A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 (19 page)

Gates made of bone. Skins adorn the walls. Blood runs in the streets. Screams fill the air.

“You’re shaking.” Vaughn drew me closer. “Are you cold?”

Sweat beaded my lip. I licked it away before answering him. “I could use a bite to eat.”

“We could have stopped in Halcidia.” Concern roughened his voice. “You should have said—”

“I cost us enough time.” I calmed my nerves. “Time in the spiritlands takes a physical toll.”

“I should have considered your needs, but my mind was elsewhere. My priorities…”

“Your priorities are where they should be.” I stroked his hands where they linked around my waist. “I’ve never recovered as quickly as I did with your help.” His calloused fingers tantalized me. “How did you know what to do?” I tilted my head back. “Even Old Father doesn’t anchor as well as you did, and he’s had a lifetime of experience. His life thread never tethered me, either.”

Vaughn frowned down at me. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When my soul leaves this world, my life thread ties me to my body. Otherwise, I might…” At his scowl, I rephrased. “It’s possible to lose my way.” Color leached from his cheeks. “While I was searching for the souls,” I rushed on, “I saw your black strands twined with my green ones. I thought you had meant to offer your support, but you really had no idea what you were doing?”

His dark expression gave me his answer.

“Amazing.” I let him hold me as I watched the city draw nearer. “I hadn’t realized.”

“I’m afraid to ask.” His arms tightened as he braced himself. “And yet…”

“We have a connection.” Forged over a lifetime, it was ingrained in us. “It’s a strong one.”

His hold on me relaxed. “You sound surprised.”

I read his tone as meaning he hadn’t been.

“You leant me your life thread, so yes, I was surprised.” I lifted one of his hands and fit it to mine. His fingertips curled over the edges of mine, and I smiled. “Remarkable that you were able to do it at all, that you did it without effort makes me wonder if you have a touch of seer blood.”

Seers were similar to walkers. Clan traditions mean there were variations in our duties, but I found the notion more and more plausible. It might explain Brynmor’s ability to return from the grave as well. The Mimetidae claimed no seers now, but perhaps the gift was present in a few of his clansmen, their talents so slight they hadn’t realized their gift. Hmm. It bore consideration.

“Seers are rare, rarer than walkers.” Vaughn stroked my hand with his thumb. “No seer was born in the past several generations of my clan with enough talent to rub between their fingers.”

“Not since Breda the Eye,” Lleu said. “She died when we were lads.”

I jolted at the sound of his voice. Lleu had crept up beside us while we talked. Bram flanked us as well. Together we presented a united front, braced for whatever conditions lay ahead of us.

“Breda the Eye was a poor seer.” Vaughn scoffed. “She doesn’t count.”

“Mother believed every exhale of Breda’s.” Lleu inclined his head. “Got slapped once when I called the old bat out, but she’d been taking gold from Mother for years, telling her whatever lie suited.” He exhaled once, noticing my interest. “Mother wanted Father to return to her, to us, and that’s the story the crone sold her one coin at a time. Mother died with her eyes on the horizon.”

“Yet your clan honored her with a title?” The notion baffled me. “Why?”

Rhys the Cold had earned his title with his icy indifference and the edge of his sword. Odd now that it occurred to me. Vaughn was the heir, the tracker. Or he was simply Vaughn, son of Brynmor and Isolde, and the future Mimetidae paladin. Perhaps those titles were enough.

“It was less a title and more a statement of fact.” Vaughn sounded amused. “Breda made the mistake of telling Father’s favorite aunt if she crushed her own cosmetic powders and tinted her left eyelid orange, her lover would return with the setting of the sun on the eighth day of prayer.”

“I’d forgotten that.” Lleu chuckled. “Gods’ web, her powder was the color of puss. Looked like an infection took root in that eye, and if her lover did come back, he took one look and left.”

“So why was Breda ‘the Eye’ and not your aunt?” I asked Vaughn.

His cheek brushed mine. “My aunt followed Breda’s instructions faithfully for eight days.”

Lleu glanced away, but I saw the corner of his smile.

“And?” I prodded.

“And,” Lleu said, shoulders shaking with laughter, “after the ninth sunset she tracked Breda down at the tavern. Her eye was swollen shut. She was half blind and half rabid. Long story short is that she took the knife Breda had used to carve her roast and stabbed her right in her left eye.”

My jaw dropped. “And you think that’s funny?”

Vaughn’s laughter vibrated through my back.

Lleu waved his hand. “You had to be there.”

I think he wiped tears from his eyes.

“The gates are opening.” Bram’s tone remained cool. “They can’t see us from this distance.”

Tapping the side of his nose, Vaughn said, “They don’t have to. We’re downwind of them.”

I said what we all must be thinking. “If someone is manning the gates, then either the plague hasn’t arrived, or Cathis suffered a mild case similar to Beltania’s.” My heart lightened. Perhaps this trip would prove less dire than expected. Perhaps Old Father had been right about Brynmor’s perspective being skewed. Isolde may have fallen ill in conjunction with the plague’s arrival and he assumed the worse to be true. Doubt niggled in the back of my mind, but optimism prevailed.

Vaughn’s lips brushed my ear. “Wait for me.” He dismounted before I spun, before I caught him. Silk from his shirt slid through my fingers. He loped to his varanus, climbed atop it, settled.

Optimism deserted me at the sight of him braced for the worst. I said, “Be careful.”

He inclined his head toward me, his smile grim. “For you.”

Lleu at his side, Vaughn approached the gates. I leaned forward, hoping their voices carried.

Bram sidled next to me. Our knees brushed. Our varanus grunted at one another. Otherwise, all was quiet until Vaughn and Lleu reached the edge of the city, stopping before its mighty wall.

The guardsman called, “Turn back, son of Isolde. The yellow death lives within our walls.”

“Yet you are unaffected,” Vaughn replied. “Your neck seems fine to me.”

“We have kept our walls guarded,” the guardsman answered, “and our gate locked.”

Bram murmured, “Hear how his voice quavers? He lies.”

“He’s barring Vaughn from the city.” I could guess why. “He favors a new dynasty, then.” My earlier fears redoubled. I hadn’t anticipated the erosion of alliances so quickly.

“I don’t think so.” Bram tilted his head, listening. “He is either concerned for Vaughn, or for Isolde. After their tumultuous past, is it so farfetched for Vaughn to arrive here with intentions of claiming his birthright before his mother is ready to yield control? It’s a reasonable assumption.”

My head snapped toward Bram. “Vaughn would never—”

“Are you sure?” He returned my gaze. “If his clansmen aren’t, how can you be?”

“You don’t know him.” But I did. Bone deep, my soul sensed the core of honor in him. “The cornerstone of the male he became was set the instant a curious child witnessed my uncle’s death and knew he was the cause. He has spent his life making reparations to his mother and brother.”

“All the more reason to let the plague take her,” he finally said, but his tone was curious.

I tamped down my anger and exhaled. “Then we must agree to disagree.”

“Ah, Mana, you wear your heart on your sleeve.” He trailed a finger from my elbow to my wrist. “Be careful. Your uncle made the same mistake. Look what it earned him, a hard death.”

“You’re warning me.” I recoiled from his touch. “Why?”

“I knew a female like you once. Gentle, kind, she was…” His jaw clenched. “She fell in love with a male, saw goodness where there was none, and she died because of his carelessness. You are a beautiful young female with her whole life ahead of her. You are valued and loved by your clan. All Vaughn can offer you is misery and death. You are a healer, he is a mercenary. You are incompatible even in the most basic ways. Don’t follow his lead into his city or into his bed.”

My chest tightened. “I will save myself for my soul mate, as is the custom of my clan.”

“I’ve seen how you look at one another. Have you ever been alone together? Protective as your clan is, I doubt it.” He said, “Even in Erania, you were kept in Rhys’s sight or chaperoned.”

My voice was hoarse. “Vaughn won’t force himself on me if that’s what has you worried.”

“No.” His voice drifted. “He won’t have to.”

Stunned by the truth of his words, I pinched my lips shut and let my gaze seek the direction I last saw Vaughn. He stood, head bent in low conversation with the guardsman. His hand rested on the other male’s shoulder. When they broke apart, he waved at Lleu, who spurred his varanus into a run. Bram had distracted me from the details of their conversation, and I resented the way I clenched the reins in my hand, tempted to run full out to meet him, as if I couldn’t wait to know.

“The plague came through here, wiped out all of the livestock.” Lleu wiped a hand down his face. “Females grew sick within days. There have been deaths, but not many. Males appear to be unaffected. The guard said desperation had driven the poorest to eat from the infected carcasses.”

My chest tightened. Brynmor had been right. Where I prayed for flaws in his perception, I found clarity.
May the two gods have mercy on us all.
“What of Isolde? Is she well? Did he say?”

“Of course she’s well,” he groused. “She could have a spear through the heart and swear she was sound. Having a minor illness such as the bloody
yellow death
? No cause for concern there.”

“A weak monarch means a weak clan,” Bram said. “She’s protecting her people.” He jerked his chin toward Vaughn. “I imagine Vaughn is frothing at the mouth to get inside and see her for himself. What did the guard say?” His tone remained cool, neutral. “Will they admit us or not?”

Lleu palmed the hilt of his sword. “Oh, they’ll let us in, have no doubt of that.”

“You don’t expect a fight.” Bram’s gaze slid toward me. “You came for Mana.”

Lleu stared at me while he spoke to Bram. “I came to make sure Mana understands once we pass through that gate, once we’re inside those walls, we will remain until the danger has passed. I would think no less of you, nor would Vaughn, if you chose to have Bram escort you home.”

After so long away, home still beckoned. One night spent with the luxuries of my bed or my room hadn’t been nearly enough, but I was needed here. Answers waited within those walls.

“Why didn’t Vaughn ask me himself?” I was resolved. He must know that.

“He wants you to decide for yourself.” Lleu held out his fist. “He said you should have this.”

I stared at the signet ring he dropped into my palm. I slid it down my middle finger. A silver canis head isolated against an onyx background. “This was his father’s ring, an heirloom piece.”

Bram snorted. “No pressure.”

“He gave her space, didn’t he?” Lleu snapped. To me, he said, “If you follow him inside that city, you may never leave. Think about that. Don’t let a ring or a soft heart or a sense of duty cost you your life.” He turned to leave. “We’ll give you a moment alone to decide. Come on, Bram.”

Metal warmed my finger, weighted my hand and my heart. “There’s no need.”

Even without such a generous token, I realized I would have followed Vaughn anywhere.

Chapter Twelve

Pleasure flushed Vaughn’s cheeks when he spotted his ring on my finger. I folded my hands and earned his scowl. The male beside him stared at the signet, and I wondered what it meant to him. Vaughn approached Sakwa and grasped my hips. I slid into his arms, and he drew me flush against him. His hands found mine, our fingers twined, and he traced the curve of the gold band.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cheek to cheek.

“I vowed to aid your clan, and I keep my promises.” I nuzzled him. “Thank you for the gift, but I must return it. It was your father’s, and you should keep it. It’s fit for a paladin, not for a…”

I stopped short of maven, dispersing the image of ruling by Vaughn’s side before it set.

“Wear it. It’s my claim.” He lingered with his lips beside my ear. “All other males will know you’re mine.”

My stomach fluttered, and my retort stuck in my throat.

“What? No argument?” His teeth scraped my neck, and I realized several things.

One was that he was not aroused as his actions implied. Two was that my spine tingled with awareness that our display was being watched. A third was that tension radiated from him to me.

I forced out the question he must have expected. “Why did you give me the ring?”

“To protect you.” Anguish thickened his voice. “Or to damn you, damn me.”

His meaning sat heavy on my shoulders.

Protection if Isolde lived. Death if she had already died.