Gilded Serpent, page 3
Blood.
Killian’s blood.
Her breathing accelerated, turning into fast little gasps, the room swimming in and out of focus. She crouched down, pressing her hands to the floor for balance, shivering violently, her skin like ice.
“He’s alive,” she whispered. “You’re alive. And both of you are set to the purposes for which you were destined.”
But the truth did nothing to drive away the cold.
5
TERIANA
“This is going to take forever,” Servius muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, his brown eyes uncharacteristically shadowed. Whether it was from lack of sleep or other concerns, Teriana didn’t know. “We’ll need some sort of containers. Half these chests have gone to rot.”
No sooner had the words exited his lips, the bottom of the chest he was holding fell out, spilling coins everywhere. All of them gold and stamped with the scorpion of House Rowenes. “That’s odd,” she muttered.
Servius scooped up a handful, examining them with a practiced eye. “This is the most solid clink I’ve come across. Looks pure, too. Where’s it from?”
“Mudamora, on the Northern Continent.” She rubbed her thumb over a coin. The largest gold mines on Reath were on the Rowenes lands, which were near the border of Mudamora and Anukastre. “But they don’t trade with Arinoquia, so it’s odd to find so much of their coinage here.”
And all of it freshly minted, bearing no signs of wear. Which suggested an expensive purchase, and one only a High Lord—or even the King himself—could afford. Shrugging, she tossed it back in the pile and set to work.
It was dusty, laborious work, but there was also something soothing about it. This was what she’d trained most of her life to do—not to sail a ship, but to be a merchant who knew wares well enough to come out ahead in every bargain. If not for the circumstances, Teriana thought her mother would be proud.
At the thought of her mother, Teriana’s chest constricted painfully. Was Lydia’s father keeping her safe? She’d always believed Senator Valerius a kind and honorable individual, but she’d thought the same about Lydia. And she could not have been more wrong on that front. Part of her wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to see Lydia again. What she would say to her, if given the chance. If Lydia even cared how much hurt she’d caused.
“Is there any news from my crew?” she asked Servius. “Do you know if they are well?”
The Quincense was apparently anchored next to a tiny island off the coast, with men from the Thirty-Seventh, as well as some from the Cel navy, keeping her crew under guard. Before she’d dispatched Bait north, he and Magnius had been running messages back and forth, but now she had no contact with them at all other than what the Cel deigned to tell her.
“Nothing new,” Servius answered. “But we’ll be sending supplies and some of the injured to join that outpost soon enough. I hear anything of note, I’ll let you know.”
She twisted a braid around one finger, grimacing at the state her hair was in without her aunt Yedda to put in fresh braids. She looked fuzzy and unkempt, but her appearance hadn’t been a priority. What would her aunt say if she knew of all the things Teriana had done? If she learned about Teriana and Marcus? Would she, or any of the rest of the crew, understand?
Was it right to ask them to?
They worked through the day, only pausing when Servius’s stomach let out a ferocious growl. “I’m starving,” he declared to the legionnaires standing guard. “One of you boys get some grub for us. Buy it from a civilian—I’m sick of the slop we’re serving in camp.” He tossed one of them a coin. “Enough for all here, plus three. I’ve a mighty hunger.”
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Teriana glanced at the ledger she was holding, adding the totals in her head. Already the amount was staggering, and it didn’t even include the bricks of precious metals that were piling high in a building near the forge.
When the food arrived, Servius called a halt to the work, leaning against a moldering tapestry, his feet resting on bolts of silk that were marked with dark stains that looked suspiciously like blood. He was easily one of the largest men she’d ever met who wasn’t an actual giant, his tunic sleeves stretched around biceps thicker than her thighs. That, more than the hue of his brown skin, spoke to his Atlian heritage, the island province known to breed people of impressive stature. That, in combination with what was undeniably an attractive face, made Servius tremendously popular with Arinoquian women.
“So,” he said. “You going to tell me what happened on your way back from Galinha? What we know is mostly what was ascertained from what was left behind, if you get my meaning.”
Bodies. Of the young men who’d been watching over her, including Quintus and Miki. Tears pricked in her eyes, knowing they’d died protecting her. “We received Marcus’s message recalling us to camp. Set out the next morning. We were about halfway back when Quintus noticed something was off.” She shook her head, trying to wipe away the remembered fear rising in her chest. “Was too quiet. And then next thing I knew, arrows were flying.”
Her chin trembled, and she took a mouthful of food to hide it, though her appetite was long gone. “Quintus got hit first, but then it was madness. There were so many of them, coming from all sides.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Fifty. Maybe more. They all wore Urcon’s colors.”
“Big force to commit to catching one girl with uncertain worth, no?” Servius watched her intently, and she was reminded that he wasn’t the third most senior officer of the Thirty-Seventh just because the men liked him. “Especially with two legions camped on Urcon’s doorstep.”
This was where she needed to be careful. No one but her and Marcus knew about the traitor, and as much as she trusted Servius, it was Marcus’s secret to reveal. She shrugged. “They darted me in the neck, and I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was in the hut where Marcus and Gibzen found me. Their leader—”
“This the Ashok that we’re looking for?”
Teriana forced herself to nod, her skin growing cold as the corrupted’s face rose in her thoughts. “He told me that they intended to use me to negotiate a withdrawal, but that I was dead either way. That they were only buying time for the mercenaries to arrive.”
“It’s always helpful when your enemy is a big talker.” Servius picked up another skewer. “What did he look like? Marcus passed on a few details, but the bastard has proven elusive.”
“Gamdeshian,” she answered. “Skin a bit darker than yours. Chin-length black hair. Silver earrings running up his left ear.” It was easy to provide the details, her memory of Ashok as clear as though he stood in front of her.
“Eye color?”
Black pits encircled with flame. Like staring into the heart of the underworld.
But she couldn’t tell him that—not when she’d kept the knowledge of the corrupted from Marcus. He already knew about healers, and if he learned about the corrupted’s powers, he’d inevitably start to wonder what other secrets she was hiding. “Dark.”
“I’ll pass the details on to Gibzen. It was his men who were killed, so he’s taken the hunt on as a matter of personal interest.”
He wasn’t the only one. Marcus had not taken the news that he’d been betrayed by one of his men well at all, and that the traitor might be his closest friend only made it worse. But as much as it had been Marcus who’d been betrayed, Teriana also wanted vengeance.
“I’m sorry for what happened.” She rubbed at her eyes, her chest tight. “Quintus and Miki were my friends. The last thing I ever wanted was them dead.”
“Well, then, you’re in luck,” Servius said, wiping his hands on the moldy bolt of silk he was sitting on. “Because when I heard this story from them, they were still very much alive.”
6
LYDIA
Cleaned up and composed, Lydia walked silently through the temple corridors, following the directions a servant had given her to a level with more lush appointments. Her new boots sank into the deep carpets, the air far warmer than it was in the dormitories. Stopping in front of an ornate wooden door, she knocked once.
“Enter,” a muffled voice responded, and pushing open the door, Lydia stepped inside.
The room was large, the floors covered with thick carpets and the air kept warm by the flames in the large fireplace to her left. The wall opposite to the door was full of windows, the drapes pulled back to allow in the muted sunlight. Quindor sat with his back to the view, bent over a heavy desk that was covered with papers.
“Take a seat, Lydia.” Then he pushed a large box in front of her. “An assortment of spectacles. Hopefully you can find a pair that suits, for I’m afraid there are no lens makers in Mudaire.”
“Where did these all come from?” she asked, trying on a gold-rimmed pair but swiftly discarding them, as they made her vision even more blurry.
Quindor gave a soft cough. “They are from those who no longer need them.”
From the dead. The contents of her stomach threatened to rise, but she swallowed them back down. Now was no time for squeamishness.
“We need to discuss your role in the patrols.”
“Patrols?” she asked, trying on three more pairs of spectacles before settling on a pair that improved her vision satisfactorily.
“The blighters are almost impossible to identify by anyone other than one of Hegeria’s Marked,” Quindor responded. “The trainees join the guard on their patrols in order to identify and put down those who have succumbed.”
“Put down?” She tried and failed to keep the acid from her voice. “They are human beings, not rabid dogs.”
“Were human beings,” the Grand Master corrected. “Now only corpses animated by the Seventh’s power. You must vanquish from your mind any notion that they are otherwise, Lydia, or risk madness.”
“Is this why I’m here, then?” she demanded. “To be used to hunt down people we should be trying to save?” That wasn’t the battle she’d agreed to fight. She had come believing she’d be working to find a cure—a way to save her people. Not … this.
Quindor leaned back in his chair. “They cannot be saved. Do you think we haven’t tried?”
“Clearly not hard enough!” She dug her nails into the arms of her chair. “The blight still mars the land, which means people will continue to fall ill. If the answer is to kill them all, soon Mudamora will be populated by corpses!”
Quindor eyed her for a long moment. “Your passion is commendable, Lydia, if misdirected. The Royal Army is occupied with clearing the kingdom of the remains of the Derin army, but once that task is complete we can begin to discuss what might be done to stop the blight from infecting more people.”
“What about the tenders?” She remembered the conversation she’d once had with Killian. His theory that the blight might be caused by individuals marked by the Seventh. “Why haven’t they been brought to address the problem?”
“Because they are all dead.”
“All?” Her stomach dropped. “How is that possible?”
The Grand Master sighed. “The endless toil of forcing the earth to yield in order to provide food for the Royal Army. Our own ranks were decimated by the war. There are more trainees here in the temple than living healers left in Mudamora.”
So few … And she remembered Killian explaining to her that if the Marked weren’t where they were needed to protect the people, it damaged faith in the Six. And that was what gave the Corrupter his power. “If that is the case, then we must find a cure before it spreads.”
Quindor folded his hands, watching her over them. “I can see that you’ll not be swayed until you’ve seen the proof yourself. Come.”
He took her into the sublevel of the tower, the circular staircase illuminated by candles that cast dancing shadows over the stone steps. Much like the levels above ground, the corridor ran in a circle with doors on the exterior of the hallway, though what lay in the rooms beyond, she had no notion. Ahead, she caught sight of two guards standing outside of one of the doors, both of whom inclined their head to Quindor as he approached. “Grand Master.”
“This is Lydia,” he said to them. “One of Hegeria’s Marked who has recently joined us.”
They lowered their heads respectfully. “Marked One.”
It was all she could do not to cringe at the honorific, instead smiling at them.
“Before we go in,” Quindor said, “I’ll remind you that what you will hear is not the voice of a child, but the voice of the Seventh god. And the Corrupter is nothing if not a liar.”
At her nod, he pulled a key from his robes and inserted it into the lock, then swung the door open, allowing Lydia to step inside.
She’d expected to find a dungeon cell. Chains. A cage.
Instead, Lydia’s eyes fell upon a room with more comfortable appointments than her own. The walls were paneled with tapestries depicting each of the Six, the floor layered with carpets, and the bed at the center covered with thick blankets. Several lamps burned brightly, and a brazier gave off needed heat.
And on the floor, wearing a pink woolen dress and playing with a puzzle, was a little brunette girl. At the sound of them, the child turned, and a gasp tore from Lydia’s face as she recognized her as one of the orphans who’d lived with Finn in the sewers. A girl whose life Lydia had saved from illness.
A girl who now possessed no more essence of life in her than the stone floor she stood upon.
“Grand Master Quindor,” the girl said, smiling wide. “It has been so long since you visited.”
“I’ve been away, Emmy,” he answered. “Only just returned. How do you feel?”
“Well.” The girl—Emmy—beamed. Then her upturned grey eyes moved to Lydia, her head cocking slightly. “I know you.”
Lydia’s blood chilled, her mind recoiling at the idea that the words were coming not from a little girl, but from a dark god.
“You were one of the Princess’s guards!”
“Yes.” Lydia’s voice croaked, and she coughed to clear her throat. “I also saved your life in the sewers. Do you remember that?”
“That was you!” Emmy bounded to her feet, the pink ribbons on her braids bouncing on her shoulders, and Lydia had to steel herself from taking a step back. “Finn told us it was Hegeria herself.”
“Finn likes to tell stories. It was me.”
“Oh!” The girl darted across the room, flinging her arms around Lydia’s waist and squeezing tightly. “I remember your face sparkled like diamonds. You looked like a princess of the north.”
Lydia’s heart thundered against her rib cage, her fingers like ice as she placed a hand against the girl’s back, feeling the measured rise and fall of breath, certain that if she pressed her ear to Emmy’s chest she’d hear the beating of a heart. Everything about her appeared alive and vital.
But Lydia’s mark told her a very different story.
One could not heal the dead, she knew that. Except abandoning Emmy to the fate of the child she’d watched murdered on the street made Lydia sick.
Quindor was watching, his face grim. “Try, if you must.”
She had to. She had to know.
“Emmy, will you sit for a moment?”
At the girl’s nod, Lydia led her to the bed, lifting her on top of it and then sitting next to her. Then she took a deep breath and took hold of Emmy’s hand, feeling the warmth of the girl’s skin against her own.
And she pushed.
It was as though something sank its claws into her and yanked, dragging life from Lydia with painful violence. A scream tore from her throat, and then she was on her back on the floor, Quindor kneeling next to her. “Many others, including me, have tried to bring her back. But one can’t heal death.” He looked to the girl. “Thank you, Emmy.”
A sniffle filled Lydia’s ears, and she looked up to find the little girl weeping. Climbing to her feet, she sat next to Emmy again, careful to keep her hands a safe distance. “It’s not your fault.”
“The Grand Master tells me that I am dead,” Emmy whispered. “But I don’t feel dead.” She looked up at Lydia. “Is he telling the truth?”
Lydia bit her bottom lip, then said, “There is no life in you.”
Emmy’s chin trembled. She reached into her pocket, pulling out something that glinted in the lamplight.
A gold-and-onyx cuff link in the shape of a galloping horse.
“He told me that he’d protect me,” the girl whispered, then she dropped the cuff link on the floor with a clatter. “He lied.”
He did protect you! Lydia wanted to scream, but instead bit the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood.
“Calm yourself, Emmy. We will leave you to your toys.” Quindor motioned Lydia to follow him outside, closing the door firmly behind them.
“That”—she pointed back toward the room holding Emmy—“is cruelty of the purest form. No matter what has been done to her body, her mind is intact. She’s a little girl who doesn’t understand what’s happening to her.”
Quindor sighed. “What you were speaking to wasn’t human, Lydia.”
“But she has Emmy’s memories,” Lydia protested, wishing she could calm her galloping heart. “How could—”
“The Corrupter know such things?” Quindor interrupted. “Because he is a god.”
“But she’s nothing like those monsters that attacked the night of Malahi’s ball. Those were violent and mindless and terrifying. Emmy…” She broke off at the expression on the Grand Master’s face.
“Is dead.” He caught her elbow, leading her around the hallway. “And what we are seeing is nothing more than a shift in the Corrupter’s strategy to win this war. Before, those infected with blight served to terrify and kill, but now they serve a more insidious purpose: to destroy faith in the Six from the inside by undermining the Marked. By making the living followers of the Six believe the Marked have failed them.”
The sound of Killian’s cuff link falling to the floor echoed through her head, and Lydia’s skin chilled.
