Avena studied Miguil as he stood over Pharon’s grave at the top of the blackberry hill. The tree’s shade covered them from the light drizzle falling out of the murky skies. It had been two days since the attack. She’d spent much of it sleeping. The second riots in Kash had ended in the meantime, sparked by rumors of dark sorceries raising the dead.
She squeezed Miguil’s shoulder. “If you need anything.”
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight. “Just . . . I want to be alone with him.”
She nodded, her hand falling away from him. She headed down the trail, her heeled shoes thudding on the hard-packed dirt. She held up her skirt as she descended, the misting rain caressing her face and wetting her hair.
She prodded the emptiness she often felt as she descended. Was it guilt for watching Evane’s death? I was just a little girl. I didn’t know how to fight. How to react. It was Mother doing it. I never thought she’d harm us.
She kept telling herself that, hoping it would shrink the hole in her. Maybe nothing ever would. Maybe she would spend her entire life missing her twin. They had lived in their mother’s womb for nine cycles of a moon. They had come together into this world. Until that fateful day, they had never been apart. They’d often babbled together in their own language.
Happy.
She had no answers as she descended the hill and entered the estate. Bran guarded the gate, a big smile on his face. The healers had mended his stomach. The wound hadn’t gone deeper than the muscles in his abdomen wall, so it was an easy repair, much like her own forehead. Dajouth’s leg and Cerdyn’s skull would take longer to mend.
The drizzle lessened as she headed to the manor house. She frowned at the sight of a carriage parked on the driveway before the main doors. She didn’t recognize the black coach with golden embossing trimming the frame. A pair of gray horses drew it, their manes sable. She frowned as she approached. The groom stroked one of the horses. He looked up at her and nodded, his smile revealing two of his top teeth missing. He knuckled his forehead as she passed. She returned his greeting and marched up the porch’s steps to find Dualayn speaking in the damaged foyer with two figures she’d met before.
Anger blazed inside of her at the sight of the White Lady and Grey, the head of the Brotherhood of Masons and Builders.
“Dje’awsa almost got us killed!” she blurted out as hot anger flashed through her. She glared at the pair. “I thought we were under your protection.”
Grey and the White Lady both turned. Her snow-pure hair swayed like strands of Demochian silk about her shoulders and down her back. She wore a delicate gown of silvery gray that fit her tall and slender body. She stood Grey’s height, forcing Avena to look up at her. Her eyes at first appeared yellow but shifted to blue as she smiled at Avena.
“I see she’s still as headstrong,” said Grey, wearing a genial smile. “I am sorry, Madam Avena, for our associates’ actions.”
“Actions?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You kidnapped us, forced us to work for you, then your associates tried to murder us with abominations!”
“Let me speak with her, Grey,” the White Lady said, her voice soothing. “Shall we stroll the grounds? It appears that the rain has stopped.” She placed a hand on Avena’s shoulder.
The woman’s touch sent a vibration through Avena, almost reaching into her bones, a soothing, massaging touch. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the White Lady. The woman hummed, if faintly, a note of pure beauty.
Diamond truth.
Avena’s bowels liquefied. She felt a trembling fear rippling through her that met a calming tingle. Despite the youth of the White Lady’s features—she appeared only a few years older than Avena—her eyes held eons.
“Who are you?” whispered Avena as the White Lady led her back outside. The clouds parted, allowing shafts of sunlight to slide across the wet lawn.
“Someone who is sorry for the deeds wrought by my associate,” she said, taking Avena’s arm. The White Lady set a slow pace as they followed the lawn’s slope from the manor house. “He has been punished and understands now the full importance of Dualayn’s work with the Recorder.”
“Which is?”
“A great injustice was performed, and I hope Dualayn can help undo it.” The woman spoke the words with confidence, her words ringing with truth. At this moment, Avena felt like every person she had ever spoken to had told her nothing but lies.
“When?” Avena swallowed to moisten her drying throat. “What injustice?”
The White Lady smiled.
“Who are you?”
“Raya.”
That feeling of absolute truth slipped for a moment. “That’s not your real name.”
“It is the name my friends and husband call me,” the White Lady responded, the ringing honesty returning.
“I’m not your friend.”
The White Lady paused her stroll and faced Avena. Delicate fingers cupped the Lothonian woman’s cheeks. The vibration increased. The humming from Raya intensified. Her blue eyes faded to yellow.
“You could be, Avena.” She placed a kiss upon Avena’s forehead. For a heartbeat, her body resonated, a shiver racing through her from the tingling contact. Then the White Lady broke away.
A sudden breathlessness seized Avena. “What are you? Are you one of Elohm’s devas? Raya could be short for Reylis.”
“I am not the Archon-Supreme,” Raya answered, amusement in her tone. Her eyes faded back to blue.
“You didn’t deny that you’re a deva.” The certainty gripped Avena. The way the woman felt, the ringing truth of her words, crystallized this fact in Avena’s mind.
Raya’s laughter was as light as wind chimes. “Oh, no, I am as human as you. I had a mother and father like
