A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 (22 page)

“Six days ago my temples started pounding like war drums. Then the fever came.”

Hmm. The fever could be viral or bacterial. “Had you eaten or drank anything usual?”

“I ate like I always do, and before you ask, it tasted like it always does.”

“Were others sick before you?”

“By the time I got sick, I knew what to expect,” she said. “I did what I wished I could have done during that scourge outbreak. It’s why I ordered the gates locked, bodies hidden and food delivered.”

I nodded as I calculated the timeline. “Is there any reason for another clan to target yours?”

“No one is better with a blade than my clansmen. We make a living making enemies. Now that we’re allied with the Araneidae and have access to their coffers, we’re a prime target, but for who, I can’t say. We keep little gold here. We trade on Lourdes’s name. Wiping us out makes no sense. Our greatest competitors are the Theridiidae, but their clan is blacklisted after breaking their vow with the Araneidae.” Her voice held a note of pity. “We trade on our reputations and theirs are ruined. They proved themselves dishonorable, and no clan will pay swordsmen who carry that blight on their name to defend their home. Either Maven Colleen went mad or something very wrong happened in Siciia.”

With no other questions in mind, I asked, “Have you seen or heard anything unusual?”

“The hum,” she said with a nod. “One female cut her ear off before we caught her. Said the hum was driving her mad. I thought it was the fever talking, maybe it was, but I heard ringing in my ears.” Her eyes darkened. “As to your other question, I’ve seen males I’ve known since I married Brynmor leave their posts, walk away without a word and not come back. I thought at first it was fear of the plague, I mean the southlands are rife with gossip, but I won’t believe they’d abandon their families.”

“Thank you.” Rolling my shoulders, I prepared for what was to come. “You were most helpful.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, girl.” She snorted. “I’m not the beast Sikya says I am.”

I refused to rise to her bait. “You seem well-informed.”

“I am.” Her lips set. “My
son
was raised at her knee, and I damn well knew what she told him.”

“Sikya is my maven, and my aunt. Despite our differences of opinion, it is not my place to have this conversation.” Isolde’s complexion mottled. I placated her as best I could. “Now is not the time.”

With a tense exhale, she nodded. “You’re right.” She poked at her yellowing chest. “How do we get rid of this?” Her hands shook as she peeled the shirt from her breasts. “It looks to be spreading.”

“I thought with your soul here…” Her illness was more aggressive than I’d realized. “Old Father never spirit walked with you?” Incredulity spiked my voice, but all these years I thought he had come here to mend her spirit. Otherwise why make such a lengthy journey? Why keep her shrine in repair?

“He tried once, when my grief was raw.” Her voice softened. “I think he knew that I… He must have known he couldn’t trust me.” She met my gaze and her eyes were frigid. “A coward would have taken her own life, and I’m no coward.” Her expression crumpled. “But if he tore my soul free of my body and came here to heal me, well, I’m here. I’m where…where
he
is, where he’s waiting for me.”

“Kowatsi,” I whispered. His name cut my tongue to give it voice around her, and she blinked as if the name were alien and forgotten to her ears. I folded weak arms across my stomach. “You should know there is another option.” I hated myself for saying, “If you remain here, your body will die. It may be a kinder death than the fate awaiting you.” I spread my hands. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

And I had no intention of telling her Kowatsi lingered in her presence. It might prove too great a temptation for a heart still grieving. I was grateful he’d decided against interfering with our meeting.

He knew Isolde well. He could have invited himself here if he’d wanted to.

Isolde walked to the gate. It was simple iron, black with little detail. It was my construct that she saw, and if Sikya had allowed Isolde to visit Kowatsi’s grave, Isolde would have recognized the gate as matching the fence surrounding the burial grove in Beltania. She grasped bars and held them tight.

I could have told her the trick, the truth of it, but she had a decision to make, so I kept silent.

“I’m old.” Her thumbs rubbed the metal. “I won’t live too much longer.”

I strove for calm. “You were in excellent health—”

Her cackle made me dare to hope.

“Kowatsi and I vowed we’d live our lives to the fullest, take the risks, reap the rewards, do what we wanted, love how we wanted.” With difficulty, she released the bars. “I made him a promise, and when I see him again, and he asks how I died, I’m going to tell him I died
living
. For him. For Rhys.”

My heart skipped one pitiful beat. “What about Vaughn?”

Her chin shot up. “He doesn’t need me. Never did. He’s Brynmor’s son—has a warrior’s heart. His brother is different. He’s softhearted, hates fighting, that’s what makes him so damn good at it.”

I offered her a smile. “You might try telling him that some time.”

She shrugged. “You get me through this, and I just might.”

“I’m not sure I can heal you.” My throat burned. “I can’t promise we won’t die in the attempt.”

“You’d risk that, for me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I held out my hands to her. “Because you have two sons, and they both need you.”

Her rough hands clasped mine. “Tell me what to do.”

“Breathe,” I said, closing my eyes. “Just breathe.”

Oh so gently, I tapped into the core of myself, felt the healing energy rise and flow from me into Isolde. With infinite care, I drew clean energy from the air around us, and from the very fabric of the spiritlands, cleansing as I sent energy into the yellow smudge pulsing on Isolde’s chest. One cycle, then two, a third came and went without the smear disintegrating. More energy, more focus, more of my life force seeping into Isolde, until the yellow shattered in brilliant sparks that fizzled on our feet.

“You’re healed.” I shook my head and my dreamscape pitched and rolled. “Go.”

I flung my arm toward her in time for the next lurch to topple me onto my knees. Mists rolled in, dissolving my hands where I’d braced on the ground. I groped for my life thread, my anchor, but all I found was a bit of frayed string the color of summer grasses unraveled at my feet. I looked for Isolde.

She was gone.

The dreamscape wobbled and I fell, cracking my skull on a fence post. The metal felt real enough now. Rubbing my head, I tried to remember. I had been looking for something, hadn’t I? Someone?

“Mana.”

I knew that voice.

No. I must be mistaken. Whoever he was, he came from Below. I was free of my human shell.

I reclined on the floor and wondered what that must be like, how he could stand such limitations put on his form. Then I drifted, up and up, and though sharp noises pinged in my ears, I ignored the odd pull in my gut to turn around, look down and watch the male as he called…was that my name?

Heat seared my ankle, and I screamed. No longer drifting up and up, the hot fingers coiled above my foot wrenched me downward. I bent double, clawed at my attacker and found not a hand, but rope. Shimmering black rope squeezed until tears formed in my eyes. I kicked at the binding and thrashed.

“Mana,”
the voice said again.
“You will return to me.”

“Are you—Vaughn?”
His name swirled up the rope and into me, imprinting itself on my heart.

His relieved sigh swept through me.
“Yes,”
he said.
“Return to me.”

And I did.

Soft words and softer lips pressed against my ear. I batted away the minor annoyance, snuggling back into the warmth of my dreams.
Balsam.
Strange how that scent had become one of my favorites.

“Please,” a husky voice pleaded. “Return to me.”

I liked the voice, liked how it rumbled under my cheek. I patted my pillow. “Shh. I’m sleeping.”

Harsh laughter ripped my eyes open, and I stared up into a face so handsome, I had to touch it or risk thinking this was still a dream. Dark eyes closed damp lashes as I stroked rough cheekbones. His lips parted on a harsh sigh, and I traced those too. Black hair slicked with sweat dried at his temples.

“Are you well?” His breath caught, awaiting my answer. He held me with exquisite tenderness, as if afraid that a wrong move would break me into pieces too small for him to reassemble. “Mana?”

“Let the girl breathe,” rasped a familiar, female voice. “Bring her here.”

He took great pains to stand while holding me. I think I had been curled on his lap.

A frail-looking female with crazed white hair patted the mattress beside her. “Put her down. Let go.” She tugged on me, but he held firm. She swatted his arm. “We can’t all three of us share a bed.”

He lay me down but remained bent over me, his arms trapped around and beneath me.

I felt safe with him here, so I clutched his collar. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.” He knelt at the bedside, on the hard floor, and let me curl against his harder chest.

As I drifted with the scent of balsam and male in my nose, I toyed with his shirt pocket. Over his heart, a familiar black thread glistened. I slid my fingers down its silky length, and his body trembled.

At the end was a frayed, green knot. I tugged the thread, felt the corresponding pull in my chest.

“Our life threads…” I fingered the knot. “They’re tied.”

The female beside us spluttered.

“They are.” He kissed my fingertips. “And when you truly wake, you may hate me for it.”

Dismissing his warning with a wave of my hand, I nestled back against his chest and let his arms and his warmth anchor me. My skin tingled. My thoughts were edged in fog. My aura, well, it shone.

I frowned at that, and at the soft glow emanating from his body. Our colors matched. How odd.

Sleep dulled my thoughts, but still I dreamed of him.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke in darkness. Bolted upright and clutched the sheets. Groped muscle and gasped when the arm I held grabbed me back. I panted. My chest stung. Fingernails sank into skin and dug deep.

“Could you not claw me?” Vaughn cursed. “I’d rather not have any open wounds just now.”

“Why is it so dark?” I whispered and scooted closer to the sound of his voice.

His arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me flush against his chest. “Mother is sleeping. You were sleeping. Nerys is sleeping too.” He leaned in, nuzzled my throat. “I don’t mind the dark.”

Bracing on his shoulders was all that kept me from pitching forward. Even in the gloom, his aura shone. I sensed I could read him now, but I didn’t dare. Not without his permission. Not after what…

“Gods above. I thought I dreamt it.” My heart skittered, rousing a deep ache rooted in my chest. “Our life threads,
you tied them
.” I rubbed my palm over my chest. “I can feel you. We’re—we’re—”

He captured my hands and placed them over his heart. “I had no choice.”

I flinched at the pain those words caused.

“Mother woke in a panic. I couldn’t rouse you. Your pulse was still and your eyes were vacant. You were dead.” Fury made his hands tremble. “I had to bring you back. You healed her. I owed you.” His grip tightened. “I used my thread as your lifeline, as I did before.”

“You tied our life threads, Vaughn.” Panic crept into my voice. “I should never have said—”

“If I hadn’t tied your soul to mine…I would have lost you.” He cupped my face. “Our threads… I knotted them. I know we’re…tangled. A priest can sort us out, or Old Father, whichever you prefer. I should have asked you.” Air whooshed from his lungs. “I had intended to ask you since Beltania.”

I wished I could see his eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

A bony elbow sank into my side. “That’s because he hasn’t asked anything yet.”

“Mother,” he chastised.

“What? I’m right here, aren’t I?” She huffed. “All those whispers woke me up. Good thing too.” The mattress dipped as she readjusted. “I owe Mana my life, but I don’t owe her my clan. You ought to think long and hard about that before you propose to her without asking your mother, your
maven
, first.” The bed jostled and a snort rose from the corner. “Light the torches, Nerys. I want my heir and his—Mana—to see how serious I am.” Footsteps padded away and the door opened on the brightly lit hall. Nerys returned, lighting Isolde’s torches one by one until her bedroom fairly blazed. “There.”

“Mother—” Vaughn began.

“No.” She stared hard at me. “Salticidae believe in soul mates, and you’ve known Vaughn most of your life. Tell me straight if he’s yours.” Her blunt words dropped my mouth open. “That’s a
no
.”

My head swung back toward Vaughn. “I didn’t— That’s not what I—”

“I can’t believe it.” She balled her hand. “I had Lourdes in the palm of my hand.” She shook her fist. “Maven Lourdes, the bloody Araneidae maven, called on me for aid.
Me.
I had two sons, both of marriageable age, and I offered my heir the chance to govern by her side, and he said
no
.” Wild hairs flew about her face. “I thought maybe it was resentment, maybe he didn’t want his brother to govern this clan, and thought maybe he’s right. Rhys’s father was…” She turned aside. “Rhys is his father’s son. The boy is softhearted. Living here, warring here, would have taken its toll on him eventually.”