Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (8 page)

“Two angels, Exousia and Erielyon,” said Melaia. “A divine match.”

“Jarrod is not pure angel,” said Trevin. “He’s half-immortal.”

“That’s beside the point. They’re both ageless.”

“What about us? If you sense me, I must be Nephili like you. Half-angel, half-human. Are we ageless?”

“I asked Jarrod about Nephili. He says we’re not ageless, but he thinks we may live longer than usual.” Melaia smiled and stared at the moon.

Trevin studied her perfect profile. “Melaia, about your vow last night, you should know I feel the same about you. I’ll gladly be your servant the rest of my life. But if there’s a chance I could be more—”

Melaia looked down. “I’m Dreia’s daughter, Trevin.”

“That’s no barrier for me.” He bent his head to the top of hers and inhaled her lavender scent.

“It’s a barrier for me. I can’t marry anyone. I must restore the Tree.”

“You lied about the vow?”

“I didn’t lie.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “I vowed that
if
I married, I would marry you.”

“If?”

“I don’t know what the future holds. I have to find the kyparis harps and unite them, and what then?”

“The Wisdom Tree will be restored, the angels will have their stairway to heaven, and your task will be finished.”

“But a debt must be paid, and somehow I’m part of the price. I don’t know what that means. It would be unfair for me to pledge myself to you. I would be playing with your heart.”

Trevin paced to the hearth, where a brass lamp burned in place of a winter fire. Her vow to marry only him might be meaningless despite her destined task. If someone didn’t discredit the Dregmoorian prince within a season, it wouldn’t matter whom she vowed to marry. She would belong to Varic.

Melaia plopped two cushions on the floor near the hearth and sat cross-legged on one of them. As Trevin settled himself on the other, she said, “I have a plan. I’ve arranged for you to leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I want Lord Beker’s counsel before I ride out.”

She leaned closer, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “You don’t need his counsel. I’m going with you. But tell no one. Not even Serai.”

“I thought you meant to tell your father about Hesel’s gash business tomorrow.”

“True. I must do that.” Melaia toyed with her braid. “I’ll meet with my father first thing in the morning. Then as soon as I can, I’ll sneak out by the Door of the Dead. I’ve done it before. We’ll work out a signal—”

“Melaia!” Trevin huffed. “First you vow to marry no one but me. Then you tell me you can’t pledge yourself to me. Now you want to leave with me. I don’t follow your reasoning.”

“I have to find the harps, Trevin.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

He sighed. “I would love to spirit you away, never to return, but I can’t. Your father barely trusts me as it is. I’m a new, untested comain. If you disappear the day I leave, he’ll know you’re with me. He’ll accuse me of stealing you.”

“You’re right. You leave first. Wait for me with the sylvans in the Durenwoods. I’ll follow in a few days.”

“Think, Melaia. Your father would send a search party, and Varic and his curs would join them. And who would be in trouble? Me first—that’s certain—but they would also believe Serai was involved. What about Jarrod? Dwin? The sylvans? Even Hanni and the priestesses would be suspect. Believe me, Melaia, they won’t stop looking until they find you, wherever you are. The rest of us will be hanging from the parapets.”

Melaia stared at Trevin, her brown eyes wide. He ached to take her in his arms. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest. Why did she have to be the princess?

Tears welled in her eyes. She rose and crossed the room to where her old blue priestess’s cloak hung on a peg. “You don’t know how awful it feels to be confined this way. Father knows I’m gifted like Mother was, but he thinks the harps, the Tree, and the stairway are only fragments of an ancient tale. Sometimes I question the tale myself.” She fingered the cloak. “If only I could look for the harps … but Father won’t let me leave the palace. He says my mother abused such freedom and he’ll not take that chance with me. He’s training me to reign.”

“Which proves he’s a fair man.” Trevin joined her and leaned against the wall. “How many kings would choose a daughter as their heir?”

“Don’t you see what that means? He expects me to be here. In Redcliff. Now and forever. But the harps are far more important than a word from the Oracle. Or allies from Eldarra. Or knowing the whereabouts of missing comains. You once told me that a slave and a priestess had something in common: neither was free. Nor is a princess.”

Trevin wished he knew what to say, but he had no idea.

“You know where I tasted freedom?” she continued. “In the Durenwoods with the Angelaeon. Traveling to Qanreef with you. I knew I was Dreia’s daughter. I knew I had her task to complete. But I was free. Was I wrong to acknowledge the king as my father?”

“You saved his life.”

“I try to save his life every day. He’s either on the mountaintop or in the depths of the gorge. There’s no in-between. He wants me to understand and learn, but he won’t listen to what I know. He doesn’t think I have anything worthwhile to add to the conversation.”

“He loves you. He wants to protect you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Of course it does. And I love him. But I know now why my mother spent so much time away. I’m imprisoned here.”

Trevin sat on a trunk and watched lamplight dance with shadows across the walls. Life was a dance. Light with darkness. Known with unknown. The possible with the impossible.

“If your mother had been patient,” he said, “if she had stayed with the king, think of the strength of the kingdom. Your father never would have had a reason to doubt her faithfulness. You would have been born and raised here, and who knows—”

“She might be alive today.”

He nodded, but his gut twisted.

“I know what you’re saying.” Melaia sat on the trunk beside him. “I don’t want to make the same mistake my mother made, but I need the harps.”

“Then I’ll look for them. But I won’t know where I’m going until I speak to Lord Beker.”

She touched his knee. “Go tomorrow. I want you back as soon as possible.”

Trevin took her hand and stroked her elegant fingers. “You want me back, or you want the harps back?”

“I should want the harps above all, but”—she blushed and squeezed his hand—“I do want
you
back. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll return.”

“But tomorrow? I’m lost if I have no counsel on where to go. I know only that I’m headed north toward the Oracle.”

Melaia brightened. “I made a plan for our journey.”

“
My
journey.”

“Your journey then.” Melaia sighed. “Wait here.”

As she left the room, Serai and Jarrod strolled in.

“The night is still warm,” Serai said with an enviable lilt of joy. “I’ll fetch something cool to drink.”

Jarrod settled himself on a bench by the hearth and leaned back against the wall.

“While I’m gone, keep an eye on Melaia,” said Trevin. “She’s restless.”

“I’ve noticed, but what woman wouldn’t be restless with that prince around? I’m on edge too.”

“Aren’t you always on edge?” Melaia teased Jarrod as she returned. She held out a book to Trevin.

“Isn’t this your mother’s book?” Trevin took it reverently. “I thought you kept it under lock and key.”

“It may help our search,” said Melaia.

Trevin ran his fingers over the sign of the Tree carved in the wooden cover.

“Kyparis wood. From the Wisdom Tree.” Melaia motioned for Jarrod to look too. “Open it to the page marked by the white feather.”

Trevin found the feather and eased open the book. He read aloud.

Trevin frowned at the page. “How does a riddle help?”

“It’s about the harps,” said Melaia. Serai entered with a tray of cups and handed one to Melaia. “ ‘One in the hands of mortals’ describes the harp I have. Its runes,
Dedroumakei
, mean ‘awaken.’ It awoke my father from the spell of Lord Rejius.”

“Merely a side benefit.” Jarrod took a cup. “The Angelaeon believe its true purpose was to rouse us, like a call to battle: time to restore the stairway and its protective Tree.”

“What of the one that ‘sleeps in stone’?” Trevin asked.

Jarrod studied his drink. “That’s the one Dreia took from the caves in Aubendahl.”

“It’s the one Lord Rejius stole from her,” said Melaia.

Trevin steered his thoughts away from the memories of serving the Firstborn. The sovereign of Camrithia held his allegiance now. He took a cup from Serai as he handed the book to Melaia.

“I suspect the harp Rejius stole is in the Dregmoors now,” said Jarrod.

“And the last harp
touches skies
?” Trevin saluted with his cup. “To the search that’s done before it’s begun.”

“How can you say that?” asked Melaia.

“Your father is sending me north, not east. So if the harp Rejius stole is in the Dregmoors, I won’t find it up north. As for the third harp, I’m supposed to search the sky. All
while
consulting the Oracle, recruiting allies, and looking for missing comains.”

Melaia leafed through the pages of the book, then thrust it into Trevin’s empty hand. “This may help.”

Trevin scanned the two pages. “Excellent,” he said. “These pages are blank.”

“Are they?” she asked. “Look again.”

Trevin squinted at the pages, then noticed a twitch on one, like a sprinkle of rain. As it broadened and split into misty lines, other strands formed on the opposite page, then sharpened.

“These pages show what the kyparis harps see,” said Melaia.

Jarrod and Serai leaned in, and they all watched as if through a window. The lines on the left-hand page undulated like gently flowing waves, but the
right-hand page showed a torch flickering in a wall bracket. Tall silhouettes—perhaps columns or robed people—stood in the foreground. Then a man paced into the torchlight.

“Benasin!” whispered Jarrod. “My father.”

“You’ve never seen this before?” Trevin asked him.

“Never.” Jarrod frowned at Melaia. “Why didn’t you show me?”

“I didn’t know it was Benasin,” said Melaia. “He’s not always present. When he is, his head is down, or his face is in shadow.”

“Where is he?” asked Serai.

“From the looks of it, he’s in a cave,” said Jarrod.

“At Aubendahl?” asked Melaia.

Jarrod shook his head. “I would recognize Aubendahl. Most likely it’s the Dregmoors.”

“At least we know he’s with one of the harps.” Melaia looked at Trevin. “Is there any way you could get to the Dregmoors?”

Trevin returned the book to her. “You don’t know for sure that’s where this cave is. It could be anywhere—the wolf caves, the southern isles, the tribal lands.” He raised the fingers of his right hand as he counted. “Allies, comains, an immortal in a cave, a harp in the sky. What else should I look for while I have so much time?”

“Start with the Oracle at Windsweep,” said Melaia.

“Oh, yes. The Oracle.” Trevin squinted at his right hand. “I’m afraid I’m out of fingers.”

Melaia enclosed his hand in hers. “Stop being difficult. That’s my job.” Her hands were soft.

For a brief instant he sensed their auras together, silver and gold. Trevin knew at that moment he would go anywhere for Melaia. “Where exactly is Windsweep?” he asked.

Serai slipped a yellowed scroll off a shelf and rolled it out on the floor, revealing a map. “You’re traveling north.” She ran her fingers from a square marked “Redcliff,” past the mountains of Aubendahl, across a plain to a dark oval. “This is Tabaitta Canyon. The Oracle dwells on one of its plateaus. People seeking advice from the Oracle usually go to Windsweep to ask their questions.”

“Is Windsweep a plateau?” asked Trevin. “A city?”

“It’s a pass in the mountains.” Serai pointed to a barely legible
W
written on one peak of the jagged line south of the canyon.

A shout echoed from the hallway, then a clamor of voices, Varic’s among them.

Trevin drew his dagger, ready to engage Varic. But as Trevin and Jarrod stepped to the door, the voices faded.

Pym burst into the room and slammed the door behind him. “You can thank the Most High for your bodyguards, my lady. The slime prince is drunk and livid. Someone told him you vowed to marry no one but Trevin.”

“Who could have told him?” asked Melaia.

“Nash,” said Trevin.

“He wouldn’t,” said Melaia. “He’s well trusted—”

“And gone,” said Serai. “He’s not been seen since he left the king last night.”

“No doubt he’s on his way out of the country with a pouch of rubies and gold,” said Trevin.

“Wherever he is, he’s safer than you are, Main Trevin,” said Pym. “Varic vowed to kill you the moment he next sees your”—he glanced at Melaia and Serai and made an obvious adjustment to his words—“your sweet face.”

“Not if I see his first,” said Trevin.

n the dim lamplight of the stable, Trevin strapped his journey packs to Almaron’s back. He glanced uneasily at the stable door. He had assured Melaia that Varic couldn’t possibly rise this early after being so drunk the night before—he had left Dwin sleeping off
his
merriment—but he wasn’t sure that was true.