Ferran's Map (42 page)

Sora raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a
speech,” she said. “I assume if I refuse, you’ll sit outside on the
roof all night?”

Caprion grinned slightly. “Yes.”

She sighed. She wanted him to get off the
bed and leave her alone to her gloomy thoughts. But she also felt
horribly isolated in the large room. She hated admitting her fear.
She didn’t want to wake up in the darkness to that sick bastard
Cobra sneaking through her window—or worse, materializing from a
shadow portal. The thought of his cruel hands made her cringe.

The Shade wanted her. They might have
followed her back to the manor; they might be watching her right
now.

She didn’t want to think about that.

Wordlessly, she made room for Caprion on the
bed. He kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her, keeping
a respectful distance away, not touching her. Slowly she began to
relax.

Still, every time she closed her eyes, she
found herself facing the
garrolithe
again. It waited for her
on the fringes of sleep, watching, and pounced whenever she entered
a dream. She kept waking up with a start. The beast's presence
throbbed at her temples. After a half-hour of tossing and turning,
she finally placed her hands on her head.

“I have a horrible headache,” she muttered.
She knew Caprion wasn’t asleep. He lay nearby, facing the windows.
She could clearly see the lines of his strong back against his
tunic. His shoulders were wide enough to block her view of the
room.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “My
people often use music for healing,” he said. “I know a song that
will calm your mind, if you wish.”

Sora hesitated and touched her Cat’s Eye in
thought. “All right,” she agreed, and deactivated the necklace.

A soft hum began in Caprion’s throat, and
eventually flowed from his mouth. His strange language swirled
around her, full of long vowels and soft, soothing murmurs. His
words moved like a dance, and flowed softly over her skin. She felt
her headache slowly recede, and images of the
garrolithe
dispersed with it. Soon Caprion’s voice flowed through her entire
body, and she drifted to sleep with a warm glow.

* * *

Lori finished unpinning her hair. It had
grown an inch or so, just long enough for her to style with a few
flowers in her braid. She allowed a section of bangs to fall across
her forehead. She wore a simple off-white gown with a green brocade
bodice, the colors of a Healer, nothing too fancy. Martin Ebonaire
knew she was not of noble blood but luckily, he held her in high
enough regard to invite her to dinner.

The meal had been grand—the conversation,
not so much. She felt anxious every time Martin referred to Sora as
his niece, because it contained a seed of truth. She couldn’t tell
Sora of her possible relation to Ferran. The girl wouldn’t
understand—and it was confusing enough for Lori to have to deal
with alone.
Curse Silas!
she thought for the hundredth time.
The Dracian couldn’t have picked a more troublesome charade.

Ferran sat behind her at a large mahogany
writing desk. A tall window loomed behind him, revealing thick
white snow pelting down from a black sky. A burgundy rug covered
the polished oak floor, and a wide fireplace graced the wall across
from a grand canopy bed. Even Lord Martin’s guest rooms were
decadent and richly furnished. A peasant could sell every item in
this bedroom and live happily for years.

She allowed herself a half-smile, wondering
if she was in the wrong profession. A thief would make out rather
well in The Regency.

“You’re laughing at me,” Ferran drawled
behind her.

“Always a possibility,” she grinned. Then
her smile slowly faded. She felt at once awkward and comfortable
sharing a room with him. Their rhythm was too easy, like slipping
into an old routine. If only she could forget the night on his
houseboat, she might actually enjoy herself. But his claim to
fatherhood still lingered on her mind. She couldn’t truly see
Ferran anymore, just a giant question with no answer.

She had hoped coming to the Ebonaire house
would make Sora’s heritage clearer. No, her daughter did not look
like she had Ebonaire blood. She was short and stocky, where Lady
Danica was tall and long-boned. But the girls had a certain
similarity about their lips and chins, the curve of their
fingernails and the shape of their thumbs….

Sora’s eyes were a vibrant blue. Ferran had
gray eyes. Dane had brown eyes.

So wouldn’t Dane’s child also have brown
eyes?

Lori turned away from the mirror, pushing
her confusion aside. She looked at Ferran, who now had the map
turned sideways and held up to the light, and sighed. He was
obsessed, though she couldn’t blame him. Ferran had a certain
fondness for old maps. Her treasure-hunting days had ended with
Sora’s birth, but not his. She could see his fervor as he pored
over the map.

“We need to stay focused on our original
plan,” she cautioned, partially chiding. “You’re getting
distracted. It’s just a map of the sewers. What does any of this
have to do with….”

Ferran gave her a wary look. Servant
corridors traveled from room to room behind the walls, and
conversations were easily overheard. “It all connects,” he said. “I
can feel it.”

Lori shrugged. “Show me, and I’ll believe
you,” she said simply. “But right now, I don’t see it.”

“You barely glanced at the map. Try looking
again,” Ferran offered.

Lori raised an eyebrow.

“Come look,” he beckoned.

* * *

Ferran couldn’t ignore the fresh scent of
mint and roses as Lori leaned over his shoulder. Was she wearing
perfume, he wondered humorously, or had she actually stuffed rose
petals down her bodice? She brushed against his shoulder and he
itched to raise his arm and swing her easily into his lap. But he
sensed her stiffness, her discomfort. He wanted to ask what
burdened her mind, but he knew her too well. She would tell him
when she was ready.

“I don’t see it,” she finally said as she
glanced over the endless lines of canals and channels. “Perhaps the
King is renovating the sewer system and the Ebonaires are footing
the bill?”

“Perhaps,” Ferran mused, “though you’d think
Martin would have mentioned it. Surely it would have come up last
night after a glass of strong brandy.”

“True,” Lori allowed. She bent over the map
again, brushing Ferran’s shoulder.

He shifted distractedly and picked up
Martin’s notebook from the desk. “This is half-full of history,” he
said, thumbing the pages. “Not my brother’s favorite subject. He
always preferred numbers. He writes about the wind temples and the
City of Crowns.”

As Lori took the book and thumbed through
its pages, Ferran released a silent breath of tension. He couldn’t
think straight when she stood so close.

“I think the two are connected,” he said,
trying to remain casual.

“Do his notes mention water canals or
sewers?”

“Not exactly….” Ferran replied. But the base
of his neck tingled, and he trusted his intuition to a fault.
“Perhaps Martin is searching for something in the original layout
of the city…but what?”

Lori put the book down and turned back to
the map. After a long moment, her finger landed on a glint of blue
ink among the interwoven black lines. “Look,” she said. “If you
hold it up to the light, you can see its color. Isn’t blue ink a
recent invention?”

Ferran’s eyes widened, and he held the map
close to the lantern. “Indeed it is blue,” he murmured. In the
dramatic shadows of the room, he hadn’t noticed.

Lori straightened and pushed a strand of
blond hair from her face. “Well, blue ink or not, this sounds like
nonsense. Unless we find something concrete tying Martin to our
shadowy friends, I say we abandon this business and go back to our
hunt for the Shade.”

“I
am
hunting,” Ferran pointed out.
“Caprion’s prisoner said the Shade’s leader lived in The Regency.
The only reason I can think of is, they need rich friends—and who
is the richest friend you can have in the Kingdom? Why, my brother,
of course.” Then he put his finger on the map. “This blue line you
discovered—it’s an access tunnel that leads through The Regency,
and if you follow it…look here…it travels under the royal palace
and the wind temple as well.”

“And then branches into half of the city,”
Lori continued.

“Why are you set on arguing?”

“Because you’re jumping to conclusions!” she
exclaimed. “Half these tunnels were probably built as escape routes
in case of a siege. King Royce isn’t a fool. You’re grasping at
straws. We need to find
The Book of the Named
; only then
will we understand the Shade’s plan. All we’ve done so far is sit
around this manor!” Lori paused stiffly after her outburst.

Ferran frowned in concern as she placed a
weary hand against her back. Her stab wound.

He wanted to help, but knew she would
refuse.

“Anyway,” Lori continued after a breath, “If
Crash has indeed turned against us and joined the Shade, our cause
might be lost completely. They have the three sacred weapons, and
we have no more leverage. I’m trying not to lose hope, Ferran, but
our chance of stopping the Shade looks bleak, at best.” She sighed
heavily. “It’s time I retire for bed. Who knows what tomorrow might
bring?”

“Are you planning to attend the parade?”
Ferran asked. “I believe Sora is going.”

Lori shook her head. “No,” she said. “I
should stay with Lady Danica and make sure she doesn’t
relapse.”

“The staff is more than capable, I think…?”
Ferran asked searchingly. “I don’t want you—
my wife—
acting
as a servant.”

Lori gave him a pointed look. “I am acting
like a Healer, not a servant, and Lord Martin has been more than
welcoming, considering your family history.” She shook her head. “I
want to make sure the girl recovers as soon as possible.” She
turned and walked toward the large double-doors that connected to
the rest of their suite. A maid was waiting on the other side to
help her into her night garments.

“And where will I be sleeping?” he called
playfully after her.

“The chaise,” she replied stiffly.

Ferran sat back with a long sigh and rested
his hands behind his head. Why were dresses so provocative? The
mysterious sway of skirts, the alluring cut of the bodice, the
scent of roses and mint….It all awakened his senses far more than a
tunic and breeches.
Focus,
he thought.
Don’t be
distracted.
Oh, if only it were so easy….

He folded the map and slipped it in his
pocket, then stood up. Perhaps Lori was right. Perhaps the map and
the notebook meant nothing. But Ferran had a nose for buried
treasure, and he could feel the hunt in his bones.

CHAPTER 25

The desert wind was cold at night, though
not as cold as the freezing snows of The City of Crowns. Large
bonfires lit the Shade’s encampment; orange flames danced across
the sand and sent shadows leaping.

Crash walked behind Cerastes, following up
and down the rows of soldiers. The Shade moved around him as the
firelight flickered. He knew their practiced formations, their
chains of attack, their blocks, holds and weapons. Every kick,
every forceful punch reminded him of Cerastes. His Grandmaster
didn’t personally train them all, but he knew the Shade’s leaders
were his most loyal students.

He’s building an army,
Viper thought,
studying the ongoing rows of soldiers. He wondered again why
Cerastes would show him this. The Grandmaster brought him here and
left Cobra behind, which made him uneasy. Cobra couldn’t be
trusted, and was stronger than Crash had first thought. The
assassin trailed him to The Regency without his knowledge. Luckily
he didn’t go to the Ebonaire manor directly, but caught sight of
Sora leaving a boutique in the Flower District. He shouldn’t have
followed her, but after Cerastes’ threats, he needed to know she
was safe.

Cobra transported him back to Cerastes after
their brief encounter with Sora. Cobra reported the entire debacle.
He seemed frustrated that Cerastes didn’t punish Viper for not
capturing the girl. Instead, Cerastes sent Cobra away and brought
Crash here again, further into the desert, deeper into the world of
the Shade.

His Grandmaster walked along the ranks,
occasionally singling out a savant and correcting his or her form.
The students practiced with wary attention. They didn’t wear
uniforms, just ragged clothing dyed black and gray.

Is he trying to impress me?
Crash
thought as he trailed in Cerastes' wake. No, his Grandmaster was
not so vain. But why bring him here? Why further expose the Shade’s
secrets?

The soldiers hardly spared him a glance as
they practiced. They assumed he was a new recruit. Viper saw
countless mistakes as his experienced eyes swept over the younger
assassins. He felt no desire to correct them. He kept himself cold
and removed. He was no longer part of this world.

After almost an hour of listless walking,
Cerastes reached the front of the ranks and traveled along the
first row. Viper’s eyes immediately landed on a young soldier whose
feet were trailing heavily in the sand. He saw Cerastes stiffen
marginally as he picked his target.

“Wake up,” Cerastes snapped in his low,
hollow voice. His hand flashed out and grabbed the young savant by
the arm, just above the elbow. He didn’t have to squeeze hard to
bring the man to his knees.

Cerastes dragged the savant out of line and
threw him before the ranks of soldiers. At his brief signal, the
leaders of each row stopped their practice and the ranks came to a
graceful halt. Viper stood back several paces, wondering what the
Grandmaster intended.