The Shadow of Theron, page 18
She mumbled a thank you, not daring to look up at him. If not for the ice running through her veins, Sera’s cheeks would have been burning. She felt so very stupid.
As if reading her mind and wishing to soothe her thoughts, Lysandro drew her close, pulling on the edges of the blanket until their cheeks grazed each other under the shadow of his hat. Sera was sure he could hear her heart pounding.
“Are you alright?” he asked in a voice as soft as velvet.
“I thought it was safe,” she lamented.
“Nowhere is safe anymore.”
“I feel safe now,” she whispered, and buried her face in his chest.
Lysandro swallowed hard and brushed his gloved fingers against her cheek. He lifted her chin and brought her gaze up to meet his. The brilliance of his blue-gray eyes was so intense, Sera was liable to lose herself in them.
“You frightened me something terrible. If something had happened to you…” Worry gave way to agony across his face. He clutched her closer. “I would lay down my life to keep you safe.”
She squeezed him around the waist. He was the only thing that felt familiar in this strange, dangerous place, and she craved his comfort and his warmth as much as his affection.
The Shadow of Theron clasped Sera’s hand as he led her through the gardens of her father’s estate to the front door.
“No, not that way,” she said. “They don’t know I’m missing.”
“Signorina! Who would have come for you then, with no one to realize the danger?”
“You came.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And I always will.”
“I can find my way inside from here,” she whispered, stopping in front of a crack in the stone wall that stretched into the larder.
“Goodnight, Signorina, and please, I beg you—no more walks by yourself.”
“I am like a prisoner then.”
“I will do what I can to rid Lighura of its villainy. But that will be very little if I must constantly worry for your safety.” He released her hand and stepped back.
Sera turned to go in, but just as quickly she found herself trapped again in the Shadow’s arms. She savored his touch, breathing in his clean grassy scent, mixed with warm spices and the salt of the sea.
Lysandro nuzzled her nose, her cheek. His lips came dangerously close to hers, brushing against the corners of her mouth. The air was charged with anticipation, but he did not stir. His voice came like a gentle ripple across her skin, making her shudder in his arms.
“How I long to kiss you, Signorina. But I dare not. Not now, with my face hidden from you.”
“Even if that’s what I want?”
He groaned in exquisite agony. His grip on her tightened, his mouth was so close she could feel his warm breath on her face.
“I fear you would not say that, if you knew who I am.”
“I know you well enough.”
The weight of his refusal formed a sharp ache in her chest. He could remove the obstacle he had placed between them if he wanted to. Her feet backed away as if on their own, withdrawing her from his false embrace.
But Lysandro held her fast. “No,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me like this, with a storm brewing against me in your heart.”
“Why should I stay?” she whispered.
He searched her eyes, and found his own want mirrored there. He dipped his head and took her bottom lip between his own, tugging at it ever so gently, so that the feel of their mouths together was as soft as a dream. They parted again all too quickly, with only a whisper between them. Desire crackled through his embrace like a lightning bolt, and he pressed his mouth to hers again.
Sera had never been kissed like this before, fiercely, and yet gently, from a deep well of longing. He was living for this kiss; it turned her knees soft. He squeezed her tighter as she buckled in his embrace. Lysandro kissed her like he might never again.
She met his eager affection with her own. Her skin thrilled at the feverish grip of his gloved hands on her waist, in her hair. She fell deeper and deeper into his caress until the whole world faded away. When her heart was near to bursting, he broke from her, leaving the smallest lingering touch. The light, feathery passes of his tongue over her bottom lip made her desperate for more. She couldn’t think or even breathe—she just wanted to live inside his kisses.
His name almost escaped her, but she feared shattering this perfect moment.
Lysandro pressed his forehead to hers, resting his sleek nose against her cheek. “Now I am doomed, you beautiful, bewitching thing. Promise me. Promise me you’ll always be mine.”
Sera brushed her thumb against his mask, slipping her finger underneath to feel the smooth skin of his cheek.
“Whose?”
He flinched. “I can’t. You may never forgive me if I do.”
She could be patient. And she could play his game. “You must, or you will lose me to Don Lysandro.”
His pulse jumped beneath her fingertips as she spoke his name.
“Will you marry him?” His eyes were bright with hope, though he tried to force the pretense of jealousy into his voice.
Never had Sera felt so wanted. He was undone, and it made her heart glow.
“I may.”
“Then I must hurry. I will find the courage to reveal myself to you.”
“Promise?” she pleaded, nuzzling her face against the curve of his chin.
“I promise,” he answered fervently.
He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, then released her with a reluctant sigh.
The Shadow was still in the courtyard, staring up at her as she came to the balcony of her room to bid him a final farewell. He pressed his fingers to the brim of his hat and blended back into the shadows.
13
Elias closed the door after his son and returned to his chair. He leaned back, taking his glass of wine with him.
If Sancio said it was Marek who had ordered the destruction of the temple, then it was. Elias didn’t understand why the high priestess would doubt him. Especially after what had happened. Marek’s own inaction, coupled with Sancio’s testimony, was damning. Anyone with brains in his head instead of rocks would conclude the same.
As to why Marek would commit such an act, Sancio had been more reluctant to talk. He had never been a good liar. Even as a boy, he could never sit still while protesting his innocence over whatever new trouble he and Lysandro had gotten into. He had told Elias the truth about the temple raid, but not the whole truth. He had his reasons, Elias supposed, and it didn’t much affect his decision to visit the chief magistrate. Elias had always trusted his friend’s judgment, but the glaring aberration of Marek’s appointment seemed a grave oversight.
But the preparations for his journey could wait until morning. First he had to deal with the relic. Elias rose from his chair and retrieved it from behind the grandfather clock. Sancio had tucked it behind at the sound of Lysandro ascending the stairs to the front door; it was up to Elias to put it back where it belonged.
The weapon was surprisingly light for its size. Had it been crafted anywhere else but Morgasse’s forge, it would have easily weighed ten times as much, and been impossible for Elias to lift. He’d grown thinner as he’d aged, and had worried whether he could do what was required as he watched Sancio struggle with it.
He had struggled with it, Elias recalled. Sweat had poured from Sancio’s forehead as he crossed the threshold, and many minutes had passed before his breath had become steady enough for him to explain himself. But the object Elias now held in his hand felt no heavier than a bread knife.
Elias had known his family’s legacy since he was a boy. The secret pride of the de Castels had been passed down through the ages, always kept on their ancestral land until the Aruni had insisted on locking it away for themselves. He had long dreamed of the day when he would see the relic with his own eyes, and use it to save the world as his ancestor had once done. But the vigor of his youth had come and gone, and no monsters had risen up from the Abyss for him to fight. The specter of the past had not reared its frightful head. Until now. And now the sacred weapon that had always belonged to his family was returned to him.
But it was not meant for him. Its destiny lay with a young man who had not heard the stories Elias had been told at his own father’s knee; Lysandro’s mother had abhorred violence, and begged him not to fill their child’s head with visions of slaughter. Lysandro had matured into a gentle soul. Elias worried that he had left off telling him for too long.
He pushed back against the feeling of having failed his son and those who had preceded him as he left the wine cellar built underneath the kitchen and stepped into a tunnel hidden behind a pair of stacked barrels. The path carved into the hard-packed dirt spanned the distance between the de Castel estate and the parcel of land Elias had bestowed upon Lysandro to build his own home. The ground sloped steadily downward as he walked, and the thinning air aggravated his breathing. He followed the meandering path for a little over an hour before he came to his destination, a cavernous space dug out beneath a small thatch-roofed house where a humble goatherd used to live. Craning his neck upward, Elias could see that Lysandro had not discovered the rooms above. The ladder leading up into the house, half-buried into the wall itself, was brittle with disuse, and a city of cobwebs sprawled across the entryway. The weak light of the lantern Elias held stung his eyes. He would have struggled in the increasing darkness if he had not known where to look. Against the wall on the far left, two wrought-iron vessels were embedded into the dirt a little above his head. Dipping his finger in, he found them both full of oil. Elias decided against igniting them, for fear the oil had turned, and instead bent down to place his own light on the ground, illuminating the long chest before which he knelt. Touching his fingertips to the dark grain of the wood sent an echo of his father’s voice rushing back to him.
It may be empty now, but what belongs in this chest has been ours since Morgasse forged it, and put it into Theron’s hands. It belongs to you now. If the Goddess calls, it will come to you. You must be ready to use it.
Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. His vision adjusted, and he saw how much the space had changed. The place where he had spent so much time with his father training, preparing for a day that had never come, had fallen into disrepair. That day was coming. It was coming for his own son, and he wasn’t ready for the task that seemed to be falling to him. Elias knew he should have risked his wife’s wrath. He had robbed himself of those precious hours with Lysandro. Now they were lost forever, and the whole world might be made to pay the price.
Elias opened the chest. The red satin lining was as brilliant and pristine as he remembered it. He lifted the relic and wiped it with the hem of his robe until it shone before placing it back where it had come from.
Almighty Arun, have mercy on your poor servant, who neglected his sacred duty, and lend your power to my son. Test the strength of his heart, and you will find him worthy.
He closed the chest and leaned his hand against it, his body as heavy as his soul as he struggled to his feet. His knees groaned under the strain.
“Get up, you old fool,” he grumbled to himself. “You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”
Elias went to bed late and rose early, as was his habit. He left before sunrise and headed west toward the city the chief magistrate called home.
The jostling of the carriage did little to soothe his aching body. Any time Elias attempted to doze off, his neck snapped back from the shock of a rut or a rock caught under the wheels. There was no perfect position that eased the crick in his spine, and Elias grumbled at how much the condition of the dirt path had deteriorated since he’d last used it. But he knew that was not an honest assessment; the road had not changed so much as he had—his body was no longer as tolerant of the journey. Today he felt his age. It was little wonder Lysandro requested that he carry his pistol with him, given the current state of things. That his son, who loathed violence where intelligence and sharp wit would suffice, had insisted on it, was sign enough that the situation had turned dire. His fingers stroked the handle of the firearm tucked into the inner lining of his coat for reassurance, then flailed forward again to grip the seat in front of him as the carriage flung itself into another crater.
In keeping with the urgency of his purpose, his driver only stopped long enough for lunch, then continued on until late before stopping for the night at a small inn. Elias slept more soundly than usual, grateful for the reprieve on his rattled bones.
Traveling another day and night like this brought him to the edge of Tolours on the third day just in time for a midday meal. Elias strode down the main thoroughfare with a gait borne of familiarity, and found the chief magistrate in the same tavern, sitting at the same table, and in the same chair that he had occupied for more than twenty years. His eyes lit upon de Castel the minute he passed through the doors.
“Elias! What a surprise to see you here!” The chief magistrate rose from his chair and opened his arms wide to embrace his friend.
Where Elias had thinned with age, Aleksander had increased. Limbs that had once been all wiry sinew now bulged with muscle. His friend had become a sturdy, solid fellow with a warm smile, perfectly suited to his job. He was affable and trustworthy, but still highly capable of intimidating would-be criminals.
Elias wondered how much of a surprise his appearance was; Montes had only just returned from making the same trip, and a slight twinge in Aleksander’s brow, a questioning in his gaze, flickered across his expression before it had opened up in a wide grin. His hesitation had only shown on his face for a fraction of a second. But it had been there.
Elias took up his habitual place to Aleksander’s right as the man ordered him a glass of grog.
“You’ve never met Carrick before, have you?” Aleksander asked.
“No, I don’t believe I have.” Elias extended his hand to the younger man seated to the magistrate’s left. “Don Elias de Castel. It’s my pleasure.”
“Yes, he’s mentioned you a few times.”
“Carrick has been with me for, what, three years now?”
“Five.”
“Five? No wonder you’ve been bugging me for a raise.”
“Mmhmm. So how about it?”
“I guess so.”
“Great. The wife’ll be pleased.” The deputy took a swig of his drink, then left an empty mug and a few coins on the table. “I’m heading back to the office. Feel free to stay here for a while.”
“Thanks Chief,” Aleksander quipped.
“No problem.” He touched the tip of his hat, then left.
Aleksander turned back to Elias. “Can’t remember one year to the next anymore.”
“I know that feeling.” Elias gulped heartily at his drink. It tasted just as he remembered, tart with a lingering sweetness at the end that made you want to suck on your teeth. An effective trick; customers were compelled to buy more food just to soak up the sugar.
“Where are you staying?” the chief magistrate asked.
That was quicker than Elias expected.
“I haven’t decided yet.” That was a lie, technically. Elias had decided that he would be staying with Aleksander, but he couldn’t very well tell his friend that before he’d been asked.
“I have decided,” Aleksander said predictably. “You will stay with me and Caterina.”
“That’s very kind.”
Aleksander nodded. “How have you been, my friend? What brings you to town?”
How he responded to even his initial inquiries within earshot of the townsfolk would tell. Elias gave a noncommittal sigh.
“Things have been rocky lately. You’ve heard of the temple robberies here as well, I’m sure.”
Aleksander’s smile faded into a thin line. “Of course. But we’ve yet to see any temple officials.”
Elias leaned back in his chair. “I would have thought the bigger cities like this one would be first in line for the Examiners’ assistance.”
Aleksander shrugged. “Who knows why the temple does anything the way it does. I would have thought your little corner of the world wouldn’t have such problems.”
“Quite the opposite. We’ve seen an uptick in violent crime. And less than a week ago, our temple was vandalized.”
Aleksander’s brows furrowed, pressing deep wrinkles into his sun-bronzed skin.
“Vandalized?”
Elias nodded. “Our window was shattered.”
The magistrate let his breath out with a puff of his cheeks and rubbed his stubbled jaw with his hand.
“Wow. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
Elias watched his friend closely. Aleksander’s face slid away from his, drifting down to the golden fathoms of his drink. Elias hadn’t mentioned Marek’s name; he didn’t plan on doing that until later, when they were alone. But he knew the look on his friend’s face. The chief magistrate looked guilty, for something that had happened many miles away. His reticence to talk only confirmed for Elias that he had much to say.
“I’d better get back to work,” Aleksander said, digging his hand into his pocket as he stood up.
“Of course.” Elias stayed the chief magistrate’s money with a hand. “It’s the least I can do if I’m to be your house guest.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Come by around seven, I’ll be home by then. The girls will be happy to see you too.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Elias was left with his thoughts and his grog; he purchased a boiled capon and buttered potatoes to sop it up along with a hearty bread. When he was finished, he browsed the shops on the main road and picked up a pair of silver bracelets inlaid with turquoise for Aleksander’s daughters, whom he loved like nieces. He whiled away the rest of the afternoon on a bench in the square, taking in the sunshine and the people passing by. Despite the fact that a relic had been stolen from their temple, life seemed to be carrying on as normal here. They did not live with the same sense of gloom clinging to them like shadows, the feeling that their lives were contracting around them. Aleksander was responsible for that. He made them feel safe, allaying their fears rather than provoking them. The knowledge that Lighura alone suffered so acutely set Elias’s jaw in determination.
