her head. “I already told you that there is no way out, not for me. There’s nothing else to know.” And even though it was still daylight, she went to the bed and pulled the silkha draperies around it all the way closed, calling to Zik to shut the screen between the rooms.
He frowned at me as he did so, as if I’d done something cruel, but I wasn’t the one who’d Chosen her.
Later, as I mused for a way to apologize—but what could I say that wouldn’t acknowledge she was doomed?—a brisk rap sounded at the door. Lisel peered through.
“I’d recognize your knock anywhere,” I told her with a crooked grin.
She stood at attention in the doorway, only taking a reluctant step forward when the guard nudged the door into her boot. “I came to see if your quarters were to your lady’s liking.” She darted a glance at the shuttered screens as she held out a delicate decanter.
Plucking the bottle from her hand—ambra-wine, as she’d promised—I lifted one eyebrow. “It seems the door to our room opens before we give permission and does not open again at our command,” I said tartly. “Although I’m sure the gracious scion of Sevaare would not be so rude as to find fault with her jail.”
Lisel cleared her throat. “The honor guard is as much for protection as…anything else. The Chosen are more precious to us now than ever.”
Since I didn’t want to excessively annoy one of the few acquaintances I had within the High Keep walls, I didn’t pursue the point. “Lady Dyania has no special requests. But thank you for thinking of us when you have your own tasks and sorrows.”
The hartier clasped her empty hands behind her back. “As to sorrows, the haloria has called for a tribunal. They demand a review of Lady Dyania’s ritual with the candle luring the demons during the attack.”
Zik sucked in a harsh breath. “Are they going to burn her for being a summoner?”
I slanted a quelling glance at him. “She’s not a demon summoner. She only exposed a few drops of her pure aura, and they came, as demons do.”
“Summoner,” Zik said again, as if I’d agreed.
I rolled my eyes to Lisel. But she looked troubled. “That a horde swarmed us in the middle of nowhere, centered on her candle with just a few drops of her blood…”
“But that’s why she is Chosen,” I exclaimed. “How can she be condemned for accidentally summoning demons when it’s exactly the same reason the haloria summoned her?” I curled my lip with derision. “And they can’t punish her anyway, not when they still need her.”
“The haloria doesn’t explain its judgment to those like us,” Lisel said, cutting off the rest of my outrage. “Prepare your lady. I’ll come for you in the morning.”
I followed her to the door, complaining, but she said only, “Tell your lady that tempers are high and fears running deep. She should be ready.” Then the door slammed in my face.
I jumped back with a huff, clutching the flagon.
Zik stared at me wide-eyed when I whirled back. “They’ll burn her,” he whispered. “Like the corpses in Velderrey, ya. And likely us too after so long in her presence.”
“We did not come all this way to die,” I told him, then amended, “I didn’t anyway.” I tapped the bottle against my thigh, but when Zik’s gaze dropped there, I realized the too-quick tempo betrayed my misgivings, and I forced myself to stillness. “The lady will tell them how she knew what to do, even if it wasn’t quite what she’d intended. Anyway, they still need her to sate the dragon. They won’t waste a Chosen One on countrified superstition, not when they must sacrifice her for their own survival.”
There, I spoke with confidence because that had served me more than once when actual knowledge and prospects had been lacking, and also I had to think self-preservation was an instinct as strong in the High Keep as anywhere else.
But in the quietest hour of the night, I slipped away from Zik who was curled on the hearth and padded to the door.
I had an entire speech prepared to explain my departure—something about how the haloria needed my insights immediately, because no one would dare question such auric mysteries. But when I eased the door open, I found the guard wedged against the wall with his own pike and snoring away. How obliging.
Saving my speech for another night, I pried the makeshift latch blocker from the lock where I’d surreptitiously jammed it before Lisel closed me in. Without glancing back, I sped down the hall.
I had no real intent to my escape, but the days of captivity in the carriage and then in the Chosen One’s quarters had left me feeling excruciatingly confined. What my life in Sevaare had lacked in food and steadfast friends had been balanced by freedom. A wander around the High Keep would at least hint where my new path might lead.
I stayed to the servant corridors, narrower and dimmer then the main halls, and found my way to the laundry, two smaller storage areas—though one was locked, insufficiently—and a few guardrooms which I avoided as much out of habit as an abundance of caution. At this time of night, the palace staff were either focused on their tasks or actively avoiding them, so those I passed made only the briefest eye contact or not at all. The High Keep palace was grander than Sevaare’s noble residences, of course, and the confines of the mountains had forced it into a more vertical configuration than the sprawl of my last lightkeep. But though my legs and lungs ached from the climbs and descents, it didn’t take me long to feel like I had a decent map of the place stamped in my brain as well as burning in my overtaxed muscles.
Finally, the only locations that remained hazy to me were the private royal wing tucked into the deeper part of the mountain, a barred and padlocked descent to what I assumed were the dungeons which I’d rather avoid anyway, and one of the towers that stood at a slight remove from the rest of the spires.
That last tower, if I recalled aright from the glimpses during our approach to the lightkeep, would be the highest of them all. I hadn’t been inclined to add yet more steps to my night, but I was intrigued.
The tower wasn’t accessible from the servant corridors, which was odd. Who tended those heights? I backtracked through the main hall, hustling along lest I be caught even though I wanted to admire the tiled mosaics in every hue that adorned the walls and floor, even the vaulted ceiling. Strangely though, I encountered no one at all. Just as well, since I had no good reason to be here, no excuse I could give even to myself. This lovely dead end held nothing of use, being so out of the way, and obviously would provide me no means of escape.
And yet…
Sulking along, I almost missed the passage leading off the hall. The wide arch was bordered in glossy black stone etched into simple flower petals, nothing like the vivid tilework elsewhere. Within the archway was only shadow, no lamplight to show the way.
But something whispered there, calling to me through the darkness.
The torch across the hall cast just enough illumination to reach the first measure of a ramp pitched at a steep incline. Maybe there was a kinder ascent of stairs or a pulley system elsewhere in the tower, because I couldn’t imagine even the most browbeaten servant hauling breakfast tea and biscuits up such a path. Or maybe this was just a watchtower, with sentinels who would come and go. Because who else would stay in this cold, high, lonely place?
Bracing one hand on the stone to peer upward, I gasped and recoiled.
On my hand, the thinnest line of red seeped from a diagonal line across my palm. At the knuckle joint and heel, where I’d pressed a little harder, blood beaded heavier, like red pearls.
The arch was obsidian, sharper than glass.
Only then did the pain strike, belatedly.
I closed my fist on the wound. I’d lived through worse. Just recently, in fact. As always, my curiosity was stronger than my caution.
Then my foot faltered at the first step up the rise as comprehension finally caught up with my questioning. The obsidian was carved not with depictions of flowers but with delicately saw-toothed scales.
This was the dragon’s tower.
And the monster was waiting.
I knew it like I somehow always knew which pocket a rich man carried his purse. Like I could sense when a cartman was about to look away from his undefended wares. The part of me that was impure instinct, an ignoble tangle of need and greed.
