The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) (12 page)

“Yes, Matron.”

“What is your name?”

“Ailyssa.”

A pause. “Just Ailyssa? You must at least be N’th.”

“Once they called me N’th Ailyssa Ra, but no more.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, foreign. “They cast me out.”

The woman drew a deep breath and let it out in a forceful sigh.

“I will never understand the ways of Olvana’s order. How does banishing any woman serve the Goddess?”

Ailyssa assumed the woman spoke her thoughts aloud rather than requiring an answer, so she remained silent.

“What did you do to be cast out?”

“I gave birth to two sons and only one Daughter.”

“That is enough in Olvana to be condemned?”

Ailyssa bowed her head, drew a shuddering breath. She considered keeping the truth from this woman so she might not judge her badly, but she couldn’t. After so long living the Goddess’ teachings, she knew untruths were always found out.

“My Daughter has produced no Daughters of her own to honor the Goddess. And…” She hesitated, blinked. “And I refused to couple when I was supposed to.”

Silence. Ailyssa’s mind drew a picture of the Matron: gray hair, face lined with well-earned wrinkles, eyes hard and judging. The longer the silence drew on, the more filled with contempt the expression of the woman in her thoughts became. After what seemed an eternity, Ailyssa decided not to wait for the inevitable question.

“I didn’t couple because the partner they sent was my son. I knew him from a birthmark on his shoulder.”

“The Goddess’ order in Olvana couples with their own offspring? Sacrilege. It’s no wonder you didn’t honor our Lady with more Daughters. She likely didn’t want them.”

“N’th Adnine Re’a, I don’t know if—”

“How old are you, Ailyssa?” the old woman interrupted.

“The seasons have turned fifty-four times since my birth.”

“So your blood has ended?”

Ailyssa’s chin sank to her chest. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Hmm. Age is no reason to be cast out, otherwise we’d all end our lives wandering the wilds praying for the Goddess to take us back.”

Ailyssa raised her head, wiped her hand across her lips, the knuckle of her finger lingering before her arm fell back to her side. The white blur of light was brighter in this room and she suspected it might be lined with windows.

“The order of Olvana may have banished you,” the woman said. “But I see no reason the Goddess should. I hereby reinstate you, N’th Ailyssa Ra.”

Ailyssa involuntarily raised both hands to cover her mouth. Joy swirled in her stomach, forcing out the fear and hurt she’d carried since she woke without her sight. The Goddess hadn’t forsaken her—or perhaps she decided to forgive her. The only life she’d ever known would continue.

“Thank you,” she breathed between her fingers. “Thank you, N’th Adnine Re’a.”

“Tut, tut.” Ailyssa imagined her waving her hand dismissively. “Get your rest today and tonight. Tomorrow we will set you to work to earn your keep in Jubha Kyna.”

Her heart jumped, the rumors of how Jubha Kyna became the richest of the Goddess’ orders returning to her. The Goddess’ Brothel, the Sisters of Olvana called it. Ailyssa’s hands dropped from her face.

“What will be my role, Matron?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

“The same as everyone. You will be available to the men who come to pay their tribute to the Goddess.” Fabric rustled as the woman stood. A joint popped. “At Jubha Kyna, we do not couple with our own sons and bring tainted Daughters into the world to disgrace the Goddess.”

“But I bleed no more.” Ailyssa took a breath, hating the words before they came out. “I can no longer honor the Goddess with Daughters.”

“We all earn our keep, N’th Ailyssa Ra.” The woman’s feet scraped the floor and her hand touched Ailyssa’s shoulder. “The men do not only pay tribute with children. In addition to their seed, they bring coin, food, services. If you could see the room in which you stand, its treasures would take your breath away and you’d understand why we all contribute. I still lay with men. We are all desired.”

Desired.

Ailyssa flinched at the word as though an open hand slapped her across the face. She had never desired anything but serving the Goddess, never expected to be desired by anyone. Never
wanted
to be desired by anyone.

The old woman’s fingers tightened on her shoulder—not enough to hurt, but enough to garner her attention. She raised her head to where the Matron stood.

“Rest tonight. If you are to remain in Jubha Kyna, you will take your first man tomorrow. If you refuse, we can send you back where we found you, if you like.”

N’th Adnine Re’a guided Ailyssa toward the door; her heart squeezed and ached as though it had been crushed in the old woman’s fist.

At Jubha Kyna, was rescue truly a better fate than death?

Goddess help me.

X Trenan - Before the King

The portrait of Erral and Ishla stared at Trenan from where it hung beside the other kings and queens of the Windward kingdom. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, but he soon turned away. He hated the glimmer of sadness the artist had captured in her eyes and often wondered if the sorrow was present when she posed, or if the portrait master added it.

If it was there, was it because of me?

The painting had hung in the reception chamber for more than twenty turns of the seasons—since not long after the king and queen married. Not long after Trenan lost his arm.

Not long after…

He shook his head and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger hanging at his hip. The eyes in the painting possessed the same ability to penetrate his soul as did the very ones they modeled. And now here he stood with no news of Teryk, and Danya wandered off on her own. Today, he’d have no doubt the fault for the sadness in her expression would belong to no one but him.

The door opened behind him and Trenan straightened but didn’t turn. Weapons and armor rattled—Cellin and Dansil, the queen’s guards, entering first—accompanied by the tap of boot heels on the stone floor. The reception chamber was far smaller than the hall, so it only took two breaths before the king and queen swept past him. Ishla took her seat, but the king remained standing, hands curled into fists set on his hips.

“What news?” Erral’s voice boomed, even in the small room.

Trenan bowed his head before speaking. “I am regretful to report I have found no sign of the prince…alive or otherwise.”

“And my daughter?” The king made a show of glancing around the room, though no possibility existed he’d have missed her had she been present.

“She left to carry on the quest upon which Teryk set out.”

“Prince Teryk. Mind your place, swordmaster.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Trenan had known the king since before the Leeward kingdom offered Ishla in peace and he’d lost his arm saving Erral’s life; the king only insisted his friend use titles in dire times.

And that, they are.

The master swordsman glanced at the queen, who stared back at him with a stern countenance he understood she wore to hold back her tears. Her children were gone and he’d disappointed her.

The king crossed his arms and tilted his head forward, glaring down his nose at Trenan.

“How could this happen?” he growled. “How did my children leave Draekfaerren, let alone the inner city? Were guards not assigned to them?”

“Yes, my king,” Cellin said. “Rile to the prince and Gerton to the princess.”

“And where are they now?”

Cellin cleared his throat. “In cells in Dreemskerry, as ordered, my King.”

Trenan felt a prickle along the back of his neck. It didn’t bode well for the two men if the king had them imprisoned. Likely if the prince and princess did not return alive and unharmed, they’d forfeit their lives. Maybe if they did, too.

“These two soldiers should not shoulder the blame,” Trenan interjected. “I have spent much time with the prince and princess. I realized their obsession with the scroll and should have been more aware.”

“Don’t worry, swordmaster. They will not accept the blame alone.” The king gestured at him with his chin. “Were it not for your missing arm, you’d be keeping them company.”

Trenan’s teeth clenched and his lips pursed. Erral knew exactly what to say to provoke a reaction in one of his oldest friends.

“Enough bluster.” Ishla sat forward on the edge of her decorative chair, one strand of hair falling out of the bun pulled tight at the back of her head. “What of my children?”

She glanced from Trenan to the king, both of them returning her gaze. For an instant, the master swordsman thought the king might reprimand her for speaking out of turn, as he had done in the past. Instead, he faced the master swordsman to continue their conversation.

“We do not know the prince is dead?”

Trenan held the queen’s gaze an instant longer, trying to find a way to apologize to her without words before facing Erral again.

“Brigands claimed to have taken his life. They had Godsbane.” He touched the sword’s gold pommel, having forgotten it still hung at his side until mention of it. “But I have found no other sign of him.”

“The prince must be found, no matter what state he’s in.”

“And Danya?” Ishla said.

“Be quiet, woman. The heir to the throne takes priority.”

Trenan’s gaze flickered to the queen, who glared at the king. Her mouth opened as though she meant to say more but, when she noticed Trenan looking at her, she thought better of it. She pressed her lips together and her expression no longer matched the sad mien on the portrait, but took on an aspect of anger.

“You will take Dansil and two others,” the king continued. “Search the outer city. Find the prince, but be discreet.”

“My liege, if you give me at least a squad, we will locate the prince more quickly, and then we can search for the princess, too.”

The king’s head swung side to side. “Conditions in the outer city are…tenuous. A larger armed force barreling through the streets might tip the scales in a direction I prefer it not be tipped. Four of you will be enough.”

“But Erral—”

“I am your king,” Erral roared in response. “Do as you are told, swordmaster. And come back with the throne’s heir or that sacrificial arm will not keep you from seeing the inside of Dreemskerry.”

The king stormed out of the room, brushing Trenan with his shoulder on the way by and forcing Cellin and Dansil to step aside for him to pass. The master swordsman swallowed and looked at the queen perched on the edge of her seat. The expression she wore hurt him far worse than anything that might be done to him in Dreemskerry prison.

Ishla stood as though it took great effort to lift her weight from the seat and padded across the floor to stand in front of Trenan. She stared straight ahead at his chest instead of raising her gaze to meet his.

“Bring back my children, Trenan,” she said too quietly for the guards still in the room to hear. “Please.”

She swept past, careful not to touch the master swordsman. Trenan’s fingers twitched, aching to reach out and grasp her wrist, pull her back to him and hold her. He wanted to caress her hair, tell her it would be all right, but not with Cellin and Dansil present, and he doubted she’d let him if they weren’t.

Sometimes he hated himself for falling in love with a woman he could never have.

He listened to her dress swishing around her legs as she left and remained a moment before he turned to find Dansil waiting by the door, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a cock-eyed smile.

“You and me, eh, swordsman?”

Trenan frowned and walked out of the room, leaving the big guard to follow.

***

They went out through Merchant’s Gate, the flow of wagon and foot traffic thin at midday compared to other times of the day. Trenan led the way, followed by Osis—a sergeant of similar age to Trenan whom he’d chosen to accompany them—and then Dansil and Strylor—a young swordsman who Dansil had insisted would be handy in their search because he’d been born in the outer city and was familiar with its tangled avenues.

They passed through the barracks area housing the king’s army, Trenan with his gaze focused straight ahead as they went. Soldiers watched them, brows raised or scowls upon their faces as they wondered what might prompt the king’s swordmaster to visit the outer city twice in two days. He didn’t explain and had told the others to stay quiet.

They reached an intersection at the end of the army’s section and the beginning of the city proper and stopped.

“Where’d it happen?” Dansil said stepping up beside Trenan as if he intended to take charge.

Trenan waved his hand between sunrise and leeward. “I found the brigands at a tavern, but it’s hard to say where they came upon him.”

“Well that’s where we’ll start then, ain’t it?”

Dansil took a confident stride forward, the axe strapped to his back bouncing with his gait, but Trenan caught him by the arm, stopping him.

“I’ve looked there. We’ll start closer to here in case he tried to make his way back. We have to assume he is gravely injured.”

Dansil frowned and stretched his neck to peer back at Strylor.

“Whatcha think, Stry?”

The young man shrugged. “Whatever. Could’ve got anywhere, I guess.”

“Strylor don’t care, you thinks here and I thinks there. S’pose it’s up to the sarge here to break the tie.”

Trenan gritted his teeth against the heat boiling into his cheeks. The moment Erral ordered him to take Dansil with him, the master swordsman knew trouble would follow. Here they were, one step into the outer city, and the idiot thought they should vote what to do.

“We are not taking a poll, Dansil,” Trenan said through his teeth.

The burly man glared at Trenan, then turned his head toward the sergeant.

“What’s yer vote, Osis?”

The sergeant shook his head. “No vote. If Trenan says we search here, then we search here.”

The master swordsman’s thumb hooked into his sword belt, fingers poised to move for his weapon. Dansil dragged his gaze back from Osis to Trenan, the sour expression still painting his brow.