within the Imperial Court, nothing of greater substance that a groan or a sigh had passed between them.
Yet as she looked across the table at the young Deacon, she was reminded how well he had kept the secret shame of what had happened in Chioma to himself. The riots in the distant principality were generally considered to be just another bout of civil unrest. She had heard no whisper that any suspected that the goddess Hatipai had in fact been a geistlord. Those followers of hers who had gone to the desert temple had heard the call, even seen some things, but they had not been close enough to observe the true nature of their goddess. In all respects Zofiya realized they were luckier than she.
Only the Young Pretender Raed—whose whereabouts were unknown—the comatose Deacon Faris, and her partner, now sitting opposite the Grand Duchess, knew the real truth. As she contemplated that, Merrick pushed back his cup and fixed his steady brown eyes on her face with the sort of intent she’d only seen in the most accomplished warriors. “You have been kind and generous in your care of my mother and brother, Imperial Highness. You have done your best to see to it that their claim to the Chiomese principality is not forgotten—and most of all, you have been careful not to recall these kindnesses as any kind of debt. So even if I were not a Deacon, I would certainly want to help you in whatever way I can.”
Something about the honest way he delivered that little speech brought an unusual rush of blood to her cheeks. Luckily, she was no pale maid on which such a thing might be called a blush. “I was born into a scheming Court, Deacon Chambers. I’ve known knaves and backstabbers since before I could walk, and yet this Lord del Rue unnerves me in a way none of those ever did.” She fiddled with the now-empty cup, rubbing the bottom back and forth on the saucer. “He is admitted often to my brother’s presence—but in private. I have been introduced to him, as he dines and dances with the rest of the Court, and he is the very image of a polite, respectful courtier, and yet something here,” she went on, placing one hand over her stomach, “rebels against his nearness. Every single time I feel ill, and several times I imagine there is a smell about him—like something rotten. I admit I have actually been ill several times on his account.”
It was an embarrassing admission, but Merrick sat up straighter in his chair, and she noted his hand went to the length of leather tied to his belt—the Strop that was the focus of a Sensitive Deacon’s power. His frown was deep, making him appear so much older, and he pressed his lips together. Finally when he looked up, his eyes scanned her enough to make her think that she was some insect under scrutiny. “It could be,” he finally offered, “that your closeness to the geistlord Hatipai has woken an awareness in you that has lain latent.”
Zofiya could not stop the words escaping her. “You think I am some kind of Sensitive?”
Merrick grew suddenly bold, taking her hand and tracing a design in it. She let him, because his hand was warm, and she wanted his touch rather badly. “No,” he leaned back, placing the Grand Duchess’ palm once more on the table. “There is a glimmer there, but nothing that could be trained up to the level of Deacon. It seems you just have had your inner eye opened to certain things.” He smiled reassuringly. “In your position, Imperial Highness, it could prove quite useful.”
“Well, having to excuse myself and rush off to be sick while at a state dinner is quite inconvenient. Rumors get started that way.”
Now it was the Deacon’s turn to blush. “I will try and find a way to bump into your Lord del Rue and see if there is something deeper to these feelings. It may be that he was merely the target of an unliving attack sometime in his life. Such things do leave scars.” He stood up. “If you could arrange for me to mix with the Court tomorrow, I am sure I can put your mind at rest.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I will tell the seneschal that you will attend as extra security when the Prince Gyor arrives from the west. The Emperor has arranged a state ball for him, and that should give you a chance to run your eye over del Rue.”
The Deacon bowed. “Until tomorrow then.”
Just as he turned to go, Zofiya found another way to prolong his visit. “How is your partner faring?”
Merrick’s eyes dipped away from hers. “No better and no worse, Imperial Highness. No one has been able to penetrate the coma—not even myself. All I can feel is her frustration and anger. The Presbyters are almost on the verge of assigning me a new partner, and I can only put them off so long.”
Zofiya felt a twist of jealousy at his concern. She knew the Bond between Active and Sensitive was a powerful one, but Deacon Faris was a woman. Still, she managed to conceal the stab of resentment. “I’m sorry to hear it. I imagine you are heading back to sit vigil?”
He shook his head. “I did when we first returned from Chioma, but after a couple of weeks her emotions bled so much into my own that I could not sleep.”
“I am sure it is not deliberate on her part,” Zofiya murmured. “I will look for you at Court then tomorrow.”
As he bowed once more and withdrew, she was able to consider the rashness of her actions. She was used to taking risks, with blood and body, but she wondered if the young and handsome Deacon Merrick Chambers might be a risk of a totally new, and more dangerous kind. Still, what was life without risks?
FOUR
Dealing with Shadows
As he crouched in the shadows of buildings looking across the lake to the fortress of Phia, Raed heard the rumble of his burden.
“She’s my sister,” Raed replied under his breath, “remember that.” He was fully aware how bad it would look to be found talking to himself on the street. He couldn’t risk another incident like the one yesterday with the bounty hunter.
Tracking his sister, far from friend and family, he’d had to rely on the Rossin, but that didn’t mean he liked it. With Fraine and her collaborator Tangyre Greene stirring up rebellion in every principality they could find, the Emperor had raised the price on Raed’s own head. Things had gotten that much more difficult—and without his crew he felt as vulnerable as a turtle out of its shell. Bounty hunters were coming out of the woodwork left and right.
Which was why he had turned to the Rossin. Somewhere in the humid jungles of the west, he had lost all hope—and fallen back on the one resource he still had. Inviting the geistlord to occupy the upper portions of his conscience was a risk, but it was what the Rossin was willing to accept in return for his help. As much as it pained the Young Pretender to the throne, he knew that he would have died on the street yesterday without the fell creature’s warning. Only months before, the idea that he would be bargaining with the creature he had despised for decades would have been laughable. Now it was a grim reality.
The town was quiet at his back. The death of the bounty hunter had been swift, but plenty of citizens had seen the huge, agile shape of the Rossin on the rooftops. If Fraine didn’t know already, she would soon hear that her brother was nearby. What she would do with that information was a mystery. The uncomfortable fact was he didn’t know his sister very well. Evidenced by the fact he’d never suspected she harbored such hatred for him, and that she was capable of slaying members of his crew in cold blood.
Snook’s face as her throat had been slit and her blood had poured down to the sands of Chioma still haunted his dreams.
The Rossin’s voice was seductive again; a velvet wash across his senses, reminding him how good it was to be strong and mighty. It was an effort of will every day to not just give up to the geistlord. He couldn’t yet—not when Fraine was in danger of bringing the Empire to its knees.
If Fraine succeeded in launching a revolution, countless thousands of citizens would be swept up in civil and regional wars, as old feuds and rivalries were released with the death of Imperial control. It would be generations before the continent would know peace again—they would all be plunged into another time of darkness—as when the Otherside broke through into the world. While few written records had survived from that period, stories and dark legends had been passed from parent to child. The light had very nearly been extinguished in Arkaym. His family had rekindled that flame. Raed would not let them be the ones to now blow it out.
First, he had to reach Fraine within the fortress. The ruling family of Ensomn, the Shin, were renowned for
