CHAPTER 24
Sora met with Lori and Ferran briefly before going to the dining room. She clasped her mother in a tight embrace, relieved to see her recovered and walking around after her knife wound.
“We only have a few minutes before dinner,” Lori said quickly as Sora released her from their hug. “Tell me about your day.”
Sora briefly described her trip to The Flower District, Cobra’s attack and Caprion’s unexpected arrival. It seemed Ferran and Lori already knew about the missing sacred weapons. They seemed more relieved than surprised that Caprion had tracked her down.
Sora left out a few details. She didn’t bother explaining her search for Lord Seabourne, nor her discovery of Lily, which she figured could wait for breakfast. She skirted around any mention of Crash and the Shade, but Ferran brought it up.
“Did Crash accompany you to the Flower District?” he asked directly.
Sora felt sick to her stomach and shook her head. “I thought he stayed here with you…?”
“No,” he replied darkly. A troubled look passed over Lori’s face, and the two shared a worried glance. Sora didn’t need them to explain; Caprion had obviously shared his suspicions. Now, in the halls of the Ebonaire manor, Crash’s absence and possible betrayal seemed far too likely. Sora still couldn’t admit it to herself. She held onto the vague hope that her eyes had deceived her, and that the assassin might appear from around a corner or closed door. She kept watching the hall, anticipating his appearance at any second.
Olivia arrived to escort them to the dining hall. The main banquet hall could seat hundreds of guests, but Olivia led them to a quaint room near the front of the house, meant for smaller parties. They joined Lord Martin at the table and partook in a savory five-course meal. Sora found the conversation slightly forced.
“Tomorrow I will be acting in the Winter Solstice Parade,” Lord Martin told them as the second course was brought out—roasted chicken and carrots in a delicate gravy. “You are all welcome to attend and watch.”
Lori responded first. Her words seemed practiced. “A generous invitation, but I have to decline,” she said. “I wish to keep watch on Lady Danica in case her condition worsens.”
Lord Martin nodded to her, and Sora saw relief in his eyes at the mention of his daughter. She felt momentarily guilty, as she hadn’t thought of Lady Danica’s condition all day.
“Thank you for watching over her,” Lord Martin said sincerely.
Sora fidgeted, thinking of her plans with Lily to find Lord Seabourne. The parade would be a fine excuse to leave the manor. “I intend to watch the parade,” she said. “I’ve never seen one before.”
Lord Martin smiled. “Then you will be amazed, my dear. You should attend with a proper escort; the crowds can become quite rough. Where is your footman, by the way?” he asked, and briefly glanced around the room. He turned to Ferran. “I haven’t seen him today. You arrived with a footman, did you not? If you’d like, I have other trained servants you can use.”
Ferran seemed taken aback. Finally, he grumbled, “He returned to the ship. Said he was feeling under the weather. Yes, another footman would do well.” The lie seemed paper-thin, and when Ferran looked into Sora’s eyes, she knew Crash had vanished without a word.
After that, Sora fell into deeper and deeper silence until she could barely look at her plate. As Ferran and Martin exchanged stories of their youth, she reluctantly found herself acknowledging a stark truth—Crash was gone. Even Lord Martin noticed. She couldn’t doubt herself any longer—she had seen him with Cobra. But why would he go to the Shade without telling her?
Sora excused herself early, blaming her exhaustion. She kissed her mother on the cheek and retired quickly to her room, where Lily assisted her out of her dress and into a long nightgown. It pooled on the floor around her feet, obviously hemmed for a much taller lady, possibly Danica.
Sora sent Lily away as soon as her hair was braided. Then she stood in front of her mirror for a moment, studying the angles of her heart-shaped face, her thick blond hair and the nightgown that trailed on the floor behind her. She looked older in the firelight than she expected. Her skin was too tan for the First Tier. She flexed her arms curiously and noted the cut lines of her biceps; too much muscle for a noblewoman. The upper tiers prized soft curves, bordering on plump, and pale skin. She looked like a farmer's daughter; considering Lori's ranch, that wasn't far from the truth.
She stripped off her gloves and looked at the scar on her left hand. It was an undeniable testament to the journey she had shared with Crash. Worry gnawed at her gut. What if he had gone in search of Burn, and ended up captured himself? What if the Shade were torturing him, just as Caprion had tortured Krait?
Sora crossed to the window of her grand apartments and looked out upon the Ebonaire front drive. Several lanterns glimmered like fireflies in the black distance, illuminating the entrance to the estate. Her gaze traveled from the distant lanterns to the tiled rooftop of the stables, to the front steps and the circular courtyard below. She knew her search was futile. Crash was not on the grounds, and even if he gazed back at her through the darkness, he wouldn’t show himself to her now.
Her eyes stung, and she clenched her jaw firmly. He wouldn’t betray her, yet Caprion’s logic heavily influenced her thoughts. She couldn’t imagine why he would give the sacred weapons willingly to Cerastes. It was far too great a risk. Did he intend to barter for Burn’s life? Why wouldn’t he tell her?
Sora grasped her Cat’s Eye in her scarred hand, stepped softly over the cold wooden floor and slipped between the warm bedsheets. With a sigh, she forced herself to relax back against the pillows. She couldn’t allow herself to feel so weakened by Crash’s absence. Her worry would interfere with her necklace’s bond. She could already sense the Cat’s Eye becoming distant and stifled. She needed to meditate, especially on nights like this when her mind spun in useless circles and sleep seemed impossible.
She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, allowing her thoughts to drift to and fro, entering her mind and leaving like birds flying across the sky. Eventually, all she knew was darkness; she looked down to find the glowing green rope once again in her hands. Within a few minutes, she stood outside the horse corral behind her country manor, except now the scene had changed. The grass had turned brown, scorched by frost. Icicles formed on the iron bars of the corral. She hesitated to put her bare hand against the frozen metal. The fence seemed much higher than before.
She remembered she had brought gloves, and withdrew them from her pocket. She pulled a glove over each hand, hiding the scar on her left palm. Then she climbed the gate of the corral, carrying the green rope slung over her shoulder.
No sooner had she entered the corral when the shadow of the garrolithe fell across her. It was not sleeping, but hunched over with its back turned, digging furiously into the icy ground. Clots of dirt, ice, dead grass and moldy leaves flew through the air. Sora held up her arm to protect her face. A shudder of fear moved through her because of the beast's strength. The garrolithe was intimidating, to be sure…but was it bigger than before? She didn’t remember its limbs as so long and lean, or its teeth so yellow and curved.
The beast sniffed the air abruptly and turned its lion-snout upon her. Long horns spiraled up from its head, thrusting out from a bristling mane of sharp quills. Electric eyes blazed with blue fire. The beast released a low, coughing roar that ending in a howling screech. All the hair on her neck stood up.
Sora dropped her rope to the ground and scrambled to climb the bars of the corral. Her foot slipped on the metal rungs and she almost fell. She heard the earth crunching beneath the garrolithe’s weight as the beast approached. She could feel its panting, fiery breath upon her back, and imagined its jaws opened wide, ready to bite through her neck….
It was just a dream. She woke up with a gasp and struggled against her heavy quilt.
A white light glimmered at the foot of her bed. Her heart lurched.
“
Don’t be alarmed,” Caprion intoned. His voice was laced with calming magic, but her Cat’s Eye deflected it.
Sora sat up and pulled her blankets up to her chin, a natural defense. “What are you doing here?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. Truly, she hadn’t expected him to return. She glanced at the wide bay windows, and took note of a wet puddle on the floor. He must have unlatched them and let himself in.
“I came to check on you,” he said, frowning at her. “What were you dreaming? You cried out in your sleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping, I was meditating…and it wasn’t going well,” she grumbled.
He smiled softly at her. The kindness on his face took her off-guard. His skin glowed vaguely in the dark. His eyes were a strange, luminescent violet, his hair the color of moonbeams. He truly was a beautiful man, his features evenly measured, both masculine and cultured. He looked like a prince bathed in starlight.
Sora shook her head. She had no business thinking of Caprion in that way. All Harpies carried such ethereal beauty; she was simply unaccustomed to it.
If he noticed her looking at him, he didn’t mention it. He walked around the bed to her side, and much to her surprise, sat down next to her.
“I know you can defend yourself,” he began. “You defeated the bloodmage Volcrian, which is no small feat…so please forgive me if I’m wrong,” he paused, “but I think you’re used to traveling with many companions. Burn is not here, and the assassin is gone. Lori and Ferran reside up the hall. You are without the protection of numbers.” His eyes turned to the row of unlocked windows. “Perhaps you will allow me to stay.”
Sora raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a speech,” she said. “I assume if I refuse, you’ll sit outside on the roof all night?”
Caprion grinned slightly. “Yes.”
She sighed. She wanted him to get off the bed and leave her alone to her gloomy thoughts. But she also felt horribly isolated in the large room. She hated admitting her fear. She didn’t want to wake up in the darkness to that sick bastard Cobra sneaking through her window—or worse, materializing from a shadow portal. The thought of his cruel hands made her cringe.
The Shade wanted her. They might have followed her back to the manor; they might be watching her right now.
She didn’t want to think about that.
Wordlessly, she made room for Caprion on the bed. He kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her, keeping a respectful distance away, not touching her. Slowly she began to relax.
Still, every time she closed her eyes, she found herself facing the garrolithe again. It waited for her on the fringes of sleep, watching, and pounced whenever she entered a dream. She kept waking up with a start. The beast's presence throbbed at her temples. After a half-hour of tossing and turning, she finally placed her hands on her head.
“I have a horrible headache,” she muttered. She knew Caprion wasn’t asleep. He lay nearby, facing the windows. She could clearly see the lines of his strong back against his tunic. His shoulders were wide enough to block her view of the room.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “My people often use music for healing,” he said. “I know a song that will calm your mind, if you wish.”
Sora hesitated and touched her Cat’s Eye in thought. “All right,” she agreed, and deactivated the necklace.
A soft hum began in Caprion’s throat, and eventually flowed from his mouth. His strange language swirled around her, full of long vowels and soft, soothing murmurs. His words moved like a dance, and flowed softly over her skin. She felt her headache slowly recede, and images of the garrolithe dispersed with it. Soon Caprion’s voice flowed through her entire body, and she drifted to sleep with a warm glow.
* * *
Lori finished unpinning her hair. It had grown an inch or so, just long enough for her to style with a few flowers in her braid. She allowed a section of bangs to fall across her forehead. She wore a simple off-white gown with a green brocade bodice, the colors of a Healer, nothing too fancy. Martin Ebonaire knew she was not of noble blood but luckily, he held her in high enough regard to invite her to dinner.
The meal had been grand—the conversation, not so much. She felt anxious every time Martin referred to Sora as his niece, because it contained a seed of truth. She couldn’t tell Sora of her possible relation to Ferran. The girl wouldn’t understand—and it was confusing enough for Lori to have to deal with alone. Curse Silas! she thought for the hundredth time. The Dracian couldn’t have picked a more troublesome charade.
Ferran sat behind her at a large mahogany writing desk. A tall window loomed behind him, revealing thick white snow pelting down from a black sky. A burgundy rug covered the polished oak floor, and a wide fireplace graced the wall across from a grand canopy bed. Even Lord Martin’s guest rooms were decadent and richly furnished. A peasant could sell every item in this bedroom and live happily for years.
She allowed herself a half-smile, wondering if she was in the wrong profession. A thief would make out rather well in The Regency.
“You’re laughing at me,” Ferran drawled behind her.
“Always a possibility,” she grinned. Then her smile slowly faded. She felt at once awkward and comfortable sharing a room with him. Their rhythm was too easy, like slipping into an old routine. If only she could forget the night on his houseboat, she might actually enjoy herself. But his claim to fatherhood still lingered on her mind. She couldn’t truly see Ferran anymore, just a giant question with no answer.
She had hoped coming to the Ebonaire house would make Sora’s heritage clearer. No, her daughter did not look like she had Ebonaire blood. She was short and stocky, where Lady Danica was tall and long-boned. But the girls had a certain similarity about their lips and chins, the curve of their fingernails and the shape of their thumbs….
Sora’s eyes were a vibrant blue. Ferran had gray eyes. Dane had brown eyes.
So wouldn’t Dane’s child also have brown eyes?
Lori turned away from the mirror, pushing her confusion aside. She looked at Ferran, who now had the map turned sideways and held up to the light, and sighed. He was obsessed, though she couldn’t blame him. Ferran had a certain fondness for old maps. Her treasure-hunting days had ended with Sora’s birth, but not his. She could see his fervor as he pored over the map.
“We need to stay focused on our original plan,” she cautioned, partially chiding. “You’re getting distracted. It’s just a map of the sewers. What does any of this have to do with….”
Ferran gave her a wary look. Servant corridors traveled from room to room behind the walls, and conversations were easily overheard. “It all connects,” he said. “I can feel it.”
Lori shrugged. “Show me, and I’ll believe you,” she said simply. “But right now, I don’t see it.”
“You barely glanced at the map. Try looking again,” Ferran offered.
Lori raised an eyebrow.
“Come look,” he beckoned.
* * *
Ferran couldn’t ignore the fresh scent of mint and roses as Lori leaned over his shoulder. Was she wearing perfume, he wondered humorously, or had she actually stuffed rose petals down her bodice? She brushed against his shoulder and he itched to raise his arm and swing her easily into his lap. But he sensed her stiffness, her discomfort. He wanted to ask what burdened her mind, but he knew her too well. She would tell him when she was ready.
“I don’t see it,” she finally said as she glanced over the endless lines of canals and channels. “Perhaps the King is renovating the sewer system and the Ebonaires are footing the bill?”
“Perhaps,” Ferran mused, “though you’d think Martin would have mentioned it. Surely it would have come up last night after a glass of strong brandy.”
“True,” Lori allowed. She bent over the map again, brushing Ferran’s shoulder.
He shifted distractedly and picked up Martin’s notebook from the desk. “This is half-full of history,” he said, thumbing the pages. “Not my bro
ther’s favorite subject. He always preferred numbers. He writes about the wind temples and the City of Crowns.”
As Lori took the book and thumbed through its pages, Ferran released a silent breath of tension. He couldn’t think straight when she stood so close.
“I think the two are connected,” he said, trying to remain casual.
“Do his notes mention water canals or sewers?”
“Not exactly….” Ferran replied. But the base of his neck tingled, and he trusted his intuition to a fault. “Perhaps Martin is searching for something in the original layout of the city…but what?”
Lori put the book down and turned back to the map. After a long moment, her finger landed on a glint of blue ink among the interwoven black lines. “Look,” she said. “If you hold it up to the light, you can see its color. Isn’t blue ink a recent invention?”
Ferran’s eyes widened, and he held the map close to the lantern. “Indeed it is blue,” he murmured. In the dramatic shadows of the room, he hadn’t noticed.
Lori straightened and pushed a strand of blond hair from her face. “Well, blue ink or not, this sounds like nonsense. Unless we find something concrete tying Martin to our shadowy friends, I say we abandon this business and go back to our hunt for the Shade.”
“I am hunting,” Ferran pointed out. “Caprion’s prisoner said the Shade’s leader lived in The Regency. The only reason I can think of is, they need rich friends—and who is the richest friend you can have in the Kingdom? Why, my brother, of course.” Then he put his finger on the map. “This blue line you discovered—it’s an access tunnel that leads through The Regency, and if you follow it…look here…it travels under the royal palace and the wind temple as well.”
“And then branches into half of the city,” Lori continued.
“Why are you set on arguing?”
“Because you’re jumping to conclusions!” she exclaimed. “Half these tunnels were probably built as escape routes in case of a siege. King Royce isn’t a fool. You’re grasping at straws. We need to find The Book of the Named; only then will we understand the Shade’s plan. All we’ve done so far is sit around this manor!” Lori paused stiffly after her outburst.