To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (14 page)

The cavernous entry hall had a tall ceiling and a gleaming tile mosaic floor, the pale green and blue stones laid out in a circular pattern, the ancient symbol of Halthas. Cecily had stared at the pattern dozens of times on her visits to the palace, trying to find where it began and ended. It tricked the eye, seeming to be several different lines and one continuous line all at once. The ancient Shapers had apparently loved designs that appeared impossible; the old architecture was full of them.

The outer guard spoke with another man in uniform. “This way, milady,” the second man said and gestured for her to follow.

He led her through a hallway and up a staircase, stopping outside a half-open door. “One moment, milady.”

She crossed her arms and waited as he ducked into the room. He emerged and gave Cecily a polite nod as Alastair followed into the hallway.

Alastair’s eyes went wide when he saw her face. “Cecily, what happened?”

“Please, I need to see the king.”

“I believe he is in his study, but he may be occupied. Come in,” he said, waving to his door. “Let me help.”

“Someone took Daro. Alastair, they attacked us on the road and they almost killed me.”

His mouth held open for moment before he spoke. “Yes, I daresay we need to see his Majesty.”

She followed Alastair up another set of stairs to a set of closed double doors flanked by two uniformed guardsmen. In Hadran’s day, they would have been in full armor, helmets and all. Rogan was a bit more practical, and far less paranoid. His guards wore swords at their sides but were without their heavy armor.

Alastair nodded to the guards, opened the door, and leaned his head inside. Cecily glanced down at her travel-stained clothes and wondered if she should have cleaned up before coming to the palace. Not that Rogan had never seen her in such a state; they had been through enough together in the war. She smoothed out her tunic and tucked her hair behind her ear as Alastair waved her inside.

Rogan’s study was a large wood-paneled room with thick velvet curtains lining the windows. There were upholstered chairs set near the fireplace and a sturdy wood desk on the far wall. The tabletop was strewn with maps and papers and a round tray with a teapot and cup balanced precariously on one corner. Rogan himself sat behind the desk, in a beige doublet trimmed with gold. His dark brown hair was cut short, a sprinkling of gray showing at his temples, and a neatly trimmed beard framed his mouth. A winding circlet of gold sat on the desk.

He stood as they entered, folding a piece of paper and tucking it under a large map. “Cecily, this is a surprise.”

“My apologies for disturbing you,” Alastair said with a bow, “but the need was urgent.”

Rogan walked forward and clasped Cecily’s hands. “No need for apologies.” His eyes rested on her face and his brow furrowed. “What happened to you? Please, sit down.” He led her to an upholstered chair and she sat while he pulled up two more chairs for himself and Alastair.

“Your Highness, I know I didn’t leave on good terms the last time I saw you. I want to apologize,” Cecily said.

“Don’t think about it another minute,” Rogan said. “We will leave the past where it belongs. What’s happened?”

“Daro and I were on our way home, about two days outside the city, when we were attacked on the road. There were at least three of them, dressed all in black and masked. I couldn’t see any of their faces. We fought them, but”—she paused, unsure how to explain what she had seen—”they were very powerful Wielders. They did things that shouldn’t be possible, things I’ve never faced before. One of them incapacitated me. It felt like he sucked the life right out of me. I was helpless. Daro was still fighting, but once they had me down, they threatened to kill me if he didn’t leave with them. So he did.” Her hands shook as she spoke, reliving every moment. “They led him away and I blacked out. Not long after I woke up, someone came back to kill me. I lost him, but I only survived because Merrick found me. As soon as I was strong enough, he brought me here.”

Rogan’s brow was drawn down and his lips turned in a frown. “Cecily, I am stunned.” He got up, walked over to a window, and peered outside. “You did the right thing in coming to me,” he said as he turned back to look at her. “What did Merrick find?”

“Nothing,” she said, and his eyebrows rose. “He was as surprised as you are. They must have a Sweeper. They erased all signs that we’d been there. Our wagon was gone, and there wasn’t the faintest hint of a trail. These men weren’t normal, Rogan. There was something very wrong. I saw one of them up close and he had these eyes.” She paused, trying to find the words to describe them. “They were unnatural, the colors all mixed. And they were bright, like a cat’s eyes in the dark.” A shiver went down her spine as she pictured the strange swirl of color.

Rogan rubbed his jaw. “This is quite troubling.”

Alastair stood. “Should I assemble a contingent for a search?”

“No,” Rogan answered. “I will handle this personally.”

Alastair glanced at Cecily. “Of course, if that is what you think is best,” he said.

“I do,” Rogan said. He stepped in front of Cecily and offered his hand. She took it and rose from her seat. “You and Daro are among my most loyal friends. I will do everything I can to find out what happened to him.”

She smiled, and some of the weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.” He let go of her hands and walked back to his desk. “Would you like me to send for Merrick or any of the others?” she asked. “Griff and Serv are likely still in the city. We saw all the companions just days ago. I’m sure they would be willing to help.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have men who can handle the details.” He smiled. “You’ve been through a considerable ordeal. Alastair, could you please see that Cecily has proper accommodations? And ask the guards to be sure I am not disturbed until dinner.”

Alastair touched Cecily’s elbow and led her from the room. She followed in silence. Rogan had made no secret of his desire that she come back to Halthas, and the last time she had seen him, they had argued. She hadn’t spoken to him since. His offer of help was a relief, but she walked away feeling unsatisfied. She’d thought he would send for their old companions to begin the search. His vague promise of help was less than what she wanted to hear.

She stopped in the midst of the hallway. “I won’t need a room, Alastair. I won’t be staying.”

He turned to look at her and tilted his head to the side. “You’re hurt and you’ve been through too much in the last several days. You need rest.”

“I need to find my husband,” she said. “I won’t find him here. Besides, Merrick already went ahead to find rooms for us. I’ll send a message once we’re settled.”

Alastair looked her in the eyes. “Cecily, you need to trust the king. He will find Daro.”

She laid a hand on Alastair’s arm. “I do trust him. That’s why I came here. But I can’t linger in the palace, waiting. It will drive me mad. Don’t worry about me, I won’t do anything rash. Merrick won’t let me. Send word immediately if you have news.”

He sighed and nodded. She turned away and took brisk steps down the hall, ignoring the soreness in her legs and the pulling in her shoulder. She needed to find Merrick, but more importantly, she needed more help. The Crown wasn’t the only power in Halthas, and she wouldn’t stop until she had the entire city looking for Daro, if that was what it took.

14. ALE STONE

Cecily spent a restless night at the Boar’s Head, a simple but clean inn near Griff and Serv’s warehouse. Her injuries still nagged her and her dreams were troubled. She woke up several times, covered in a sheen of sweat, strange visions hovering just beyond her memory.

After leaving the palace she had visited a tailor to purchase new clothes, including a dark blue cloak. The nights would soon grow cold as autumn approached, and she had lost most of her traveling clothes when they were attacked. She dressed and braided her hair back, fastening Daro’s necklace with extra care to ensure the clasp was secure.

She left the inn on foot under an overcast sky, the air thick with humidity. She kept the hood of her cloak drawn over her head to cover her face from gawking onlookers. She had inspected her lip and bruised cheek in the small looking glass in her room. The bruising was fading from purple to a sickly yellow, and the swelling was gone, but it was fresh enough to draw attention.

She made her way through the busy streets to the Ale Stone, a rugged tavern with an awning that drooped over the front door. Day or night, the Ale Stone was crowded with a mix of merchants, mercenaries, and many others whose professions Cecily didn’t wish to uncover. It was one of several locations Cecily knew to be connected to the Halthian Underground, a loose network of criminal bosses and their various crews that operated within the city. They were said to be ruled by someone only known as the Count. Much of the trade that flowed in and out of Halthas went through the Underground, legal and illegal alike, making them a force the crown had to reluctantly ignore.

She stepped inside and was assaulted by the heavy aroma of smoke, meat, and cheap ale. A few girls loitered around the stairs, dressed in tight corsets and dingy chemises that left little to the imagination. The tables were full, and a low hum of voices hung in the air. A man with a thick beard bumped into her as he passed, sending her shoulder into a spasm of agony. He grumbled as she pushed past him. She gripped her shoulder and clenched her teeth.

She scanned the room from behind her cowl, looking from table to table. Most had men, and a few women, hunched over worn mugs, leaning in close and shooting furtive glances around the room as they spoke. Cecily was careful not to let her gaze linger on anyone too long, lest someone think she was staring. These weren’t the sort of people to trifle with.

Off to one side, she found who she was looking for. Callum sat with his back to the wall, almost buried in a corner at the back of the tavern. He blended into the shadows in his black clothes, the collar of his long coat turned up around his neck, his tousled hair hanging in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, and his hand rested on the table as he flipped a coin across his knuckles. Another man sat across from him, dressed in a shoddy gray tunic and worn leather vest. Callum tilted his head to the side and spoke, shaking his head. The other man gestured, threw his hands out wide, and pointed his finger at the ceiling. Callum shrugged and spoke again as the other man stood up and knocked his chair back onto the floor. He turned and stormed toward the front door, his face flushed red.

Cecily approached the table and bent down to pick up the chair. Callum raised his eyebrows. “Well, isn’t this interesting. It isn’t every day we get a distinguished Lady such as yourself in this poor excuse for a tavern.” He paused and gestured at her hood with a quick flick of his wrist. “But perhaps you aren’t yourself today?”

She lowered herself into her seat and drew her hood back. His eyes widened and he leaned forward. “What happened?”

She took a deep breath. “It’s a long story, and I need your help.”

His eyebrows rose. “Sounds interesting.”

The tension melted from Cecily’s shoulders and her breathing relaxed. She hadn’t realized she was clenching her fists, but she opened her hands and flexed her fingers, as the sense of urgency that gripped her drifted away.

She met Callum’s eyes. “Stop it.”

He lifted his hands and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I can feel your Projection. You’re trying to Calm me. Stop it.” She didn’t like it when Callum manipulated her emotions. He usually knew better.

“Okay, I give,” he said and the strange sense of calm drifted away. “Sorry, you just look like you need to relax.”

“Callum, this is serious. Daro is missing,” she said.

He stopped flipping the thick gold coin and let it clatter to the table. “Your Daro?” He held a hand up in the air, gesturing Daro’s height. “He’s a little bit hard to lose.”

“He was abducted.” She explained what had happened, filling him in on the details of their attackers, Daro’s abduction, her narrow escape, and the disappearing trail. Although she kept her face serene, she couldn’t suppress a growing sense of dread that spread through her each time she thought of her husband.

Callum leaned back in his chair and picked up his coin with deft fingers. “Obviously we have to find him.”

Cecily smiled with relief. “I was hoping you’d help me.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Of course I’ll help you. A fine, upstanding citizen like myself? What else did you expect?” She smiled again and Callum continued. “Tell me about the Wielders.”

“One of them was definitely a Sensor. I could feel his Shield, and it was strong. I almost couldn’t see through it. But he had Reach too. His arrows were enhanced with Precision, I could feel it. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“No,” Callum said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of a Sensory Wielder with Reach.”

“The other one was throwing rocks at us. They glowed red and exploded when they hit.”

“That one’s new to me too,” Callum said. “I dislike them already.”