Scout- The Complete Scout Box Set, page 9
part #1 of Scout Series
13
Violet
“A valiant effort, Lady Violet, but I fear your answers slightly missed the mark.” The tutor’s words were perfectly polite, but Violet saw the disdain lurking in his eyes. They sat beside each other at a large, polished table in the palace library, the glass covering some of the most valuable tomes on the shelf in front of them reflecting the expressions Master Tril thought safely hidden from Violet’s sight. The tutor had never liked her, not since it became apparent at an early age that none of Wil’s cleverness had bothered to visit her. Even at fourteen, Violet’s head ached from trying to read. The letters and numbers turned and jumped about the page like ants, and she’d grown sick of fighting this losing battle years ago.
Master Tril sighed, writing a new set of sums on the slate. “If I might ask you to concentrate, my lady.”
Violet looked. The numbers wouldn’t stay still, as difficult to interpret as the pages of the books surrounding them. She hated this place. The dusty smell of paper, the shelves of stories she could not read, the pressure of knowledge that hung in the air and mocked Violet’s every mistake.
“My lady—”
“Why?” Slamming the chalk down on the table, Violet forced Tril to meet her eyes. “Why does this matter? Give me one reason why you and I are here, wasting each other’s time.”
Tril flinched, for once losing the veil of patient suffering he wore like a second skin. The stunned look on his face was satisfying, if only for its honesty. He was wasting his time, as well as hers. “You are a princess, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “One day, you will—”
“I’ll be a valuable bride and a fruitful mother?” Violet finished for him, wiping her chalky hands on her skirt. “And will my value increase by virtue of knowing these sums? Dansil is at war with Everett. People are dying. Crops wither for lack of hands to work the fields. Infants are stillborn. And you think my knowing sums is going to change that?”
The bell tolled a late evening hour and Violet rose from her seat without waiting for Tril’s answer. She had no more time to waste with him, not when there were people waiting for her in the one place where she mattered for more than her value as fertile royalty.
“What would your mother say?” Master Tril said to Violet’s back.
She spun on the plush carpet to glare at him and buried the pain behind a growl. “As you well know, my mother has been dead for three months. When the spirits decide to speak to me from the underworld, I shall be sure to enquire.”
After the grandness of the library, with its thick rugs and delicate books, the temple courtyard was wonderfully uncluttered. Gray cobble, circular benches, a statue spurting water, all bathed in the Eye’s orange light. A flock of pigeons took flight from Violet’s path as she approached the fountain where Dasha and Zalia waited for her, their unshapely red skirts billowing in the wind. A knot in Violet’s chest loosened. Despite their promise to meet her, Violet had half expected to find the courtyard empty.
But it wasn’t. The temple girls rushed forward, crushing Violet in a group hug. Dasha, the plumper one, bounced on her toes. “I’m so glad you came,” she chirped.
“We’ve missed you, sister,” said Zalia with more dignity but no less sincerity. Pulling a crown of wilting carnations from her basket, she held it out to Violet, as if presenting the rarest of roses. “I made this for you. So you’d know you are thought of even when away.”
Violet bit her lip, weighing the distaste of laying the dying things on her hair against the offense a refusal might give. Plainly, Zalia was proud of the gift, and Violet felt obligated to reciprocate the kind gesture. Especially after Zalia had called her sister—not Princess or Highness, but sister.
“It’s perfect. Just perfect!” Dasha squealed as Violet settled the monstrosity onto her head and inclined it in gratitude.
“I apologize for my lateness—”
Zalia placed a finger against Violet’s lips. “That was the Dark God’s fault, not yours,” she said, linking her arm through Violet’s elbow. “He felt the Goddess’s pull on you and tried to impede your coming. I’m pleased to see you fought him off.”
Violet blushed. She’d meant to leave directly after Tril’s lesson but had started working on the stuffed pup’s nose to calm herself and lost track of time. In the end, she’d missed the candle mark by a whole finger’s width. “I don’t think I can lay blame too far from my own feet this time,” she confessed sheepishly. “I was in the middle of something and forgot myself.”
Zalia patted her arm. “That’s how the Dark God acts, sister. Interfering with us through things and thoughts and, worst of all,” her voice dropped, “through the people we love. The Dark God is cunning, you see, but the Goddess is stronger. And so are you.”
Violet thought of the puppy, now securely hidden in a wooden box beneath the loose floorboard in her bedchamber. Whatever schemes the Dark God meddled in, they could not possibly involve tiny plush puppies with happy eyes. Not that she was about to argue the point.
“Come on, you two,” Zalia tugged on Violet’s arm. “Brother Joshua is waiting for us and we should not keep him longer than we must.”
Violet stopped, her brows knitting together. “Who is Brother Joshua? I . . . I thought it would be just us three. That you wished to talk together again.”
Zalia pulled her arm free of Violet’s elbow and frowned. “Of course we wish to talk with you. You are open minded and smart, and you catch on fast as a hawk. But do you not wish to hear our thoughts as well?” Hurt flickered in Zalia’s eyes.
Violet held up her palms. “Of course I do, Zalia. We are friends. But who is Joshua?”
“Just someone who leads evening discussions.” Zalia smiled, putting her arm back through Violet’s. “We listen and we talk. And we want you to be a part of it too. Please?”
“It will be interesting.” Dasha’s voice was a warm, husky alto to Zalia’s soprano. “Plus, the other sisters and brothers have been begging to meet our new friend for days. Won’t you indulge them for a bit?”
Shrugging with resignation, Violet followed the girls to the wooden temple doors. Zalia had made her a crown, hideous as it was, and the need to do something nice in return chafed uncomfortably. If her joining them for an evening talk would make Zalia and Dasha happy, Violet was willing to try. For her friends.
The temple being the roses’ domain, Violet’s royal guard detail unhappily peeled away to remain outside.
“The Goddess’s love and soldiers will protect us all,” Zalia said to the guards as they walked past. “Fear not.”
The door shut behind them with a windy thud that made Violet jump. One moment she was in the open air with her guards and the pigeons and the sun, and the next she was here, in this quiet sacred place that cocooned her in its damp, dark womb. Violet traced her fingers along the cool stone wall as she followed the girls down flight after flight of stairs that she’d never imagined existed in the temple. Living stones the size of ripe grapefruits bathed the passage in rich, colorful lights of orange and red and green. Stopping on a landing for breath, Violet frowned at the still-descending stairway. “Where are we going?”
“To the Order’s sacred rooms,” Zalia said, offering Violet her hand. “They are below ground, and only those invited may go inside. It’s only a bit farther.” A single door waited for them at the bottom of the steps. Zalia opened it with a key, revealing a long hallway with doors and corridors bending from it like branches. A temple beneath a temple. “This way,” Zalia said, herding Violet into a room beside the entrance. “We call it the Revelations Room.”
Barren but for a thin rug covering the stone floor, the Revelations Room hosted a small group of young people, ranging from Violet to Wil in age, who sat cross-legged in a rough circle. They smiled warmly at Violet, as did the man sitting in the room’s sole chair. Twin paintings of the Goddess and Bishop Bahir hung above a crackling fireplace, which bathed the room in both light and warmth.
“You must be Violet.” The man, who was handsome despite his baggy scarlet robes, rose and took both of Violet’s hands in his. “I am Brother Joshua. Zalia and Dasha told me what a smart, conscientious young woman you are. We are all most pleased you are joining our study.”
Heat rose to Violet’s cheeks. “Thank you, but I’m not so much joining as keeping Zalia and Dasha company for the evening.”
“Of course.” Joshua smiled. “Please, sit with us. We have been discussing the ways in which the Goddess has changed our lives and are just about to recount the story of the Messenger’s coming.” Settling beside Dasha and Zalia, Violet gave the girls a questioning look. Is this really how you wish to spend the evening? Both girls smiled eagerly and Violet schooled her face to polite interest.
Once. She would join them for this silliness once.
“For eternity, the Goddess and the Dark God have battled,” Joshua began in a voice honed with practice. “And when humans came, birthed from the Goddess’s love, the Dark God crafted a plan to turn them away from their mother. He sowed corruption and hate and disease amidst the Goddess’s people. The Goddess cried, promising to one day send a Messenger to her children. A Messenger who would come when the time was most dire, who would pull the Goddess’s children from the brink of the darkness’s abyss and prepare them for battle.” Joshua paused, letting everyone in the room ready themselves for his next words.
The energy of the silence crackled against Violet’s skin.
“The Goddess made good on her promise,” Joshua declared triumphantly. “Two decades ago, when the darkness of Everett invaded Dansil, when so many fell to the Dark God’s temptation, when we truly stood on the abyss’s edge, she sent the Messenger to us. And so today, when Dansil’s resolve wavers before the vileness that Everett wants to bring inside our borders, we look to him for guidance. A prophet of truth. A general battling whisperers’ attempts to corrupt our souls. A sentinel against the heresy of Everett.”
Smiles spread around the room as everyone bowed to the paintings of the Goddess and the bishop.
“Is it true that you know him?” a younger boy whispered to Violet. “Zalia claimed that you had dinner with him last week.” A few chuckled at the boy, who blushed, swiveling to face them. “It could be true,” he insisted.
Violet shrugged one shoulder, the reverence in the boy’s eyes difficult to dismiss. “I have dinner with Bishop Bahir every week.”
The boy beamed triumphantly as if it were he who had shared stew with the holy man. Several others, Violet noted, subtly scooted closer to her. Faces pregnant with more questions turned her way. She shied back, her hands hugging her arms.
Joshua’s eyes flickered to Violet. “Leave our guest be, you vultures,” he ordered, his voice gentle but firm. “Perhaps someone has a personal story to share today?”
Zalia adjusted her skirts. “I do,” she said softly. The group turned, all eyes giving Zalia their full attention and empathy. The girl took a fortifying breath, as if whatever she was about to say had the power to flay her bare. “Five years ago, I lived in darkness, spending my days tending a whisperer’s booth, squandering my coppers on ribbons. I stood helpless as my mother birthed three stillborn babes. After the last, she refused to rise from her bed. And still, I did nothing.”
Violet’s gaze shot to Zalia’s. She’d known nothing of this, and now, hearing the words . . . The image of Violet’s own mother brushed her mind and stung her eyes. She reached out to pat Zalia’s knee, as others were already doing.
Zalia caught Violet’s hand and squeezed it before continuing. “One day, I came home to find that my mother had spilled her own blood. I was so lost, so alone. I would have done the same had the Messenger not found me and brought me here, to my True Family.” Her voice rose, strength and pride slowly replacing despair. “The hope and love you all gave me pulled together my broken pieces. You empowered me to stand against the Dark God, to be a soldier in the fight to stop the Drought, heralding the Goddess’s victory in the coming dual. I want to thank you.”
Applause came from everyone in the group. Several of the girls rose to give Zalia hugs while the boys nodded in approval.
It was an odd kind of thing, the way they cared for one another like a family would. Or at least, how Violet imagined a family would, since neither her father nor her brother much concerned themselves with her thoughts and words. Not like this. “What’s a True Family?” Violet heard herself ask.
“Us.” Zalia smiled at her before looking at Joshua to explain.
“When the Goddess sent her Messenger,” Joshua said, “she told him to assemble the True Family together, the children whose hearts are pure enough to channel her love and whose spirits are brave enough to fight for a better world.”
“That’s us,” Zalia whispered into Violet’s ear.
“The Children of the Goddess are born to different birth parents,” Joshua continued, looking into Violet’s eyes, “but they all feel the pull to their True Family. Like you did.”
Joshua’s words hit Violet’s chest, taking her breath with their surety. “Me?” She shook her head quickly. “No, I—”
“Is your heart tainted with the Dark God’s evil?” Joshua asked gently.
“No,” said Violet. That much she was certain of.
He smiled. “I thought as much. And we know your spirit is brave, for you came here today. Is that not so?” She nodded shyly, blushing at the compliment. “Now tell me this, Violet,” said Joshua, leaning in toward her, their gazes once more locked as if there was nothing more important in the world than this moment. Than her. “And think deep down before you answer. Do you want to really understand what’s happening? Is one of your goals to find a way to truly help the world?”
Violet’s whisper rustled on her tongue. “Yes,” she said, and meant it. “Yes.”
14
Kali
My heart lurches, blood pounding hard against my temples as I survey the Wandering Dog. Wil is gone, as are the two girls, the Children of the Goddess. The knife-throwing targets are clean and cleared, with neither Samuels nor Cameron in sight. Stars.
Ignoring Sonia’s farewells and praises, I shove a path toward the door and sprint outside without pausing to retrieve my weapon from the doorman. My mind roars, my eyes roving the dim streets for any sign of the prince. Even here in the city, many of the shops stand abandoned, like monuments to a dying people. Soldiers defending the border from Everett, women in childbed, babies who never drew breath. Firehorn is right, we need peace with Everett, peace and so much more. A trio of shadowy figures disappears around a corner two blocks up. I sprint after them, only to run into three men who are none too pleased at my intrusion.
I stomp away, catching my jagged breath. If the prince gets hurt tonight, Leaf is dead. I’m sure of it.
The back of my neck tightens in warning a moment before a rock-hard hand clamps on to my shoulder. I duck away and spin, my knives out and ready.
The man spins with me, as if he knew exactly what I’d do. His hands capture my wrists like shackles as he spins me toward him. “Kal, it’s me.” Trace’s dark eyes grip mine, calm and steady. “What’s wrong?”
I struggle against his hold. There is no time. Wil couldn’t have gotten far yet, but “not far” is a quickly moving target and, unlike a forest, the cobblestone streets leave few signs to track by.
“Kal.” Trace shakes me, though his voice remains even. “What’s happened?”
My blood sprints in my veins, my words coming in a sputter. “I believe Viva Sylthia kidnapped the prince.”
“Take a breath.” An order. When my body obeys, Trace nods in approval. “Now, report what we have.”
Trace is so certain of himself that I open my mouth to respond before my mind finally catches up. What we have? There is no we. Like Lady Lianna’s family dinner parties, Kal’s presence in the Royal Guard is just a cover. Trace, Luca, the other guards, they are but chess pieces on my scouting board. They aren’t allies; scouts have no allies. I’m on assignment from Lord Gapral and the king, and I work alone.
I’m also neck-deep in trouble and sinking fast.
“I won’t punish you for telling me the truth,” Trace says quietly.
I stare at him incredulously. “The prince’s bloody life is in danger and you seriously think I’m worried about you punishing me?” The words are out before I can catch them.
Trace’s brow cocks in surprise, but then he offers a small, apologetic bow. “Point well taken.” He sighs. “I know the measure of the man you are, Kal. Tell me what you have before you and we will work through it.”
Mostly what I have is a lack of options. I’ve lost the crown prince, and every moment I waste trying to discover what Trace already knows about this city is a moment Wil could be dying. As I meet Trace’s gaze to explain, I feel as though I’m stepping into a carnival looking glass, a reality that grinds against every fiber of my being and my training.
“The young man I brought to the Wandering Dog was Wil,” I say quickly, before I can change my mind. “He was at a table when I stepped outside with Sonia and he was gone when I returned. Samuels—that’s the mustached dagger-game rules master—disappeared at the same time. I know Samuels to be a Viva Sylthia terror monger, and I suspect the two disappearances are connected.”
Trace tilts his head to the side, studying me carefully. “Sergeant Samuels, your mustached holy guardsman, left with the other roses at the top of the hour. They had a shift change, like every other evening. As for the rest, come with me.”
I follow Trace in a daze, back down the street, back to the Wandering Dog. Luca meets us by the door and Trace shoots me a stay put glance before outlining the problem to him. “We need to find the wee idiot before Kal tears his own heart out,” Trace finishes, strapping on the weapons Luca retrieved from the doorman while I was sprinting through the streets.
