Keeper of Sorrows, page 24
This, whatever it was, didn’t belong here. It had taken the dame o’ war three days and nights to cross the Razing’s churning black-green waters, and for three days and nights, the passengers and crew had had to endure the torturous moaning and thunking and scraping of the mutant sea creatures against the vessel’s hull. Sweat pricked her armpits. Abelha was too far south for the Razing’s spawn. And in a freshwater lake? How had it swum down here?
Naokah didn’t stay to find out. She sprinted, sunflowers hitting her limbs, pack knocking her neck. She ignored the itching of the stalks, the piercing screams, knowing quite well that she was making so much noise that if the hive were near, she wouldn’t have been able to hear.
* * *
The sun was crowning the mountains when Naokah, drenched in sweat and covered in chills, adrenaline waning, finally reached the grottos. Grimacing at the confined space, she squeezed through the opening, a tunnel dripping with stale rain. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and the damp walls expanded to a lovely surprise. Above, glowworms in bright blues and lime greens cascaded over the dripping rock. Left and right sprouted bioluminescent fungi. Their fat fleshed-out heads, big as stepping stones, cast an ethereal glow over the rocks. A small stream carved out the bottom of the grotto, murmuring a hollow homily. She held her breath, dreading the telltale droning that would bring her the Keepership. She spun, scanning this lustrous new world. This was it. Call it intuition or divination or maybe even desperation, but an insistent pull at the base of Naokah’s gut swore that this was—
Nothing.
The hive wasn’t here. But it had to be. Why else had the cave called to her? She deflated. Had she honestly expected her tracking to be any better than her inspector skills?
Chittering above, from a dripping overhang. Had she disturbed bats? Surely there wouldn’t be any in Abelha, not when birds weren’t permitted. The creatures were nocturnal, though, and wouldn’t harm the bees, which were active in the day. She sniffed. There was no acrid stink, no indication of guano. Still, she stepped back. She didn’t have any intention of riling whatever it was—
A stone beneath her boot gave way. The ground shuddered, dust clouding the air. She leapt over the stream, landing hard on the coarse floor. The walls fissured. Jagged rocks broke loose, splashing into the stream. The golden eye behind her, the entrance, blinked. Then stayed shut. Darkness seeped over her. The glowworms and mushrooms became more vivid. They were now her only source of light.
Forget about the bees, she had to find a new way out. And fast. Before it all caved in. She dashed to the closest wall, hand tracing the cracks for a weakness, perhaps another tunnel she couldn’t see in the gloom. The floor rumbled, and her knees joggled. Sweat dripped down her spine. What had drawn her to the grottos in the first place? Images of Samara’s wicked puppet, the menacing mural, the dead fox flashed through her. Had the gargoyle lured her here?
Thunder, below her elbow. She recoiled. A stream of light shot up the wall. And then more cracks. A multitude. Heart thudding her ears, she pressed back, back. Until she could retreat no more. A resounding groan, and then a huge slab crashed to the floor. Dusty light engulfed her as another hollow revealed itself. The trembling waned, muffled by spraying water.
Naokah’s eyes adjusted, and the knots in her shoulders eased. A gap beneath the far wall showcased the Sea of Swarms, waves nibbling at the sandy shore beneath the border. As she approached, the cavern rounded out to mossy walls, and the quakes halted. Whirring pulled her gaze to a large, lopsided partition that wriggled.
Naokah, thrilled as she was terrified, clumsily set down her pack, and pulled out the clip that would transport the queen back to the citadel. She’d known what awaited her this entire trek across the isle. That, if luck was in her favor, or if she had no luck, depending on the way one looked at it, she’d encounter the hive. She’d tried to push her thoughts elsewhere, running through the fields with Lenita or kissing Brielle on the veranda, but as she tiptoed to the colony, it was like facing Death in the flesh.
Her skin tingled, an echo of her sting before. Naokah inched closer, the mural of stingers circling her, and dread weighed down her legs. She recalled the pollen-dusted humblebee pair she’d found in the foxglove hours before. They could be kindly creatures like some humans, but like humans, they’d do anything to protect their kin, their queen.
She cradled the clip in her sweaty palm and searched the undulating wall for the queen. She would be larger, longer than the rest. The attendant bees by her side. Once Naokah found Her Highness, she’d gently scoop her up, wait for the pheromones to transfer, and then wait, still, thoughtless as possible, for the colony to follow.
There—
In the middle, attendants preening her, Naokah spotted her destiny. Long, elegant, covered in velvety black and yellow, she certainly had the bearing of royalty. Naokah sucked in a deep breath, stepped forward—
“Naokah.” A voice she thought she’d never hear again stopped her on wobbly knees.
Eyes burning with confusion – surely this was a delusion – she pivoted around, minding the space between her and the hive. Chandeliers of blue-green glowworms had the woman’s freckles glimmering like stars. The clip fell from Naokah’s hand, clacked against the hollow, and she sprang forward, pulling Brielle into a tight hug.
Chapter Forty-One
Seen
I’d been able to channel rage to toss Lenita’s would-be assassins into their boiling baths. Rage to shatter the Keeper’s mirror. And, though I’d found it hard before, every time I’d tried to communicate with the Keeper, my adoration or lust or whatever power she held over me had impeded me from tapping into my volcanic ire. Learning Avice had tossed me over a cliff, ripping me from my human vessel, however, had cleared the ash clogging my spout. Now, I had no problem erupting. And erupt I did. With swords clanging in my ears, muddy, bloodstained boots thunking up my spine, I propelled myself from the mural’s mouth and landed in the middle of the Keeper’s chambers, claws clicking like knives on glass.
The Keeper jumped back, amber eyes darting over the slivers of light dappling her room. She’d heard me but couldn’t see me.
“W…wh…why?” I growled, voice dull from disuse. I’d been able to communicate with the ghost girl, my kin, even the scrim-turned-monster via my thoughts. But, since she couldn’t see me—
“Show yourself,” the Keeper pressed, scanning her chambers. Her arched windows, daubed in dusk and fogged up, sat ajar, and long shadows cast by the canopy, the liquor cabinet, striped the floor like a dungeon cell.
“Regrettably, I believe this is all I have to offer,” I said, stepping forward. I didn’t have a reflection in her end table’s mirror. I looked more like water on the verge of freezing. But where I walked, the glass fogged up.
She exhaled forcefully, rolling her shoulders back. She’d found me. And with each clink forward, her jaw dropped lower. “What are you?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” I stopped a few feet away so as not to strain my neck.
“A crith?”
I snorted. “I hope not. Can’t you tell by looking at me?”
The tan skin between her brows wrinkled as she studied me. After a moment, she shook her head. I sighed, glimpsing at the mirror. I had no shape. I closed my eyes; my mind returned to the stoop where I’d spent most of my second life, atop the citadel’s donjon. Remembering my form. My bullish face, small horns, claws. My long tail.
A gasp. “The…you…gargoyle.” The Keeper leaned back, folding her hands under her chin. “How?”
I’d spent most of my existence trying hopelessly, desperately, for her to see me. But now that she did? I was furious. “Again,” I said with pained patience, “I don’t know. The last thing I recall is your captain tossing me over some cliff. That’s it.”
“Avice?”
“The one and only. Unless you have some other striking, stone-faced sentry you like to kiss in your chambers?”
Her cheeks flushed to the red of her nightgown, making her even more beautiful, if that was possible. I hated that I noticed. I wasn’t here to dote on her.
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“I try to avoid…intimate moments.” I met her eyes, so she knew I wasn’t lying. “Don’t know what I am. Could be a demon. But I have standards. It used to get pretty lonely, high atop my tower, and you aren’t boring, by any means.” It was my turn to blush and turn away, tail between my legs.
“I see,” she said, straightening.
Was she no longer afraid? Emotions tore through me. Did I want her to be frightened? But what was that saying, about attracting more bees with cloudcane than vinegar or something of the sort? “Something happened during the new moon, and I woke up here, inside the citadel,” I offered, hoping she didn’t ask for further details.
“Your kind has been charged with protecting the citadel for centuries. What was different this night?”
Should I tell her she had a jealously deluded gargoyle on her hands? That, instead of watching their post, they decided to let a scrim in, just because they wanted revenge? Would she believe me? Hate me? I’d been misguided in my pursuit. Ignorant, really. I didn’t know any better. She couldn’t loathe me for simply wanting to protect her? I studied her, fear and angst shrinking my will. But I had to be honest. After all, was I not expecting the same from her?
“I let a scrim through,” I said, feigning defiance, but really, I was ashamed.
“You what?” Her nostrils flared and, still, even in her anger, she radiated grace.
“I thought one of the foreigners was trying to steal your title. Since you’re relinquishing your position almost twenty years early, and I just didn’t, no…still don’t understand. I’ve seen you with the bees. They matter to you, above all else. You’re cold to everyone, even your lover, but not to them.” ‘Lover’ tasted like moldy cheese and not the fine kind. “So, why would you leave other than by force or trickery? I wasn’t capable of harming humans, at least, not at that time, and I’d yet to find a way to channel my emotions into making an impact. So, I figured one little scrim could do the dirty work for me.”
“One. Little. Scrim.” She bit off each word. “You have no idea what you’ve done. The chain of events you’ve unleashed. You naïve little—”
“If your next word is a curse, I strongly advise against it. Remember, I’ve had a hard time reining in my emotions. And anger, well—” I nodded at the shattered mirror, “—you see what I can do. Unbridled, I don’t know how to control it. I could harm you or those you care about.” My statement was from fear, a warning, but her eyes flashed; she’d taken it as a threat.
“You’ve already caused enough harm.” Midese curses spewed as she paced about the chambers. Her slippers slapped against the glass, and the fish beneath skittered off into the hall. “Now I must clean up your mess.”
“Let me help.”
“Like you’ve helped already?”
“Don’t let fury cloud your judgment. I know you’ve seen the viper-eyed beast, as have I. It’s tied to the scrim I let in. My kin, after it happened, searched the citadel high and low, hoping to catch it, but they weren’t fruitful,” I yammered, nerves speeding up my delivery, “and whatever I did trapped me inside. I can’t return to my haunt until I’ve been absolved.”
Each of my admissions pelted her like sharp stones. She grabbed her crimson robe, a torch, and headed for the door. “You coming, or do you need a personal invitation?”
“Where?”
She whirled around, velvet robe swishing. “The library. You didn’t just let in one scrim. You’ve lit a beacon for all wayward spirits to enter. We must find a way to seal the wards, and quickly. You should’ve come to me sooner.”
I lowered my head. She was right. Yet…. “Why would they want to enter a glorified apiary?”
“You really don’t know much, do you?” she snapped over her shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be ignorant if you educated me,” I said, sprinting to catch up with her long strides. My claws clacked over the glass. The bees teemed, acknowledging our presence.
She opened the gilded door and ushered me in. The fruit salad tree – pioneered by Abelha’s own farmers to save space on the small isle – welcomed me. Grafted limbs heavy with pomegranate, avocado, mango, and lychee stretched outside an ambient dome. The Keeper pulled out a fat red tome with worn leather binding and slammed it down before me. Dust motes scattered in the dim light. I sneezed.
“The citadel holds the key to the other side,” she finally said, flopping into a tufted chair.
“Other side? As in—”
“The Scorned Son’s afterscape, where traitors go to die.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Battle Cry
“You’re…you’re really alive!” Naokah gasped into Brielle’s ear. Relief gushed from every pore, but her friend, the woman she’d made love to on the veranda, who’d held her and kissed away her tears, stiffened in her arms. Naokah pushed back, assessing her, ice riming her ribs. “How exactly are you alive, unscathed?”
Brielle wouldn’t look her in the eyes. Aside from having her lover’s physical appearance, the long blonde locks, the starburst freckles, the person before her had none of her mannerisms. Her confidence, her tenacity, her fearlessness and downright bluntness. No. This woman? Naokah didn’t recognize her at all.
“Brielle? What happened?”
Brielle’s gaze lifted from the floor. The glowworms covered her in a sickly blue. Mauve lips twitching, she seemed to be looking for the right words, but couldn’t find them. Finally, pulling a hand through her curls, she began pacing in circles, boots dragging over the damp stone, compounding Naokah’s anxiety. The churning behind her grew louder. The bees sensed her agitation too. Would they strike? Samara had said bees could pick up on emotions and respond accordingly. The last thing she needed was a grotto full of provoked bees. She had to calm Brielle.
“I…we were worried about you,” Naokah said.
No answer, just pacing, muttering.
“Brielle. You can tell me anything. I’m here. Just talk to me.”
That made her stop. Her head floated up like she was part ghost, an agitated one at that. “If I’d known you before…all of this—” she spread out her hands in sweeping motions, then pulled them back into a tight fist, “—I wouldn’t have followed through with it, I promise.” Brielle took a hesitant step towards Naokah, then stopped, chin dropping.
“What are you talking about?” Naokah placed a finger beneath Brielle’s trembling chin and lifted her face level to hers. Red, puffy eyes stared back.
Brielle grabbed her hand. “You have to know, I liked you more than anyone I’ve ever known. Truly.”
“Liked?” Past tense. Naokah felt like she’d dove into a lake of ice. “Brielle, you’re scaring me. Please. Just tell me what happened. I won’t be mad.”
Brielle squeezed Naokah’s hand so hard, she feared her bones might snap. “You can’t possibly know that.”
“Oh, she’ll definitely be mad, but that’s the way of it, no?” A shadow slipped out behind Brielle, hair a black curtain with sunset tips. “All is fair in love and war. Though technically, she didn’t say she loved you, just liked you so very much.” Kjell nodded at Brielle, handing her something that glinted in the dim light. A dagger. “Honor is all yours.”
Naokah stumbled as she backed up, the pieces all snapping together now. The tiny green feathers from Brielle’s disappearance and Clisten’s throat? A hummingbird’s. The comandante confiscated Kjell’s earrings that first day, but like hair, feathers stuck to clothes too.
“It was you, this whole time,” Naokah whispered, recalling their heated argument at the ball, Brielle’s love for both flowers and the Raptor. “You had Brielle poison you, so you could pretend to be amidst and murder your competition with no one the wiser.” Diabolically brilliant. She’d never suspected him, nor that betrayal could hurt so much.
A muscle twitched in Kjell’s sculpted cheek, but otherwise, he acted like she wasn’t there. “Kill her,” he told Brielle. Her former lover clutched the blade but didn’t move.
Had the bees grown louder, or was it Naokah’s rising panic, her spurting adrenaline? Anger had long been her arch enemy. Uncontrolled, her mind went blank, as did her logic, and she’d made costly mistakes like the argument she’d picked with her sister. Maybe she could rile Brielle and Kjell up, turn them against each other. At least it might give her time to get her own dagger from her pack, now a bulge in the shadows behind Kjell.
“So, your father’s the mastermind behind all this, is he? Raptoria’s already one of the most powerful nations in all Vindstöld. Yet, he wasn’t happy. Needed more? So you, poor little neglected rich boy, volunteered to do his bidding. But you fell short. Knew you couldn’t win the Keepership the honest way and, so desperate for your father’s approval, you started killing off your competition. How pathetic—”
“Will you shut the raze up!” Kjell yelled, his voice bouncing off the dripping rock walls. Then he turned to his accomplice and said softly, “We’re running out of time, love. If you can’t do it, fine. Give me the dagger.” He reached out, but she took another step back.
Waves purred beneath the grotto, their reflections splintering the shadows over his shoulders. His eyes darkened, flickering like a crow’s, like the ghost girl’s, like something that wasn’t entirely human. A cold droplet fell from the stone lip above and needled Naokah’s spine.
