Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (30 page)

“It’s ready,” Wettar said quietly a few moments later. He
handed the red-hot brand to Nir.

Nir waved the brand in Sara’s face as if trying to attract her
attention. The fierce heat singed her, and its brightness made her eyes
water.

Nir bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “Where shall I brand
you? Here?” He held the heart brand within two inches of her forehead.

Sara didn’t move. Sweat formed on her forehead and dripped into
her eyes. She wondered if her hair would catch fire or just crisp to ash.

“Or perhaps here?” Nir moved the brand down to her breast,
again holding it so close her skin reddened from the heat. Soon it would blister
and bubble.

“Or maybe here.” The brand hovered over her hip bone.

If he branded her there he might hurt the baby.

Before Sara could take action, he moved it again. Now the brand
floated close to her cheek. Then her breast again and her eyes.

Sara had seen slaves that Nir had branded, Cassia and Rochelle.
She knew he would brand her in a place that was both highly visible and wouldn’t
mar her beauty.

A long-forgotten emotion stirred inside Sara. She grappled with
it, trying to name it...Ah, yes. This was
impatience
. His game tired her.

She grabbed the brand, a little surprised by how hot the rod
was, but not surprised enough to drop it, and pressed the red-hot iron to her
neck.

A wave of white pain flashed through her body from her head to
her toes. Fascinating, how one tiny area could produce such extreme sensation.
She almost closed her eyes to concentrate on the intense feeling, but she wanted
to watch Nir.

Their eyes met and held. The smell of burning flesh reached her
nose. Nir yanked the brand away—and she let him. He stared at her as if he’d
never seen her before. In a way he hadn’t. “Sara’s not hiding,” she told him.
“Sara’s not here.”

Though Sara was coming back, slowly, as the soul shared by her
and the baby grew.

* * *

The branding weakened Sara’s body.

The pain kept her awake all night, even as it wrapped a veil
around her thoughts.

When Cassia came at sunrise to pinch and slap her, Sara
continued to lie on the rough blanket in a stupor. Cassia’s voice turned shrill,
but Sara couldn’t pick out a single word in the jumble.

With a last kick, Cassia went away. Wettar came.

His mouth moved, but only gibberish came out.

Wettar touched the side of her neck where the new brand
throbbed. A piece of skin pulled off in his hand, and he grimaced. The touch
sent a wave of nausea through her, and she retched.

Sara remembered noticing a whole green pea floating in the
vomit...and not much after that.

She had the confused impression of being carried on a litter,
of being first so cold her body shuddered and then too hot.

Someone forced her to swallow bitter mercia, but she only
retched it back up. Then the person applied salve to her neck, briefly cooling
the fierce burn.

An indeterminate time later voices interrupted dark. Sara
struggled to see, but her eyes wouldn’t open.

“Why bring her here?” A woman’s voice.

“She’s pregnant,” a man replied. Wettar.

“Then take her to the Temple of Fertility. We know little about
pregnancies here.” A rueful laugh.

“No, high priestess, but you do know about miscarriages.”

“Is she bleeding?” Sharply.

“It might be best if she did. Nobody would be surprised given
what her body’s going through right now.”

A long silence. Feet shuffled.

“I’ll not do anything against her will,” the woman said.

Wettar sighed. “Then, perhaps, while she’s recovering, you
could give her some advice on pleasing men. Or he’ll kill her.”

“I was trained in Temborium. Your master’s predilections were
well-known at the temple there. We both know what truly pleases him is hurting
women.” A huff of breath. “Very well. Bring her into the temple.”

The litter jostled into motion, and Sara faded out again.

* * *

Panic constricted Lance’s throat. He wanted to shove
past the gray-haired acolyte barring his way into the Temple of Mercy and search
it himself. “What do you mean Sara’s not here?”

“Exactly as I said,” the moon-faced woman said primly. “She
left after only two days. Just walked off without a word to anyone.” She
sniffed.

Unfortunately, that sounded very like something Sara would
do.

“If you ask me, the girl’s simple-minded.”

Lance swallowed back a blast of rage. “If that’s so, why didn’t
you follow her?”

“We’re a Temple of Mercy, not Justice. No one is kept
prisoner.” Haughty words, but the acolyte looked away guiltily. “I did call her
and take a look down the street, but I saw no sign of her, and I had two sick
boys, twins, to nurse.”

Lance rubbed at his swollen eyelid, some of his anger draining
away. From what he’d seen the gray-haired acolyte all but ran the temple, with
very little help from the even more elderly priestess. “You’ve no idea where she
might have gone?”

The acolyte shook her head. She eyed him warily. “Would you
like to come inside? I can make up a warm compress for your eye.”

“No. I have to go.” He thanked her brusquely, then left, his
thoughts spinning.

Where could Sara have gone? Had she tried to return to him,
like an iron fragment pulled by a lodestone? But eight days was more than enough
time for her to walk back to the rebel camp. Dread chilled his skin.
Something
had
happened
to
her
.

Lance hurried up and down the cobbled streets of Tolium,
peering into the eyes of every woman he passed. None of them were Sara.

After an hour of walking, his shoulders hunched in despair.
He’d never find her, flailing around like this. He needed a better plan.

Ignoring the other passersby, he stood in the middle of the
street, thinking. Not moving. Except every time he blinked, the stye scratched
his eyeball, causing it to water.

Ignore it.
Think
.

Rhiain. Maybe Rhiain could sniff out her trail. How many days
had passed since the last rain? Too few, he feared, but he had to do something.
The thought of Sara out there, on her own, in the wide Republic made him
frantic. His teeth clenched, every muscle knotted with fear. She might do
anything, stab anyone.

He never should’ve left her.

Lance bent his footsteps to crossing the bridge out of Tolium,
speeding up as he neared the small camp in the shelter of a ring of giant
cedars.

“Where’s Rhiain?” he asked Edvard. Rhiain had insisted he not
journey alone, and Edvard had clamoured to come, too, as “an extra pair of
hands.” Lance had guessed their real motives, but he’d welcomed their
company.

“She didn’t go looking for Fitch, did she?” Lance asked, when
Edvard didn’t immediately answer. Fitch was recruiting at the Temples of Wine in
Tolium.

“Not exactly,” Edvard mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Lance didn’t have time for all this young love drama. “Then
where is she? I need her help.”

“I told her Fitch sometimes visits the Temple of Beauty.”

Lance understood at once. He fought the urge to smack Edvard.
Though sometimes called the Temple of Beauty, Jazor’s temple was usually called
by another name. When Lance had been the Hostage for Peace, Primus Varet had
once tried to bribe him with a visit from an acolyte of the Goddess of Desire.
“Did you tell Rhiain what kind of Temple it was?”

“No.” Edvard’s pale skin flushed.

“Wait.” Lance put a hand to his forehead. “Rhiain can’t enter
the city.”

“The temple has its own gate in the city wall, for privacy.
Fitch always uses it.”

“And you told her where to find it. Why?” Rhiain, Fitch and a
Temple of Desire were a disaster waiting to happen.

“I couldn’t stand it any more!” Edvard burst out. “She looks at
Fitch like he’s a god.”

“And you wanted to show Rhiain the feet of clay.” Part of Lance
sympathized. A small part. “You snail-brained fool.” He cursed until he noticed
Edvard was staring at him, round-eyed. The boy still didn’t understand what he’d
done. Lance painted him a picture. “What do you think will happen when Rhiain
discovers her prospective mate has been untrue to her? Do you think she’ll slink
off and cry? Rhiain has the emotions of a young woman, but her instincts are
that of a shandy, a warrior. What do animals do when they’re wounded?”

Edvard paled. “I—I never—”

Lance had no sympathy for him. The youth had to understand what
he was dealing with in Rhiain. “They strike out at what hurt them. She may tear
his throat out.” Not that Fitch didn’t half deserve it, for petting and
flattering Rhiain.

“Even if Rhiain were an ordinary woman, do you think this is
how to earn her love? By setting her up to be humiliated? She’ll know that you
know, and she’ll avoid your company like the plague.”

Edvard winced.

Lance shook his head. “And here I thought you were smarter than
Fitch.”

Edvard’s head jerked up, colour blooming in his cheeks.

That one had stung, had it? Good. Lance was cheering for the
boy, but he had to start thinking.

“Tell me how to get to the temple,” Lance demanded.

“I’ll show you the way,” Edvard said at once.

“Oh, no. You’ll stay right here.” Lance pointed at the forest
floor. “Far away from Fitch and Rhiain. If I can reach Rhiain before Fitch
leaves the temple, I may still be able to avert disaster.”

* * *

Rhiain’s lope slowed as a pink marble cupola soared into
view over the top of the city wall. This must be the Temple of Beauty. It looked
like a rose in bloom.

Shallow steps of pale marble led up to a pink door.

The two guards flanking the heavy doors impressed Rhiain less.
Unlike legionnaires, gems encrusted their armour and helmets and even the
pommels of their swords. Could they even fight with all that extra weight?
Rhiain snorted. They’d probably be too worried about losing a bauble to even use
their weapons.

Still, she had no desire to kill them. She just wanted to see
Fitch and ask how his recruitment had gone.

She could’ve just lurked beside the gate, but curiosity hooked
its claws into her. She wanted to see the rest of the temple.

A little farther down the wall she found an olive tree that had
grown close. She used its lower branch as a jump off point. The tree shuddered
wildly, branches scratching against stone, but she landed neatly on top of the
city wall, only having to dig her claws in a little to regain her balance. Then
it was like strolling down a road.

Though it was daylight, the guards didn’t glance up as she
padded along the foot-wide ledge over their heads. Perhaps their helmets
obstructed their hearing.

Rhiain tried to scent Fitch, but instead a wonderful perfume
filled her nostrils. Judging herself to be inside the temple grounds, she leaped
down from the wall, landing on her feet in a...garden?

Shandies didn’t grow plants, but Rhiain had visited plenty of
farmers and seen their gardens: straight rows of vegetables, miniature
crops.

The Temple of Beauty had flower gardens.

Amarasave was a ubiquitous crop in Kandrith. Rhiain had seen
fields of the purple flower and had thought them very pretty, but this...this
was beauty.

Roses in a dozen shades from red to pink and into orange rioted
in tiered boxes. Yellow tulips marched in rows. Delicate violets and bluebells
fringed a small pool.

The pool was quite shallow, and instead of being green with
moss and algae, was perfectly clear, reflecting an upside-down image of the
cupola-crowned pink temple.

“It’s beautiful,” Rhiain breathed.

“Yes,” Lance agreed, surprising her. To her shame, she’d been
so caught up in the temple’s beauty that she hadn’t noticed him walk in through
the gate. “But it’s also artificial. Give me a meadow in Kandrith any time. It’s
not as pretty, but it’s wilder.”

Rhiain coughed in disbelief. The temple made the Hall in
Kandrith look like a crude shed.

“Rhiain, I need your help. Sara’s—”

Rhiain didn’t hear the rest, every nerve in her body coming to
quivering attention as Fitch exited the temple, his arm looped around a second
man’s shoulder, holding him up. Rhiain barely heeded his wine-smelling
companion, focused on Fitch. He was so, so
manly
.
And his face...She lived to see his smile and to feel his hand stroke her
back.

As they were in the shadow of the wall, Fitch didn’t notice
them until Rhiain gave a loud purr. “Fitch!” She bounded down the length of the
pool to meet him.

Beside her, Lance swore and followed.

Rhiain didn’t wait for him. She padded forward and met Fitch,
rubbing her great head against his palm. Then stopped dead. Sniffed. Her scent
had been replaced with another. She smelled sex!

Did it come from the other man? No, the smell of perfume and
musk clung to both Fitch and his companion. He’d mated with some woman! Rhiain
raised her hackles and growled.

The second man gave her a loose-lipped smile. “This your tame
kitty? Pretty puss.” He lifted a hand to pet her.

Lance knocked it down, before Rhiain bit it off. “Stay
back!”

Anger and jealousy beat at her like successive blows. She
wanted to pounce on Fitch, knock him down, wash the other scent off of him.
Didn’t he know that he was hers?

And then humiliation crawled over her, stinging like fire ants.
Because he wasn’t hers—she’d been fooling herself. He was a virile man, and she
was a shandy. A beast. Not human.

She could track down the woman he’d lain with and claw her
throat out, but her blood wouldn’t make Rhiain feel better. She wanted Fitch,
wanted a mate, and she couldn’t have either.

Choking on rage, embarrassment and jealousy, Rhiain lifted her
head and gave vent to a full-throated roar, before letting her legs carry her
away. She sprang onto the wall in one leap and jumped down the other side,
losing herself in the woods.