Five Lands Saga Box Set 1 (Five Lands Saga Box Sets), page 22
Then she slipped the gloves back on. Surely that would be suspicious, wearing her dirty gloves with fresh clothing, but it was a far sight better than flashing the bloody ring around like some lovestruck girl with a promise piece. Perchaya stepped out from the wash room and through Paulus’ small bedroom—cluttered, but with little flower-patterned vases and glass figurines rather than books—and then into the sitting room.
The scent of food wafted into the room. Some kind of meat, pork perhaps, with a smoky herbal seasoning she couldn’t identify. Perchaya reached the doorway to the kitchen and saw Malina’s broad back facing the hearth, though she wasn’t the one stirring the sizzling meat in the iron pan. Paulus was doing the cooking, and he frowned at the sausages on the pan like they were personally affronting him by not being done.
She almost made some comment about the wonderful smell when she heard Malina’s words as she spoke to Paulus. “—can’t have one of them here, in this very house.”
Perchaya’s blood ran cold. She stepped backwards as slowly and carefully as possible, ducking beside the door frame so she could stay out of sight and yet still hear.
“. . . don’t know for sure, though,” Paulus said, the words more difficult to make out.
“I saw the runes myself,” Malina said, her voice rising above the hissing of the meat. “And don’t think she’s not aware, with those long gloves—”
Perchaya didn’t need to listen anymore and wasn’t sure she even could with her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She didn’t know where to go, but she clearly couldn’t stay here. She spun to make her way to the downstairs, then froze.
The red-mustached man stood there, behind her. Blocking her way, Paulus’ dog wagging furiously at his feet. Perchaya fought the urge to try to bolt past him. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything. She forced a smile. “Excuse me,” she said as softly as she could and tried to step around him, casually, like she’d just been leaving the kitchen to sit down and read a good book.
His brow furrowed. “She’s onto you, Malina,” he said, stepping to the side just enough to keep blocking her path.
“Oh, bother,” Malina said from the doorway, though she didn’t sound overly disappointed by this news. “Well, come on in, dear.” She motioned for Perchaya to follow her into the kitchen and disappeared from sight.
The mustached man stood with his arms folded, but Perchaya had no doubt that he could get to the long, wicked-looking knives sticking out of his belt much faster than she could. And he’d certainly know better how to use them.
Panic flooded through her, the panic of the fox as the hounds close in, but she struggled to keep a level head. She couldn’t run or fight, that much was clear. But if Kenton were here, he’d find a way out of this, and now it was up to her to do the same.
She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat and walked into the kitchen after Malina, the mustached man following close at her heels. Malina was standing in the dining room just off the kitchen, with a chair pulled out that Perchaya had no doubt was intended for her. Paulus had straightened from his work at the hearth, and the white pallor of his skin as he met her eyes was no comfort.
Any previous trace of warmth was missing from Malina’s expression as she gestured to the chair. “So, dear, not incredibly wise to be wearing jewelry like that in Peldenar, of all places, is it?”
“It’s just a ring—” Perchaya started, but stopped at seeing Malina’s all-too-knowing raised eyebrow. The gloves. The undoubtedly terrified look on Perchaya’s face when Malina spotted the ring.
Playing innocent wasn’t going to work.
So Perchaya sat at the table, trying to exude a calm she didn’t feel.
The mustached man settled in next to her, watching her with narrowed eyes. Malina remained standing, and Perchaya couldn’t help but think it looked like the woman had grown several inches since the last time she’d stood over her.
“You are enemies of Diamis,” Perchaya said, as firmly as she could manage. “As am I. We’re all working toward the same purpose.”
The mustached man snorted, and Perchaya startled at the unexpected sound. “Drim don’t work towards any purpose but their own.”
Perchaya looked up to see Paulus standing in the doorway, chewing his lip with worry. Kenton had said that his friend likely suspected who he was—or at least knew of the accusations against him. Paulus was no fool, and he’d harbored an accused Drim while smuggling him books on the subject.
But he wasn’t speaking up in her defense. Perchaya’s fingers twitched, and the collar of Bridget’s muslin dress suddenly felt tight against her skin. She forced herself to breathe through the fear and turned back to Malina. The others seemed to be taking their cues from her.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Perchaya said, though by the way she was shaking like a hare, that much should be obvious. Still, the things people believed about the Drim . . .
“Don’t we?” Malina said. “Harboring a Drim is a death sentence. Isn’t it, Paulus?”
The red-haired man raised an eyebrow. “What was it you were doing with her friend, Paulus? Isn’t he the one who was reading all those books?”
Perchaya’s panic flared at the mention of Kenton, that they’d made the connection with him as well. The books about the Drim. Perchaya herself had read a few given to her by her father, but always histories, detailing their rise to power, their methods, and their atrocities. Books no one would look askance at. Never books written by the Drim themselves.
Everyone’s eyes turned to Paulus in the doorway, and he gave a solemn nod. But Perchaya saw the twitch of his fingers against his night-robe. “I would never knowingly—”
He cut off as the red-haired man leapt from his chair with the kind of speed Perchaya had only guessed at before, his hand on the hilt of one of the knives at his belt. “I helped you get those books! And he’s one of them? I’ve been risking my life for a Drim?”
Perchaya froze in her chair. She knew she ought to run, but her body felt bolted in place.
How quickly they jumped to conclusions; how ready they were to believe the worst. Of course they were. Many of her kind had died this way—and others still died, though the main lines of Drim had been wiped out years ago. So many dead who were innocent.
Paulus’ startled expression hardened into anger. “You’ve been risking your life for the money I’ve been filling your purse with, Toma, and don’t act for a moment as if it’s otherwise. I wouldn’t work with a Drim, had I known, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation otherwise.” His glare turned from Toma to Malina.
He wouldn’t meet Perchaya’s eye.
Toma was right; he had knowingly harbored Kenton. But now that others had discovered it, he’d sell them both out before he would risk his own hide.
Toma eyed him carefully for a moment longer, then stepped back, his hand still stroking the hilt of his knife. Perchaya’s breathing grew rapid, shallow.
She had no one on her side.
“So we keep her here until the mission’s over, and then we can decide what to do with them both when the other one comes back for her.” Toma slumped back into the chair as if he hadn’t just threatened one of his own.
“But we can help you,” Perchaya said, desperation pushing through any rational thought. She couldn’t let them use her as bait to lead Kenton back here She had to figure out some way to make them trust her and—
“I think you can, dear,” Malina said, cocking her head to the side, considering. She blinked, then nodded, as if it had been decided. “You want to help us fight Diamis? Well, I think you’d be the perfect distraction, take some of the heat from our people inside. Diamis can always spare soldiers to deal with Drim. Even drawing off one or two might increase our odds.”
“It would be nice,” Toma said, “to have a trial going on these next few days.” He looked sideways at Perchaya. “And a hanging.”
Perchaya’s throat closed up. “I-I know too much,” she managed. “You can’t turn me in, or I’ll tell them you’re part of the rebellion. They’ll search your house, and they’ll find—” What? Smuggled books, no doubt. Maybe some of those drugs Kenton had apparently been peddling. There had to be evidence here that these people were working against Diamis. Perchaya didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths, but if she could use this as leverage—
“It’s your word against ours,” Toma said.
And when Perchaya looked up at Paulus, she found him shaking his head. “We just launched a raid on the castle,” he said. “You don’t think I did that without cleaning house. They’ll find nothing here but an old man and his dog. And what evidence will you have? The word of a Drim.”
There was the briefest flicker of guilt on Paulus’ face, gone so quickly she thought she must have imagined it.
Malina smiled the same warm smile she’d given Perchaya before, only now it twisted Perchaya’s stomach to see. Perchaya tried to jump up, but Toma grabbed her arms and pinned them against her body.
“Now, Toma, no need to be hasty. Let’s give the girl a bite to eat before she leaves. She may be going to Diamis, but no sense in having an empty stomach.” Malina said, her voice bright. “After all, she’s only going to be helping our cause.”
Twenty-one
Daniella sat in her favorite reading chair and swirled the tea with her spoon, watching steam dance from the eddies of cinnamon and green flecks of impis leaf. She stirred longer than needed, breathing in the heat, letting it fill the emptiness in her chest.
The scent reminded her of days when she used the tea daily—when she and Erich were lovers, when that word meant something to her. She remembered sipping it one morning while lounging in bed beside him, looking down at him, his face as soft and tender while he slept as it had been when he’d first told her he loved her. Back then, she’d daydreamed about someday bearing a child of his, dark-haired and serious. Now the thought made her stomach turn.
She sipped at the tea, wrinkling her nose at the taste. Even the sweet cinnamon and tangy orange flavor couldn’t mask the sour herb.
Still, it was necessary—she wasn’t going to risk becoming pregnant. Erich hadn’t come after her yet, but he would. He was a man who kept his promises and, more to the point, enjoyed making good on his threats. Unfortunately, escaping this prison of a castle was proving impossible. She couldn’t use the passageways. She’d tried, but they wound inside the castle like snakes, never bordering the exterior walls. She wasn’t allowed to go into the city—she never had been, even with an escort—unless it was at the bidding of Diamis himself. The castle walls were too high for her to climb, and guarded besides. Guards looked intently into the faces of every soul that came and went, no matter what hour of the day or night.
From a high balcony, Daniella had spent hours watching the comings and goings at the gate, waiting for some way she might hide and be transported away, but every shipment was combed over, every carriage invasively searched. As if her father expected her to steal from the castle, though she imagined it was other things he was worried would go missing. A man with secrets like his couldn’t forgo any precaution.
Daniella’s maid, Lyn, bustled about in her bedchamber, preparing her bed for the night. Turning back the blankets, pounding the pillows. “Your bed is ready, my lady,” she said, walking back into the sitting room, “and I’ve built up the fire, as you asked.”
“Thank you, Lyn.” Daniella tried to sound warm, but it was hard when she felt so cold inside. Lyn dropped a small curtsy and left.
The light of the nearly full moon filtered through the window, bathing the sitting room in a silver glow. It was late, and she knew she should go to sleep after finishing her tea, but she didn’t want to lie in bed again and worry that tonight might be the night Erich returned.
And so she was still awake when the first shouts sounded down the hall.
A pounding at her door came seconds later. Daniella jumped to her feet, knocking the empty, orange-stained teacup to the stone floor, where it cracked in half. She scrambled back against the wall, grabbing a letter knife to defend herself, but the door swung open, and two guards rushed in, swords unsheathed.
“My lady, you are to come with us immediately. It is a matter of your safety.” The man who spoke had large teeth that made him resemble an aging cart horse. Daniella knew better than to go with uniformed men she didn’t recognize. She’d learned that lesson at a very young age. But the slighter, red-cheeked fellow beside him was one of her father’s personal guards. These were no Drim in disguise.
“My safety?” Daniella drew her arm around her chest, conscious of her thin nightdress. She felt her face flush. “By whose orders? My father’s or General Dektrian’s?”
She heard shouts coming from the hall, louder than before. Her anger slipped into trepidation.
“Protocol, my lady,” the red-cheeked guard said, stepping forward. “Our orders are to drag you to safety if we must.”
The other looked anxiously over his shoulder, back down the hall. Daniella thought she heard a woman’s shriek.
“Of . . . of course,” she stammered, her heart thumping as she looked around for a robe to cover herself. “What’s happen—”
A man’s yell echoed down the hall, the words too indistinct to make out.
“Now, my lady,” Horse-teeth barked, beads of nervous sweat glistened across his long forehead. He grabbed her just above the elbow and pulled her forward. Red-cheek led the way down the hall at a jog. Daniella followed as best as she could in her loose slippers, preferring to keep pace rather than be dragged along in the guard’s bruising grip.
“Are we under attack?” She couldn’t imagine a more ludicrous thought. Peldenar was a fortress, and she had always felt safe within its walls. From outside forces, anyway.
They didn’t answer. Another guard waiting at the end of the hallway fell into step silently, a few paces behind. Were they taking her to her father? To Erich? Either option sounded horrific.
Shouts sounded from seemingly all around, along with the unmistakable ringing of steel. Gods. Had the resistance somehow managed to breach the walls?
She saw one of the rune-stones as they hurried past, barely visible in the flickering torchlight. If she could slip away from the guards, she could hide herself more safely than any storage closet they were planning to secret her in. She might even find a way to escape the castle in the commotion. But slipping away from Horse-teeth’s iron grasp felt about as manageable as turning invisible.
They were just outside the library when a young guard ran up the stairs across the way. His fair, boyish looks were marred by a deep gash across his left cheek. Blood dripped down his jaw.
“Sir,” the young soldier began, “the men at the south gate were blinded. I think they have a mage—”
Horse-teeth scowled. “Why in all hells hasn’t the alarm been sounded?”
“The ropes, sir. They’ve been cut. Kem and Jonath are working on climbing the shaft.”
Red-cheek swore. “They must have had someone inside.”
“Keep moving,” Horse-teeth growled, and they started toward her father’s chambers. Daniella’s heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. Down an opposite hallway, men screamed and weapons clattered to the ground. The small group began to run, Daniella’s slippers sliding as they turned the corner towards her father’s study.
Gods, was he going to hide her in there, in that chamber? Is that where he was, even now?
She heard the clang of steel as figures rushed them from the side, and Red-cheek yanked her behind him with enough force that her legs buckled. She dropped to her hands and knees, and he lunged forward to join the battle.
There were four—no, a fifth lurked in the shadows. Black-clad men armed with slim swords that rang against the Sevairnese guards’ heftier blades.
A hot tear burned a trail down her cheek, though she hadn’t felt herself start to cry. The silent soldier who had followed behind her took a blade to the side with a hoarse gasp and a sickening squelch, just as the young guard with the cut on his forehead hacked into an attacker’s shoulder.
She tasted sour bile but choked it back, crawling forward in the opposite direction from the study. If she could only reach a rune wall . . . She stopped at a sound, a different clang of metal than the ringing swords—loud, echoing.
The soldiers in the tower had reached the bell. Help would be coming.
Relief consumed her, but only briefly, before the next realization occurred to her. She might live, but to what end? To be Erich’s whore and Diamis’ slave. His weapon.
She had to find a way to use all of this to her favor. Those who would dare attack her father—would they help her get out of the castle? The rebels in Drepaine had tried to kill her, but if they couldn’t even recognize the color of her hair, they must be loosely organized at best. These rebels would most likely be Sevairnese, not Andronish, and regardless, they’d have to recognize an asset when they saw one. Would they accept her if she pretended to join them? At least long enough to get her out of the castle, so she could escape?
Not if they cut her down without allowing her to speak. If she stole into the tunnels, she might be able to locate a group closer to an exit, one less mired in the throes of battle, who might listen before striking, if she spoke quickly enough.
Daniella kept crawling away from the shouts and hacking swords, away from the blood seeping into stone cracks. More tears fell as she heard a gurgled cry cut off suddenly, and as she rounded the corner from the hallway, she sat back against a wall, breathing shallow gasps. The bell continued clanging, the sound shivering through her with each beat.
And then Daniella scrambled to her feet, and without sparing a glance behind her, she ran.
