He would never forget how Tarn’s face had split in two with skin and muscle splayed open. But the screams that echoed in Von’s memories didn’t belong to his master. They belonged to the Xián Jing assassin that had given him that scar.
Von moved on to the candle stands set beside the desk. Thick tomes were set neatly upon it, flanking a map of Azure. He lit the last candle and brought it to the table where Yavi worked among a clutter of missives, documents, and Sacred Scrolls.
Her quill tinkled lightly in the inkwell then she continued writing on a separate piece of paper. The low light glowed off her face in the darkened tent, illuminating her auburn tresses that fell in soft waves along her shoulders. She sat a little straighter, her eyes glimmering a little happier as she worked.
Translating Sacred Scrolls from the ancient language was the only time she was allowed to read and write. Such education was a rare thing among women, especially to Yavi’s degree.
Von followed the swirl of the wet ink as it formed neat letters. When she finished the last sentence, Tarn snatched the page, leaving a splatter of ink on the table.
“It should not have taken you this long,” he said, his pale eyes zigzagging as he quickly read.
Yavi returned the quill to the inkwell and lowered her gaze. “This Scroll was lengthier than the others. Some words of the old tongue are not found in Urnian. I translated it as well as interpreted.”
“Meaning your work is rubbish. What good are you if you cannot do what I acquired you for?”
She clasped her trembling hands and hid them on her lap. “I’ll do better, Master.”
“It might serve me better to sell you and be done with it.”
It took all of Von’s will to not react. Apprehension swam through his veins. “It would be difficult to find another slave that can read ancient Urnian, Master,” he commented casually. “In addition to the twelve languages that she speaks, reads, and writes. She serves you well when we travel abroad.”
Tarn’s cool eyes narrowed on him past the edge of the page. “You will only give your opinion when I ask for it.”
Von deferentially bowed his head.
Tarn continued reading and dismissively motioned in Yavi’s direction. “Go.”
She stood and gave him a quick bow before turning to leave. Her gaze fleetingly met Von’s—radiating with worry—then she slipped out of the tent. An amethyst crystal hanging above glowed and slowly spun, shooting purple rays of light on the canvas walls. The Forewarning Crystal announced any presence within a twenty-foot radius around the tent, so they’d always know if someone was near. The lights ceased once Yavi moved outside of it.
Von prayed their master’s threat had been empty. He knew one day he’d have to separate from Yavi but not like this. Not when she could be sold and taken to a place he could not reach.
Tarn tossed the page aside. “Another worthless Scroll. This one speaks of the beginnings of the world. You revealed my presence in Azure for this?”
“Forgive me, Master.”
“Every Scroll you have brought me has been useless.”
“Shall I cease the search for the Sacred Scroll of the Unending?”
“No.” Tarn lifted his tankard and swirled the wine inside. “It’s out there somewhere. Rozin Ida discovered it nearly three-hundred years ago. I’ll find it as well.”
“Will you keep the slave woman until then, or shall I find a trader?” Von kept the question indifferent, cold. He never referred to Yavi by name in front of Tarn, never showing he cared much of anything for her.
Inside, out of view of anyone, his chest compressed under a boulder of tension meant to crush him. He quickly shoved the feeling away, aware of the Mood Rune that could pick up any strong feeling in the tent.
His question went unacknowledged.
“I am beginning to suspect the Scroll may be on Mount Ida,” Tarn said to himself.
It was possible. The Unending Scroll had led the infamous pirate to the hidden island to begin with. It was there that Captain Ida obtained invincible power. Now they were searching for it.
But would Tarn sell Yavi? Von clamped his mouth tight to keep himself from asking again, lest he risks exposing them.
He picked up the page she had written and blew on the semi-wet ink before tucking it into a leather folder. It was thick with pages she had previously translated. Most were parables or teachings on the meaning of life and the dimensions of The Seven Gates. None of which were any use to them. He took the folder and the Scroll to the desk and returned them to a chest filled with the other Sacred Scrolls he’d collected.
None had been fairly earned.
Killing for the words of the God of Urn left a foul stain on Von’s conscience. A black blot no amount of scrubbing could wash away. The holy law dictated that sins committed during servitude belonged to the master. So why did he feel the weight of them?
