Had Lysandros gone to the Capital to stop the Star of Mersia from happening? Or simply scurried away from the oncoming disaster? Maybe the secret of the Star was in the Capital and not here. Which meant she had a very long way to travel. Again.
Well, no one led me to expect that a century-old mystery would be easy to solve.
“One last question. You are in the catacombs of Danras. I don’t think there was anyone who could’ve survived the Star of Mersia to bury you here. So why are you haunting it?”
Noam frowned again. Remembering things seemed to require much effort.
“The Power generator chamber was underground. Unless there is a reason for it to be mobile, like Fractica used to be, generators are usually underground.”
This made sense. It was to minimize Power leakage. Eldred had also been stored deep below the Imperial Academy.
“Our Power generator chamber had been constructed from a room that the people of Danras had formerly used to prepare their dead bodies.”
Some good news at last. “So the Power generator chamber is connected to these catacombs?”
Noam nodded.
Arienne’s expression turned serious. “Good. Engineer Noam, I have real sympathy for your situation, and so I won’t turn you out of this room. In return”—she paused dramatically, noting the tension in Noam’s face—“you have to guide me to the surface. I assume there’s a passage out through the Power generator chamber? And also…” She nodded at Tychon asleep on the bed. “He cries from time to time. Sing him a lullaby, or whatever it is you used to do, but do take care of him.”
15
YUMA
The kitchen carriage, pulled by four harnessed oroxen, was larger than most houses. The Host would prepare food inside, watch over the herd, and, most importantly, sing melodies that protected the herd and herders alike. Without the Host, the Grim King’s rainstorm would have caused a stampede that trampled scores of calves. The Host also treated the herders’ wounds and ailments. But now he was treating not a herder but an emissary from the Empire, the very spy the Grim King wanted in his grasp.
Yuma changed her dirtied ceremonial garb into clean work clothes and stood before the carriage, facing the setting sun. Clean work clothes were better than her ruined ceremonial outfit. Aidan kept fidgeting with his mustache beside her.
“I don’t like this, Chief. I think we should hand him over to the Grim King as soon as possible.”
Having spent his childhood as an apprentice candidate of the Grim King, Aidan knew the Grim King better than anyone else inDanras did, which allowed him to see what others could not. But all she could read from his attitude was his fear. He would never be free of the shadow of the king.
But am I myself free?Yuma thought of how Rizona had died bleeding on her horse. The Grim King was always said to be powerful, and now Yuma knew that he was so powerful that he did not even need to be present to do such a thing…
Aidan turned to Yuma and said, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to wait and see.”
“And what are you going to do after waiting and seeing?”
Yuma shot him a look. “Aidan. You were friends with my father and mother. You are wiser and older than I. I am aware you have worked for the good of Danras for a long time, but that outsider is under my keeping. Please return to your tent.”
“Chief…”
She knew his dread would cease only if she dragged Lysandros to the Grim King herself, but she was not going to do that. So, the next best thing would be for him to be out of sight of the man.
“Please leave. I have to see the Host.”
Aidan sighed and walked to his tent, looking back at Yuma and the kitchen carriage several times as he did so.
Yuma continued to stand in her respectful pose, waiting. As soon as Aidan was gone from view, Old Vella, who served the Host, opened the carriage door.
“The treatment is finished. The patient’s fever broke, and he sleeps now. The Host asks the Chief Herder to enter.”
“Thank you.” Yuma bowed and climbed up the wooden steps into the carriage, her spurs goingtak takon the planks. The inside was full of steam from the cauldron. Wearing ceremonial robesmade of several layers of paper-thin leather and decorated in the feathers of rare birds, a thirteen-year-old boy sat on the floor of the carriage.
“Yuma is here, Host.”
“Is she now.”
