His mother would say that Narya could only hope for purity through fire. But then, his mother was a crazy old woman, made insane by a brute of a husband, pain, and years of intensifying religious zeal. Still, the superstition she’d tried to drill into him was hard to forget.
She’d filled his childhood with the ceremonies and rites of Chaos. Her life, and therefore his too, revolved around death. She didn’t care if he was hungry, so long as he went to the temple and purified his sins. And she didn’t care if Gebhard thumped them both, so long as, when they died, their spirits walked into the fire and were reborn.
He almost scribed a spiral in the air. The ward was so ingrained within him. But he held himself back. He knew the truth. Order and Chaos were just ideas to scare little children. And his own parents proved how little faith he should have in the Mother of All.
He let out a slow breath. He didn’t need to fear that Narya would haunt the misty paths… Rayan never had.
He allowed himself a small, silent grin. Benja would have approved. He believed in doing what you had to do. Even if, in the end, he’d been so obsessed with his own product that he’d let everything else slide into disarray—including himself—and missed his repayment deadline. Repeatedly. Which was bloody, fucking stupid.
Gods, he hated old people. If he could, he would have left Mama behind long ago, too. He certainly wouldn’t have bothered with the thick blankets on her bed or the spicy meat-broth she enjoyed for her dinner. But it kept her alive... and that benefitted them both.
He pushed away from the wall, dragged a hand through his hair, and strode onward. His plan had worked almost perfectly. He’d expected there to be an immediate outcry—drama andchaos—which hadn’t happened yet. But it was coming; he could feel it.
Narya was dead, and the drakes had her body. It was only a matter of time before Batlok found out and all hell broke loose. And who was responsible for keeping everyone safe? Who had failed so spectacularly? Knight Commander Luka. It was perfect.
All he had to do was sit back and watch as Luka was punished, the royal wedding was called off, the war was reignited, the caravans to the front started moving once more, and his buyers went back to handing over their gold.
Chapter
Seven
Izabel strodebeside Luka as he marched down the empty corridor, leading them along a circuitous route to avoid patrols. He was carrying Narya’s body—well wrapped in a thick blanket and secured with a long rope—but he hardly seemed to notice. His face was blank, his shoulders squared, but he couldn’t hide the shimmering green-on-black scales that flickered up his neck and jaw. He was not pleased.
She knew he wouldn’t like this idea, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. It was their best chance of protecting everyone. Including him.
Her beast twisted.Of course this is right. He just doesn’t like being out of control. And the last time we were all together, Rayan had just died. Everyone’s on edge.
Izzy snuck another glance at Luka. Had he even shifted since Rayan died? She didn’t know. She had no way of knowing. Since those last terrible days, they’d only ever seen each other at public events. He acted as if she didn’t exist, and she acted as if she didn’t care.
She didn’t want to remember searching for Rayan, but she always would. Even now, she could still feel the exhausted horror of combing the rain-drenched city. Edging onto themountain path, feeling like she was breaking a commandment. She’d searched on the ground, burned by nettles and tearing her soaked skin on lace bush thorns, while Luka and the others exhausted themselves searching through the storm from the air.
They’d battled through the driving rain, the unnatural darkness and ghostly mists made a hundredfold worse by a particularly malevolent, unseasonable summer storm. They’d covered the mountain slowly, reluctant to push too far, but breaking the taboo anyway. And then they got the call. A breathless, drenched city guard ran up from the docks and shattered her world. Rayan had washed up on the beach.
Rayan was dead. But there was no indication of where he’d been. He’d told Shane he was going to help at the temple infirmary in Naos… and never come back. There was no sign that he’d ever even been on the mountain other than the claims of an old, half-drunk sailor who swore he’d seen him walking toward the Nabaspath. No one knew what happened to Rayan after that. His body was cold and swollen from the water, battered by the waves but otherwise utterly uninjured. He had no wounds. No signs of assault. Nothing to explain how he’d died.
God of Chaos. It was just like Narya. She stumbled over her feet and pulled up sharply.
Luka shot a quick look at her over his shoulder, raising a dark eyebrow.
“Do you think…?” She hesitated. This wasn’t the time. Not with Luka, tense and silent, carrying Narya’s body through the castle. But when was the right time? He needed to know her suspicions. “Do you think Rayan might have been killed the same way?” she whispered. “Stabbed with a needle blade? The skin would have swelled in the water. The blood washed away. I wouldn’t have known.”
Had she missed it? Too caught up in her sorrow? Melo had demanded to assess the body herself, but Izzy insisted. Rayanwas her brother. She wanted to do it. To protect him one last time.
The blank look on Luka’s face flickered, revealing a fierce grief, before he hid it once more. “Maybe.” His voice was a rough growl. “Let’s get this over with and get you back somewhere safe. Then I can think about it.”
She dipped her chin in agreement and strode faster to keep up. Luka had the look of a man pushed to his limit. He knew her fears now; they could discuss them later. Probably not when she was somewhere safe, but they could discuss that later too.
They reached the outer door leading from the back corridors of the castle to the rear gardens—Shane had sent a runner to call the guard away for a few minutes—and she quickly unlocked it with the key Luka had given her. She let them out and then closed and locked the door behind her.
Torches lit the paths that meandered between the trees, spotlighting the pinks and purples of the glass flowers and forest bride’s bushes, and throwing the artfully cut hedges into relief. A fountain tinkled somewhere in the distance while careful planting ensured the steep rock walls of the castle were softened by layers of foliage and gentle blossoms.
In stark contrast to the prettily cultivated, hidden garden, the mountain soared, huge and dark and wreathed in clouds as it loomed over them. This pocket of beauty, nestled within the guard-patrolled battlements, hidden between the castle and the mountain, was probably the most protected space in the entire kingdom.
Izzy had played here as a child, walked here as a teenager with her friends, and rested here after long shifts as a healer. But now, years had passed since she’d been back. Somehow, it still smelled the same. It still felt the same. She’d missed it more than she’d expected.
She’d stayed away, avoiding Luka, but maybe she should have come back and faced him. Forced herself to genuinely get over him.
Helping him to recognize that he was being an idiot would be more useful, her beast muttered.
