Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (6 page)

“Have you ever heard a voice when no one was around?” asked Trevin.

“I hear voices from the trees. It’s a gift I inherited from my mother.”

“What do the voices say?”

“Sometimes they echo my thoughts. Sometimes I hear theirs. Usually they say, ‘Save us’ or ‘We die,’ because of the blight.” She shivered.

Trevin wished he could put his arm around her, but with Khareet and Dano following, he didn’t want to try.

“I’ve heard one voice,” he said as they headed up the stairs, “but I’ve heard it three times.”

“From the trees?”

“I think not. I heard it twice in the aerie.”

“What does it say?”

“Seeker,” he whispered.

Melaia pursed her lips. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the aerie,” she said. “We’ll watch for Peron and listen for your voice.”

As they neared the top of the stairs, Trevin rubbed his right hand. Now was the time. “You surprised me tonight with your vow,” he said softly.

“I meant to keep it a secret, but after hearing my father’s news, I couldn’t stay quiet. I hope you’re not offended.”

He laughed. “Just surprised. I didn’t know you had such feelings. Lately we’ve spent only snatches of time together.” He glanced over his shoulder at the bodyguards. “And never alone.”

“So you’re not offended?” She looked sideways at him. “I’m relieved. I was an awful shrew last fall, terribly angry with you. It’s a wonder you’re still willing to abide my presence.”

He started to reach for her but stopped himself. “Melaia, you’re all I could want.”

She grinned. “You
are
a thief. You stole the very words I was going to say.” She dashed up the last two steps and across the landing to her door, where she paused. “I can sense you, Trevin. I couldn’t before, because I couldn’t still my mind when you were near. But I’ve begun to sense you. You’re the most tantalizing shade of gold.”

She swept into her room, calling, “Serai, did you find the ointment?”

Trevin stared after her. Angels couldn’t sense him, but Melaia could. That must mean he was Nephili, half-angel as she was. Livia had suspected as much, but neither of his parents had claimed to be an angel. Then again, both had died before he knew to ask.

Melaia sensed him. Proof enough.

He stood taller. Gold. He was tantalizing gold.

Melaia appeared with a lidded jar and handed it to him. “Don’t slather it on.” Her soft fingers gently stroked his bruised cheek. “Just rub in a small amount until the ointment disappears.”

“Won’t you show me how?” he asked. “I have a bruise on my upper arm too. One on my chest. My thigh—”

She swatted his arm. “Begone before I give you another one.”

revin sat on his pallet, smearing menthia ointment on his bruised cheek. The sharp scent took him back to a night by a hearth fire in a cottage near Stillwater when the priestess Melaia had spread salve over his bruised belly. That night she had asked him who he was, and he had told her he didn’t know. He had acted the part of a confident kingsman, but his deeds had shown him a coward, a thief, an informant. Even now he didn’t dare tell Melaia the extent of his guilt for fear she would reject him.

He inspected his arms for bruises and wished there was a salve for his conscience. Even knowing he was Nephili didn’t assuage his guilt. Perhaps after the king officially proclaimed him a comain, he could finally put aside his past and start anew.

Jarrod, in his priestly blue robe, leaned his lanky frame against the doorjamb. “So you were feasting in Redcliff while I dredged a reeking well for your body.”

Trevin chided himself for being too preoccupied to sense Jarrod’s presence. He usually felt angels before he saw them. He tugged off his tunic. “You would prefer to have found a body?”

“I’m relieved to see the body alive.” Jarrod retied his long hair. “Though how you kept yourself from drowning, I’ll never know. I guess your scratches tell the story.”

Trevin dipped into the ointment again, grateful that Jarrod was not upset with him. As Dreia’s son and Melaia’s half brother, Jarrod had a strong sense of destiny, and he could snarl like a lion when he was angry—another reason to keep parts of the past well hidden.

“I’m sorry you missed dinner.” Trevin rubbed ointment on his upper arm.

“I don’t regret missing the king’s excesses,” said Jarrod, “but I do regret losing an opportunity to study our three guests.”

“You’ll have your chance. Unfortunately, they may be here a while.”

Dwin ducked into the room. “They’re lodging at the palace. With their dog.”

“And you procured them the best rooms, didn’t you?” Trevin put the lid on the ointment and wiped his hands. “No doubt you played nursemaid and told them a bedtime story.”

“I did not. I saw only where they’re staying.”

“So you can join them for ale in the morning?” asked Trevin.

“Cork the venom,” said Jarrod. “You know what feuding between brothers leads to. You’ve seen Rejius and Benasin fight.”

“They’re immortal,” said Trevin.

“Which only means that if you two feud, you’ll have less time to make it right before the end.” Jarrod gave them a stern look and headed down the hall.

Dwin pulled an amphora from a trunk and unplugged it. “A little wine? As a peace offering?”

Trevin snatched the amphora and plug from Dwin’s hands. “I’ve had my fill of peace offerings.” He replaced the stopper, but his anger was not as easily bottled. He shook the amphora at Dwin. “You cloud your mind with this stuff.”

“No I don’t. It makes me feel good.”

“Can’t you feel good without a drink? Too much of this stuff numbs you.”

“It makes me happy.” Dwin rolled out his mat.

“Has it ever occurred to you that Rejius supplied you with strong drink to keep you happily in his control?”

“He provided you with drink too. And women. He never brought me women.”

“Rejius never controlled me that way.”

“No?” Dwin snorted. “You did everything he asked of you.”

“Because of
you
, Dwin. Lord Rejius knew I’d do anything to safeguard you. He threatened your life to control me.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t in it for yourself as well.” Dwin plopped onto his mat.

Trevin huffed. His brother would never know the compromises made for his sake. “At least we had the sense to get out before the king hanged us.”

“
You
had the sense, and I went along. Now you’re to be a comain. As for me—”

“You’ll stand up for yourself and become something more than a drunkard, I hope.” Trevin slipped the amphora back into the trunk.

“It’s settled, then,” said Dwin. “You’ll be a comain, and I’ll be a spy. Like the Asp.”

“The Asp lives in the Dregmoors. No one knows who he is. You’ve no notion of what his life is like or what danger he faces to send information to the Angelaeon.”

“Exactly.” Dwin lay down. “I’ll be a spy. I’m practicing already.” He yanked his cloak over his head.

Trevin yanked it off. “What do you mean you’re practicing already?”

“I’m spying on the Dregmoorians. When they walked into the tavern at Drywell, I recognized the skinny one.”

“Fornian.”

“Dagger devil.” Dwin rubbed his throat. “I saw him in Redcliff over a year ago. About the time Lord Rejius became the king’s physician.”

“Then why didn’t Fornian lead them to Redcliff?”

“They’d still have been stopped at the gate. Varic wanted someone to get them inside without a confrontation. I told them I could take them straight to the palace.”

Trevin threw Dwin’s cloak at him. “You should have stopped drinking one beer before that. Give it up, Dwin, before you’re as burdened with regrets as I am. No more spying.”

“Too late.” Dwin dug into his waist sash and brought out a small scroll. “You’re not the only one who can pinch a pouch.”

“Whose pouch?”

“Hesel’s.” Dwin tossed the scroll to Trevin.

“Hangman’s noose, Dwin! Sometimes I think you have no more sense than your donkey.”

“Don’t insult Persephone. She got you home, didn’t she?”

Trevin unrolled the scroll and scanned it. “It’s a list of accounts.”

“Written in Dreg,” said Dwin.

“You noticed. Did you read it?”

“Enough to know Hesel’s a gash runner. Some accounts are obviously paid in coin. Other payments I can’t make out. You’re better at Dreg than I am.”

Trevin read aloud, “Sheep. Goats.” He frowned at the next word.
Tohdlit
. He read it again to be certain.
Tohdlit
. The hair on his neck prickled. “Children.” He scanned the scroll a third time. “They’re trading gash for children.”

Dwin rose to one elbow, frowning. “You sure?”

Trevin shook the scroll at him. “You tell no one but Jarrod about this until I can show it to the king. The fewer who know what you’ve been up to, the better.”

Trevin had hoped to go to the aerie with Melaia the next morning and put the Dregmoorians out of his mind and hers, but the information in the scroll could not wait. Hesel had to be exposed. No doubt Varic would claim he knew nothing about gash running, but Hesel’s guilt would stain the prince’s credibility.

Trevin requested an audience with King Laetham. When the king put him off, he requested a meeting with Melaia. When she finally sent word that she was not free to see him, he trudged to the stable yard and concentrated on his original task for the day—appraising three horses.

He watched them browse. A feisty carob-brown mare. A fine black gelding. A gaunt-shouldered white stallion.

Comains usually knew their mounts long before they were appointed to their posts. Trevin knew as well, but Pym had questioned his choice, as had Dwin, Jarrod, and even Melaia. So Trevin studied the horses once more. His choice was the same.

Pym ambled up. “You’ve decided. I can see it in your eyes.”

“The white,” said Trevin. “Almaron.”

“I could see that too.”

As if in agreement, the stallion approached Trevin.

“For a stallion he’s more agreeable than most,” said Pym. “I’ll see that he’s ready for you this afternoon.”

Trevin ran his hand along Almaron’s neck. Pym had found him half-starved
with two slash wounds, one on each shoulder. Although Pym had nursed the horse back to health, the scars gave him an odd look.

“We’ve both seen our share of trials,” said Trevin. “You’ve proved your worth.” He patted Almaron. At least one of them wouldn’t need to prove himself.

In midafternoon, from the arched entrance of Redcliff, Trevin surveyed the valley that spread out below the city. Gray banners with the king’s white lion emblem billowed atop poles that bordered the main road across the bridge and into the valley beyond. A crowd swarmed the path and encircled the field where the appointing would take place.

Trevin recognized the long spiral of two dark birds riding the wind above the distant hills. Draks. He looked toward the aerie and regretted not being able to meet Melaia there. Maybe tomorrow.

Sensing the warm brown presence of Jarrod, Trevin turned. “Draks are back.”

Jarrod shaded his eyes and studied the sky. “Not surprising, I suppose, since the Dregmoorians are here.”