Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Idon’t like to repeat myself.”
There’s no mistaking the quiet demand or the arrogance in his tone.
Both of which I immediately don’t like. I’ve dealt with enough arrogant merchants at the clinic and the taverns around Veneficia Alley to know how much of a pain they can be.
I take a breath and remind myself that I don’t have to like him.
He’s here to collect a bargain, not propose marriage.
“Who are you?”
“Sit and I’ll tell you.”
“I can’t even see your face.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I don’t know. Just humor me.”
His annoyance is unmistakable in my chest, but there’s also a hint of amusement underneath that I’m unsure what to make of.
I watch as he pulls the hood away from his face, exposing a dark, unkept beard and a curtain of wavy, unruly dark hair.
From the little I can see underneath all of that, he has warm brown skin, full lips, a straight nose, and thick eyebrows that are currently furrowed as he takes in my attire.
I can’t see his eyes since he has them lowered, but from what I can see, I know this man could never walk around here unnoticed.
The Lunarian Council puts a lot of importance on physical beauty.
All of their residents — especially their duelers and legion guards — are in top shape and always well-groomed, with cleanly shaved faces.
Hairstyles are the only thing they don’t seem to monitor.
Draven has long ropey locs. Arlo has straight blond hair.
Casimir and Bastian have short hair. Either way, the man in front of me wouldn’t qualify as good-looking in Lunaris.
The Veritas Order, by contrast, teaches that beauty is internal.
Beauty lies in the mind, in the heart, and on the tongue.
We portray what we feel, and thus, feeling beautiful makes us beautiful.
It’s a concept that can get tricky when dealing with delusional, arrogant people, of course, but the Veritas Order has a way of dealing with them as well.
When he finally lifts his gaze to mine, I stop breathing.
At first glance, I immediately think of the golden brown memory stones that haunt my waking days and sleepless nights.
But then something else comes to mind. I think of the golden sunrises I watched from the cliffs back when I still thought new days meant new opportunities. It’s an oddly comforting thought.
Something akin to surprise flashes in his eyes when I decide to step away from the door and find out what he’s here for.
I’m smart enough to know I can’t outrun a debt, especially one owed to a goddess.
I pick up the things I dropped, set everything down at the edge of the table, and sit in the chair furthest away from him.
Safety may be an illusion, but it’s one I’ll cling to as long as I can.
“What is your name?” he asks once I’m situated.
I clear my throat. “What’s yours?”
The corner of his mouth barely lifts, but I feel a hint of amusement in my chest again. “Malachi. You may call me Mal if you’d like.”
So proper. Maybe not like some of those merchants, after all. I sit with that information for a moment. The majority of the residents don’t keep the names they arrive with. The Veritas Order is very particular about name choices, and I can’t imagine they’d approve of any name that begins with Mal.
“Ada. You may call me Ada,” I say after a moment. “What do you want from me, Malachi?”
“What do I want?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a question to ask a man like me.”
His response gives me pause. I look away quickly. I remind myself that my carelessness with words was what got me into this situation to begin with, so I need to be very careful with what I say and limit my questions. Something bitter flares in my chest, beckoning my attention back to his face.
“I can taste your fear,” he comments.
“I can feel your disgust,” I shoot back and bite my tongue, but it’s too late to take the words back.
Shrewd golden eyes narrow and study me for a long moment. His eyes remind me less of the memory stones and sunrises now and more of an eagle with its sights set on its prey.
His lip curls. “You’re an empath.”
I bristle at the disapproval in his tone, and get angry at myself for my reaction. Empaths are always ridiculed for being “too emotional,” which is ironic, considering we shoulder the weight of everyone else’s feelings.
“You’re not supposed to talk about gifts,” I snap.
He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”
I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by the question.
There’s no way a man this size could escape the guards who welcome new ships by the docks.
There’s also no way they’d let him walk out of the House of Justice looking the way he does, though, which means he definitely arrived another way.
The Shroud instantly comes to mind, but this is Mortiana’s collector.
She could have dropped him from the sky, or dug him out of the ground, for all I know.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says after a moment.
My lips twist. “That would be more reassuring if you’d knocked on the front door.”
He studies my face. “Why can’t I ask about your gifts?”
“If you’d gone to the House of Justice, which you obviously didn’t, you’d know the mention of gifts is forbidden in Lunaris. Everyone receives a crystal amulet to wear that prevents them from using their gifts here.”
He straightens in his chair. “Magic is forbidden? How long has it been that way?”
I shrug. “Since the Council deemed it so.”
His brows knit slightly. “Who is the Council?”
My eyes widen. I know in my bones he’s not some silent guard the Council sent after me, but I still look around to make sure I’m not being watched.
It’s nonsensical paranoia. The Council doesn’t even know I exist. Up until the day Jordi was given his apprenticeship with the Keeper of the Vault, the Sages forbade us from stepping foot in the Council’s territory at all.
My eyes sweep the room from the small windows near the ceiling, where the dark early evening clouds hang over the sky, to the kitchen.
Finally, my gaze lands on Jordi’s satchel and remains there for a moment.
Could he have already gone through it? Probably.
My pulse races as my eyes dart around each crevice of the room again.
It occurs to me that this is how the Council’s residents live every day.
Looking over their shoulders and not fully trusting the people around them.
“I already told you I’m not here to hurt you,” he says gruffly.
His obvious annoyance makes my sigil flare and straightens my spine.
“I’m sure this will be difficult for you to believe, being favored by the goddess of death and looking like that.” I wave a hand in his direction. “But you’re not the most fearful presence in Lunaris. Why don’t you just tell me how to repay my end of the bargain?”
He stares at me for a moment. “Who is the Council?”
Without knowing anything about him, I know I’m going to be stuck here for hours if I decide to answer that question.
He’s very obviously an outsider. One who doesn’t know anything about this place and will surely have countless questions.
It’s not uncommon whenever we get new visitors during the Moon Festival.
It’s worse, since, unbeknownst to them, the amulets they wear during the festival make it so that the moment they leave, their memories of this place begin to fade.
The merchants are spared from that fate since they only stick around Veritas.
But the festival guests don’t know any better, which makes them incredibly annoying to deal with since they ask the same stupid questions every single time they visit.
My knee starts bouncing as I try to figure out what I can possibly say to get out of this.
“Can we do this later?” I finally blurt out.
“No.”
Again, my spine stiffens. “Look, I know the gods don’t wait for anything, and I mean no disrespect to Mortiana, nor am I trying to make excuses or get out of my debt, but I really need to—”
“No.”
I blink. “You didn’t even let me finish speaking.”
“The answer is no.”
“But you haven’t even … you didn’t let me … you haven’t even heard my argument!” I sputter.
“I don’t need to. The answer will still be no. I do not have the time nor the patience to continue this later.”
A sharp laugh leaves my lips. “You don’t have the time or the patience?”
“Who is the Council?” The quiet demand makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I bite my tongue as the faint remnants of the compulsion vibrate through my chest. Someone else may not have noticed, but I was raised around too many sirens and endured too much training not to recognize it.
And Malachi … the way he just used it, he either didn’t mean to or is so powerful that people don’t typically notice.
“That won’t work on me.”
He merely stares.
“The compulsion.” I swallow. “It won’t work on me.”
He clears his throat, frowns, and glances away momentarily. In the time it takes him to regroup, I decide to answer his questions so I can get out of here quickly.
“The Council is a group of people who have been in charge of Lunaris for the last forty years, give or take.”
“Give or take?”
“The Veritas Treaty was signed forty years ago, so I guess it’s been that long.”
“Who is the treaty between?”
“The Lunarian Council and the Sages of Veritas.”
“So Lunaris is … split between them?”
“Yes, but they work together.” I glance at the clock, knee bouncing incessantly. “Look, I don’t mind answering your questions, but this is a complicated topic and I really need to leave.”
“Is magic also forbidden in Veritas?”
My jaw clenches when he doesn’t even acknowledge what I said, but I answer anyway. “No. That only applies to the Council’s territory.”
He nods like he expected that answer, which makes me think he must know about the Sages, at least. I guess it’s not surprising since there are Sages in each kingdom and everyone knows about them and the Veritas Order.
I’m about to say once more that I need to leave, but he pins me with a hard stare.
“And their residents accept that?”
I take a breath and expel it slowly. “They don’t know any better. The Council banished mention of the gods and the gifts they grant us with. Their residents are told their amulets are what keep the Shroud from rotting our land and the creatures from coming in, so they wear them at all times.”
He stares at me for a long moment as he processes that. “How can no one challenge them? Are they claiming to be regents?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Are they claiming the king gave them the power to act on his behalf?”
I search his eyes. How could the goddess’ collector not know the answer to that?
“There is no king here,” I say after a moment. “In Veritas, the monarchy is mentioned, of course, but we mostly focus on ancient civilizations. I doubt the Council’s texts mention them at all.”
“What about the older residents? Surely they must challenge the Council’s ignorant teachings.”
I shake my head slowly. “No one in Lunaris has memories of their lives before they arrived here.”
“How?” he whispers.
“Everyone trades their memories for asylum.”
He stares at me, unblinking, for so long that I almost question if he’s a demon, after all. But then I feel a low thunderous rumble vibrate in my chest, and I realize it’s his anger. My breath catches as it builds, and I force myself to sever the tie to his emotions before it takes hold.
“They trade their memories?” he asks in a soft voice that sends a chill down my spine. He glares at me when I nod, like I’m the one working for the goddess of Noktemore and sneaking into people’s private quarters. “Why would you agree to that? Why would anyone?”
My sigil burns as a swift wave of anger rushes through me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I didn’t have a choice in the matter, but I think better of it.
I don’t have to defend myself, or any of our residents’ choices, to him.
I glare at him as I stand up and start picking up my things.
“Safety, food, purpose. The promise of life in a perfect society. That’s why.”
A loud thump in my brother’s quarters makes our heads whip in that direction.
Somehow, Malachi doesn’t make any noise as he stands up, but his large figure is impossible to miss in the corner of my eye.
I hold my breath as the door to my brother’s private quarters opens, and let it out in a relieved exhale when Draven steps in wearing a dark green cloak with intricate gold stitching.
His thick eyebrows lower and his long locs sway as he looks between me and Malachi.
Finally, his gaze lands on him. “I told you not to leave the private quarters.”
I gape at him. “You know this man?”
“He’s a friend. Your brother said he could stay at his place for the time being.”
“Ada was telling me some very interesting things about Lunaris,” Malachi says, narrowing his eyes at Draven, who merely shakes his head.
“Not now, Bain.”
My eyes fly back to my collector. “Bain?”
“It’s my middle name,” he says. “It’s what my friends call me.”
“Oh.”
Malachi Bain. The Sages would never approve of that name. But it certainly suits someone who works for the goddess of death. I look at Draven, wondering how much he knows about that, then at Malachi. And then I start pulling on my cloak and head toward the door.
“Have you spoken to Sara?” Draven asks behind me.
“No. I need to go see Jordi.” I start putting on my amulet as I head to the door.
“Who’s Jordi?” Mal asks.
“Jordi can wait. You need to see Sara. There’s a lot happening that you don’t know about. It may not be—”
“She can wait!” I snap, whirling around to face him as I open the door and let it rest against my shoulder.
“Very well.” Draven shrugs. “Just make sure you don’t go to the square.”
That gives me pause, but I’m momentarily distracted by the man beside him. I return Draven’s glare. “Instead of worrying about me, maybe you should make your friend look presentable. If that’s even possible.”
Malachi’s brows lower. “Where are you going?”
“We’ll finish our conversation later,” I say and move to step out.
“You can’t leave,” he growls.
I freeze again and glance back at him. “I can’t leave? There are many things you don’t know about me, Malachi Bain, but perhaps the most important is this: I only take orders from a handful of people and you are not one of them.”
With that, I let the door shut behind me and run to the stairs. If everyone is supposed to attend the Council’s speech, this is the perfect time to see my brother.