with the foul taste of it stuck to the back of his throat. Raed lay there for a moment, steeling himself to get up and do what needed to be done. He rolled over, opened the bag, pulled out his clothes, and slid them onto his stained and fouled body.
Every part of the Young Pretender ached, like he’d been trampled by a horse, but Fraine was close now— closer than she had been since their meeting in the desert. She had led him into a trap, sold him out to a geistlord masquerading as a goddess, and killed five of his crew members in cold blood.
Raed could understand why Fraine had turned on him—her childhood had been marred by the death of her mother in the jaws of the Rossin. What, if any, affection she had retained for Raed after that had then been twisted by Tangyre Greene’s lies. That did not mean he would let her rip the Empire apart. Whatever feelings he had for his sister, guilt, love and anger, didn’t really matter. The entire Empire was at stake.
The map, obtained at so much risk in the city, was still not complete—it showed only the upper and outer levels of the fortress that was constructed like some elaborate puzzle box. At least that was how it looked on his first examination of the map. The mapmaker had even struggled to draw it, but had settled on three layers, like a peeling away of an onion.
Raed strapped on his pistols and sword and went to the first door. Opening it, and stepping inside, he immediately understood the mapmaker’s dilemma. Everything inside the fortress was designed to confuse the eye and befuddle the brain. The corridor he walked down was tilted at an odd angle, and wound its way deeper in the fortress. Along the way, there were doors that opened straight outside again. Others were set in the ceiling, or half-buried, and only passable by a child.
The map saved him from going mad in the first instance, as Raed quickly lost his bearings. He found a shaft indicated in red, and by virtue of wedging his legs against one side and his back against another, shimmied down through it and to the next level. This all seemed a very useful way to hold off intruders and stymie assassins, but he couldn’t help but wonder how on earth the Shin traversed their own fortress in any comfort at all. Even if they memorized the passages and odd doorways, it would not have been comfortable. On the first level he had not seen a single guard, and he understood why—surely they would have been driven mad by the illogical and crazy layout.
Raed’s feet touched down in a new, deeper layer of the fortress, and for a moment he stood there swaying. This looked like any number of corridors in any number of palaces he had visited: stone walls, lined with tapestries. However there was a deeper hush on this place than anywhere else he’d ever been. He stood there contemplating which way to go and examining the map. It had marked out a straight path to the right and then deeper.
As he walked the corridors Raed contemplated how much better this would be if Sorcha and Merrick were with him. A couple of Deacons would have been most useful at this point. But that wasn’t all. This was the first long stretch of time he’d been alone in his entire life. As a Prince and then as a captain, he’d been surrounded by servants, soldiers, crew and friends. Though he had been the one to make decisions, he’d always had someone else to confer with.
Raed had never before considered if the Rossin had a sense of humor—not that it was one that he appreciated overly. It was merely a distraction that he didn’t need since reading the map was becoming harder and harder. The designer had drawn a series of strange red circles on the map, but the map had no key.
Raed was just contemplating what they could mean, when the floor slid out from under him. Reflexes far beyond a normal mortal being kicked in and Raed managed to catch hold of the lip of the trap before he fell, though his shoulders were nearly wrenched from their sockets.
The geistlord was awake now, ready to take over. “Not yet,” Raed gasped, as he flexed his fingers against the stone. He didn’t want to lose his clothes and gear if at all possible. Though the beast had no respect for such trivial things, as a man, he preferred not to enter dangerous situations naked. With some effort he managed to get the edge under his armpits and from there haul himself upright.
So he had his explanation of the red dots on the map. As he followed the path he took careful note and edged around them. It certainly explained why there were no people on this level either. The Shin were obviously master trap makers, which cut down on how many guards they had to have.
He was just contemplating how many of the Shin themselves must have fallen into their own traps while distracted, when a sound pierced the suffocating silence.
It was laughter. Female laughter. It was so unexpected and delightful that Raed stopped. In his life, there had been precious little female company let alone merriment. If he concentrated, he thought he could recall his mother and sister giggling—but perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. On the
Snook. Now dead at his own sister’s command.
Frowning, recalling why he was here, Raed went to find out what was so funny in the lair of the Shin. He had a feeling he would not like it.
FIVE
Alone in the Abbey
Merrick made his return in the tail of evening to the Mother Abbey. It was only a short distance from the Imperial Palace to the home of the Order of the Eye and the Fist, and it was a walk that he had taken often since returning from Chioma. Though the Emperor himself had shown little interest in returning Merrick’s mother and his half brother back to that southern province that they should by rights be ruling, the Grand Duchess had been most considerate of their care. She had seen to it that Japhne was given a wing and the best doctors when the time came for her to give birth. She even visited her so that the older woman would not be so alone. Apparently they had many things in common, and despite Zofiya’s reputation, his mother found her a great companion.
As he looked up at the stars he found himself considering Her Imperial Majesty the Grand Duchess Zofiya in quite a different light. Everyone at the Abbey thought he was studious and quiet, but he noticed the fairer sex like any other normal man. Since he had traveled back in time and stolen a few moments with Nynnia, he had been more at peace with his lost love. The mere fact that she still existed—even if he could never be with her again—had allowed him to come to a certain acceptance. Nynnia had given up her body in order to save the world from the destruction of the terrible geistlord the Murashev, and she seemed content with that. It would be churlish of him to remain angry for her choice.
So his refreshed eyes and soul had perceived immediately that the Grand Duchess was very beautiful. Even to have thought that a season ago would have been ridiculous, but in their time together, he had seen beyond the intimidating cover she presented to the world. She had lost her faith and her goddess had proven to be a horrible fraud. In a way, Merrick and she shared a loss.
Naturally, these thoughts were idle ones. Deacons could indeed have sex, love affairs and even get married —however Imperial sisters had to be far more cautious. He could tell by the expression in her eyes that she liked the look of him—he’d learned that much in the past year—but in her position, she would have her pick of lovers from among the Court.
Still it was pleasant to wonder about some things, such as what would her lips taste like? What secrets of her inner heart would she reveal after they kissed? How would her skin feel against his?
Merrick shook himself free of these idle thoughts as he reached the gates to the Mother Abbey. Between intrigue and duty he allowed his imagination free rein—but once back inside the walls of the Order he had to return to reality. The lay Brother opened the postern gate and let him in without challenge. Most Deacons were ensconced in the dormitory, but others were on patrol, or doing the business of the Order.
As his step passed over the lintel, Merrick stopped, for a second frozen comically there, head tilted to one side. Everything was quiet and in its correct place. The Presbyters tucked in their presbyterial chambers. Arch Abbot Rictun was awake working on some paperwork, the light flickering in his antechamber behind the stained glass. The lay Brothers were either asleep in their quarters or moving quietly about their duties. Deacons, Sensitive and Active were the same, but lying in their cells in the dormitory. The powerful and beautiful Breed horses shifted in their stalls, but signaled no distress. Injured and addled citizens and Deacons were sleeping or cared for in their
