The Shadow of Theron, page 38
Lysandro laughed. “You get used to it.”
“You get used to it.”
“I could teach you, if you like.”
They traveled at a leisurely pace, the gentle sun shining down on them like a warm caress.
“Here,” he said, offering her the reins. “I’m right behind you if you need me.”
It left Lysandro’s hands free to roam. He temped her with light touches to her hips and thighs until they reached a gated garden leading to a sprawling structure of white stone—a Faelian temple.
Sera realized why he’d brought her as Lysandro leapt down from the horse and gripped her by the waist to help her down.
“You didn’t need to do this first thing in the morning, Lysandro.”
He looked at her with earnest affection. “Yes I did. My promise is genuine. I need you to know that.”
She traced the fine lines of his cheek with her fingertip. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“I come here sometimes when my prayers are not suited to Arun.”
Lysandro retrieved a roll of papers from his saddle bag, then walked with Sera, fingers entwined, to the portico at the front of the L-shaped complex.
A tall woman with silver threaded through her chocolate brown hair came out to greet them.
“Good morning to you both. How might the Goddess assist you today?”
“Good morning. I’m Don Lysandro de Castel, and this is Signorina Seraphine Alvaró. We wish to be married.”
“Splendid. Come with me, please.” She led them around the porticoed outer walkway to the back of the temple, covered in exquisitely manicured gardens.
“It’s too pleasant to go inside. For such a joyous occasion, we should revel in the beauty of Faelia’s creation. Don’t you agree?” The priestess gestured to a circular stone stable surrounded by benches and took a seat opposite the couple. She pulled a small pair of wired spectacles from her robes and adjusted them on her face.
“Now then, let’s see.”
She held out her hand, into which Lysandro placed his papers. Seraphine went quiet.
“She will gain half of my estate, which includes my residence in Lighura and the adjoined lands, the ancestral de Castel holdings upon inheritance from my father Don Elias de Castel, and its lands, and the attendant annual income. In the event of my death, full possession will revert to her. She will have the power to grant inheritance on any children we may have however she sees fit.
“Fine.” The priestess looked to Sera.
“Um…can we have a minute in private?”
“Yes of course. Take as long as you need.”
Lysandro followed Sera as she moved to a corner of the garden overtaken with creeping vines covered with pale blue blossoms. He looked down to find her wringing her hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“Lysandro, I don’t have…my father can’t—”
He stopped her right there.
“Am I here with your father? Or mine, for that matter?”
Sera stopped fidgeting and looked up into his eyes. They looked so perfect in the sunshine.
“This is between you and me. I’m giving you everything because I want you to have it. I don’t want you to have to ask if you need anything. And, if something happens to me, you’ll be protected.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t want anything. Only you.”
The gleam in her eyes softened around the edges.
“That was a lot better than the first time you asked.”
“Oh Sera. I’ll spend forever trying to make that up to you.”
Sera wiped her face and returned to her seat at the table. “Can I put down my undying love and fidelity?” she asked.
Lysandro smiled, as did the priestess.
“That’s lovely.”
The priestess affixed her signature with a practiced flourish, then turned the contract over to Lysandro and Sera. She looked over the details of the wealth Lysandro was conferring to her. With a saucy expression, she said, “You forgot the theater box.”
Lysandro shot her a sideways glance.
They inked their names at the bottom, then the Faelian rose to her feet.
“My sincerest congratulations to you both. We have a section of the garden set aside for wedding feasts. Come.”
She showed them a wide open plain with enough room to host the whole town, bordered by flowering trees that decorated the ground with delicate pink petals.
Lysandro folded their fingers together and squeezed; it was the sort of wedding he’d always wanted.
With their marriage contract signed and the date of the ceremony set, they left the temple and found a secluded cove to lay out their picnic.
Sera had only been an hour or so in the kitchen, but still she amazed with pies stuffed with meat, potatoes, and bits of pungent, melty cheese that fit in the palm of Lysandro’s hand. She’d even made bite-sized cakes, filled with elderberry jam and finished with an elegant, shimmering glaze.
Lysandro let his mind wander to the future as he filled his stomach.
“We can hire more staff for the house, if you like.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. I prefer not to use a valet, but if you want a lady’s maid, you can have one.”
Sera took a swallow of the fruity wine they’d brought with them. “If you can dress yourself just fine, I’m sure you can handle dressing me too.”
“I foresee a problem with that…”
She laughed at his boyish grin and kissed him.
“Are there any changes you want to make?”
“Like what?”
“You could pick new furnishings, or perhaps different artwork…”
“I like your house.”
“Yes but it’s my house. It’s meant to be our house. It should reflect both of us.”
Sera saw his point. “If I think of something, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” Sera held the last of the little cakes in her hand, soaked with strawberry liqueur and topped with crackled sugar. She had taken the tiniest of nibbles, and left the tantalizing bit in her hand, completely forgotten. It was more than he could stand.
“There’s something on your hand.”
“Hm?”
She looked down and yelped as Lysandro caught the remainder of the confection in his mouth, and a couple of fingers in the bargain. Her blood pounded as he licked the jam from between her fingers.
“So good.”
Sera tried to control the rising heat in her cheeks that accompanied the jolt of desire between her legs, but it was no use. Sera dragged her thumb across his mouth, and Lysandro cast her a wicked smile as he cleaned his lips with his tongue.
“I’ll let the tailor know too,” he said, frazzling her nerves with the sudden change in
subject. “Whatever you need for the wedding he can put on my bill.”
“Oh no. Fabien will murder me if I let anyone else dress me on that day.”
Brushing her hands clean, Sera found a grain of sand under her fingernail. She dug it out, flicking it into the sea with disgust.
“I fucking hate sand.”
Lysandro laughed out loud.
“I stayed in the Maghreve with Fabien for a month once. Never again. It got everywhere.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Sera shrugged.
“Well…do you want to leave?”
“No. It’s nice here. It’s a nice view.”She stood and untied the ribbons on the front of her dress. Lysandro’s eyes bulged out of his head.
“What are you doing?!”
Sera made a big show of looking around, and stretched her arms out to either side of her. “There’s no one here.” She cupped her hand to her mouth. “Hello! Anybody out there? I’m taking off my dress now!”
Lysandro tried to shush her, but was stymied by his own nervous laughter.
She pulled the dress over her head and tossed it onto the blanket, leaving only a thin shift of plain white. She looked down at Lysandro’s stunned face and smirked.
“Are you coming or not?”
The sea was a cool crystal blue. After swimming in the calm waters, they sunned themselves on a nearby outcropping of rock. Gentle waves broke into foam at their feet.
Lysandro rolled onto his side to admire Sera as she napped, her hair drenched and her white shift floating almost translucent around her. She looked like a siren that had been caught unawares in her private pleasure.
He leaned over her and woke her with a kiss. Her eager response stirred him, and he peeled her soaked dress away from her skin to cup her breast.
She moaned into his mouth. Desire raced down his spine until he trembled with it. On impulse, Lysandro pushed her dress hurriedly up to her waist. He needed her—now. He slid effortlessly into her as a bracing wind raced across his back. Lysandro made love to her with brisk abandon, the growing warmth between them rising to a searing heat. When she raked her fingers through his hair, he felt like a god. She opened her eyes to him, and he was overcome.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
Their mingled cries echoed into the sea.
Asha surveyed the damage Lysandro had done to the cliffside. It was an impenetrable wall of fallen granite.
“Do you see a way in?” she asked.
Eugenie couldn’t see any weak points. She chose instead to follow the sound of whispering that tormented her at night. It led back up the hill to the roof of the cave, where the insidious voice was the strongest. She scanned the ground.
“There,” she said.
The place she pointed to looked like little more than a rabbit’s burrow. But when Asha put her full weight on it, the hollow fell in on itself, and they were able to slip down into the space below.
The setting sun did not follow them. Eugenie sensed a powerful malice through the void. The voice was louder and more insistent than ever.
“Asha,” she whispered, grasping blindly for her in the dark.
“Shhh!”
Eugenie felt a firm grip on the front of her robe. Asha pulled her close into her own shadow.
Asha’s body had gone stiff, and Eugenie heard her sword scrape out of its scabbard.
The twilit wind whipped across the opening above their heads, and produced an unnaturally high whistle, like a wind blown straight from the mouth of an icy hell.
Just as the contours of the cave began to take shape, the shadows to their left seemed to darken. The blackness assumed a solid form, edged in a deep purple mist. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
“Asha!”
Asha swung her weapon fast and high. It collided with the wall in a shower of sparks, and something unseen fell to the floor with a crack.
The whispering stopped.
“Give me the lantern,” Eugenie insisted, fumbling with the light tied to Asha’s belt and opening the slats.
A skeleton in rags lay toppled at Asha’s feet. Just beyond it was the head, snapped clean off.
Eugenie watched the skull teeter on the ground. As it stilled, she saw a blackened tongue loll out.
She shut her eyes to it, pressing her lids together tight.
“You alright?” Asha asked.
She opened her eyes. The tongue was gone, the skull devoid of life.
“Fine,” Eugenie answered.
Asha pivoted her head in every direction, but found no further enemies. The lantern cast long shadows on Eugenie’s face.
“You’ve got to eat something Gin.”
“You know I can’t.”
“I know you won’t. But you’ll end up like him if you keep this up.” Asha jutted her chin toward the crumpled skeleton.
Eugenie didn’t like her reflection in the mirror any more than Asha did. But it was what Morgasse demanded of her to keep Her sight, and she couldn’t stop now. Not with the next turn of the wheel so close. She could feel it creeping along her veins.
Eugenie swept the light before them, illuminating slivers of the cave at a time. There was not much to speak of; it was an ordinary cave with some larger calcium formations. A few feet ahead of them was a circular depression in the dirt, littered with desiccated snake skins. They glowed a bright blood-red, crisscrossed with a black and white diamond pattern shriveled in decay along the scales. Asha stretched out a tentative hand.
“Don’t touch them. The poison is housed in the skin,” Eugenie said.
“Why eldur vipers? Or is it snakes in general?”
“Eldur vipers are believed to draw the power of their venom from Anruven.
“So…Anruven is the volcano?”
Eugenie shook her head. “He dwells inside the volcano.”
Asha crouched down to get a better look.
“He is a hungry god. According to his followers, he demanded a constant flow of sacrifices. When the volcano erupted, it was understood as a sign that Anruven was making the world over to reflect the desires of his devotees, and overwhelming their enemies with rivers of blood. But the cult of Anruven shrouded themselves in mystery. The only records we have of them are the one or two written by our priestesses. It might all be conjecture.”
“But what use would Marek have of such things?”
“Perhaps Lothan and his followers believe that if they are bitten and survive, they can draw on that power. A sign of their bastardy, perhaps?”
“But that’s to do with Anruven, not Argoss.”
“I suspect they are greatly confused by the two. Argoss absorbed cult practices into his own sorcery. Without records to distinguish them…”
Asha poked at the darkened skins with her sword. “That’s a dangerous game to play.”
Eugenie agreed. “Destroying every temple to Anruven in the aftermath of Theron was a fatal blow. Starving him of followers was meant to ensure he could never challenge Morgasse again. Without understanding what he’s doing, Marek has the potential to do something catastrophic.”
“And this is all in your Histories, is it?”
Eugenie nodded.
Asha frowned. “It isn’t right.”
“Eradicating all memory of Anruven?”
“Keeping secrets from your sisters.”
“That was neither my choice nor yours.”
“You know what my high priestess told me, before I left? She told me not to trust a Morgassen. That they never say what they mean.”
Eugenie shifted on her feet. “Do you feel that way?”
“You’ve shared your secrets with me. And we’re stronger for it. How much stronger would we be if we had a Faelian with us?”
Eugenie shrugged. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
The stretch between them grew awkward. Asha tried to smooth it over by focusing on something else.
“I can’t hold the Aruni back much longer. They want Marek’s blood. But we need to recover the relics as well. We know Don Lysandro ingested the Sorrow Stones, and Marek still has the shard of Blood Sword hidden somewhere—it’s not here, right?”
“No,” Eugenie confirmed. She hadn’t been sure before, but it was clear now. The nauseating power that had drawn her to this place had been the skeleton. With the skull separated from its spine, she could no longer sense its lurking presence. Perhaps tonight, at last, she could rest without fear of nightmares.
“We traced the books,” Asha continued. “What else is missing?”
Eugenie closed her eyes and recalled the map marked with all the temples that had been targeted, trying to remember what it was they were forgetting.
The stones, the pages, the shard, and…
“No.”
“What?”
Eugenie’s eyes bulged. “Nonono—”
“What is it?!”
“He has the Key!”
His jailers were at it again. Lothan didn’t know what the argument was about this time. He didn’t care. They were so absorbed in their own foolishness that by the time Lothan’s screams drew their attention, the door to his cell was already open.
They charged him as one. Lothan dropped the Cerulean Key the minute it rasped in the lock. Activated, it was like trying to hold a fireball in the palm of his hand. He channeled the blistering pain into fury and barreled through them. He knocked the smaller one to the ground with a blow from his good arm, then spun as the bigger man came at him. Lothan lunged for the dagger the warden kept at his belt and plunged it right into his throat. The man sank like a stone, clutching at his neck as the life gurgled out of him.
“Fargas,” the little one groaned. “Fargas…”
Lothan rolled his eyes and stabbed him in the chest, getting the blade stuck in one of his ribs in the process. He tried to pull it free, but it was no use, so he left it there.
Panting, Lothan ground his teeth. All of this blood, and not one drop of it to slake his own blade’s thirst. He had to get it back. That was the first thing. Then he was going to pay Don Lysandro a visit. Lothan pulled a handkerchief from the expired jailer’s pocket and soaked it in the blood spilling out of his chest before using it to retrieve the Cerulean Key from the floor. He didn’t know what made him think of it, but it eased the agony of handling it. With the bloodied key tucked safely in his pocket, he strode calmly out the front doors of the courthouse and into the empty street.
The salty breeze from the sea curdled into the smell of blood. Sera woke with a start at the sudden turning of her dream. But her awakening had not chased the rancid scent from the air.
“Lysandro?”
She quit the bed and ventured down the hallway to her left, guided by the horrid smell. The second door to her right opened onto a small but well-appointed study. She grimaced; she had thought she was walking into the sitting room. Sera realized then how unfamiliar she was with the home that would be hers. But now was not the time to explore. Not when something smelled wrong.
Down the hall, she heard the scraping of metal against metal. Something in its quality turned her insides cold. She quickly eyed her surroundings and lifted a long, sharp letter opener from the desk. She tucked it into her sleeve before entering the hallway again, this time trying the third door down from the left.
Sera found herself in the grand foyer.
