Chapter 9
Ididn’t like our new recruit. Maybe it was his lackadaisical attitude, or more likely, the knife he’d pressed to my throat.
Seraphim had led us far off the road, deep into thick woods dotted with white birch trees.
Stalled in mud and unable to squeeze through the tightly packed trunks, we were forced to abandon the escape carriage.
Leaving the wreck behind to delay our pursuers, we extracted our supplies and unhooked the horses.
We’d gained a steed at the outpost, but with a new recruit, we were still a saddle short. Eleos guided the dappled brown horse we’d shared before to me and patted its flank. “Think you can mount by yourself this time?”
“I can try,” I said, grabbing the saddle and staring at the arduous climb.
A steel helm landed in the mud with a plop as Percy threw it from his head, shock-white hair spilling loose. “You.” He seethed, pointing at the dark-haired assassin.
“Percy!” The red-eyed man said affably. “I never would have expected to—“
“You rogue!” Percy snapped. “Why didn’t you say anything? I. . . I. . .” He stumbled over his words, but I couldn’t tell if he was furious or hurt.
Seraphim yanked her helm off, braid frizzed. “You two know each other? You should have told me.”
Flushing, Percy glanced at the red-eyed man. “He went by a different name when we met.” He folded his arms. “Isn’t that right? Burgundy Rose.”
Eleos smiled impishly, leaning toward me. “I think someone had their heart broken.” He whispered.
“Seems like it,” I whispered back.
‘Burgundy Rose’ interjected. “You came to the dungeons for me. Why?”
His strange accent scratched at my memories. It was unfamiliar, yet it tugged at something deep within.
“I’m recruiting you,” Seraphim said plainly.
“For what?”
She smiled wryly, glancing at Percy. “Our bard spins tales like a master and packs like a drunk.” She grabbed a saddlebag from the mud. “Ask him.”
Sighing, Percy ran a hand through his hair and began our strange tale. The red-eyed rogue paced around him, wrapping the gash on his palm he’d used to cast his spells.
Nervous pricks ran up my spine, and I spun to look behind me.
Nothing was there. Trees stretched on for as far as I could see.
Shaking off the discomfort, I helped Eleos prepare the horses for travel. Percy certainly made my blunder at the Sundering ceremony sound more exciting than the truth.
He won a few points for making me look good, at least.
The red-eyed man listened with an even expression until Percy caught him up to the present. He thought for a moment, then turned to Seraphim. “Getting into Duath Nun will not be easy.”
“No. It won’t.” She agreed.
“Nor will crossing the Acheron. Duath Nun protects it with everything they have.”
“I know,” Seraphim said in a low voice. “You have quite a bounty on your head. Aethra here would love to claim it.” She raised an eyebrow, and glanced at me.
Perking up, I smiled mischievously. “That I would.”
“Aid me, though,” Seraphim continued, “and you’ll have your name cleared. A full pardon, granted by the Archon.”
The red-eyed man regarded me before staring into the trees. Finally, he turned back to her. “I owe you. You’ll have my aid. And my fame has grown out of hand. A clean slate would be welcome.”
“Wonderful.” Seraphim grinned. “Serifos isn’t far. We’ll restock there before crossing the isthmus.” Grabbing her horse, she placed a foot in the stirrup.
“Wait,” I called. Seraphim paused and stared at me. “I want something cleared up first. That knight, Acrius,” I peered at the assassin. “Why did you kill him?”
“Seth.” The red-eyed rogue interjected. “You can call me Seth.”
Percy hummed. “That’s the name I remember.”
“What has it been? A year? Two?” Seth mused. “We need to catch up.”
“Yes, I—” Percy’s joy simmered into anger. “I haven’t forgiven you, yet.” He jerked his chin up. “Aethra’s right. You owe her an explanation.”
Seth stared at me intently, stepping closer. “Do you understand Serifos’ order of succession?”
“Vaguely.” I watched him warily. “It still functions how it did when they were an independent country, right? If the king’s family falls, the highest-ranking general takes the throne.”
“The king may now be a mere city lord and his general a captain, but the idea remains.” Seth smirked. “You work with the Guild. You know they make great coin entertaining the city lords’ petty grievances. Captain Acrius dealt with them often in his trip to the top. Does his name ring a bell?”
Lord Acrius. . . I searched my memories for the name. Ainwir had been offered a job by someone working for Acrius—a job he’d refused.
Percy interjected. “My father hated him. Called him a corrupt, power hungry blasphemer.”
“Everyone knows the young lord’s heirs died mysteriously,” Seth continued. “But nobody can prove it.”
I glanced away, thinking. The Lord of Serifos had lost both daughters to illness in the past few years. Was Seth implying those had been murders?
“Or better yet,” Seth continued. “Speak to the graves and ask Acrius’ daughter who drowned her when she learned she was pregnant. Nothing makes a noble look worse than bearing a bastard. Least of all those who’re aiming for the throne.”
The Guild made good coin hiding bastards away to spare their noble parents the shame. What kind of man would turn to murder instead?
Swallowing, I met Seth’s eyes. “How are you so sure he was responsible?”
“I have contacts in the Guild. I pay well for my information.” He stared into the night.
“They keep records of who hires their services. Nobles and clergy members pay them to commit atrocities, but everyone looks the other way. At best, they languish in a cell until their family pays for their freedom.”
“And you give them the punishment they’re due?”
“Yes.”
Words escaped me. I knew of the Guild’s less savory activities, some I’d been party to, though I’d asked no questions. Ainwir had dealt with them only passingly, advising me not to fall afoul of their political dealings.
Lords did not wish to share, to play second fiddle to another king. But wars won them nothing but death, so they exerted their power in other ways. Underhanded, quiet ways. Better not to make enemies of them, Ainwir had said.
“Satisfied?” Seth asked, returning to his horse.
Percy cleared his throat. “I’ve met some of the men Seth. . . takes care of. You can trust him.”
An elbow to my ribs drew my attention from the mud. Eleos stared intently at the back of Seth’s head. “I was reading him. He’s telling the truth—or, at least, what he believes to be the truth.”
“You said some people think him a hero. He’s a vigilante.” I guessed. “That would have made me feel a little better about this.”
“As I said, I wasn’t sure,” Eleos said.
“Stop loitering,” Seraphim called. “We need to move.”
“One moment,” Seth said, eyes darting around the trees frantically. “He should be here somewhere. I commanded him to stay nearby.”
“Who?” Seraphim asked.
Seth whistled sharply, startling me.
Seraphim glared at him with the ire of a thousand suns. “What are you—” She cut herself off, grabbing her knife and pressing it to her palm as leaves rattled in the distance.
But it was not soldiers who sprinted toward us. An enormous dog raced through the underbrush, a shaggy mess of dirty, matted fur. Seth kneeled, opening his arms for the hound, who dove onto its master with joy.
Percy lit up. “Whisper! Do you remember me, boy?”
Covering Seth’s face with slobber, the hound ran to Percy, eagerly sniffing his hand, tail wagging furiously. Leaning to the side, I studied the creature’s features, trying to determine its breed. Tall. Filthy. Mud covered everything else.
Seraphim rolled her eyes. “Percy. Later.”
Scrambling to his feet, Percy returned to his horse. Eleos nudged me, offering me a hand. “At least we have a dog, now.”
Chuckling, I let Eleos help me up and wrapped my arms around his waist when he sat ahead of me. Still not accustomed to all this running around, I leaned my head against his back, exhausted.
Our horses rode through the woods, weaving between trees to scatter our trail. The hound kept pace, trotting alongside his master, tall ears stalwartly listening for pursuit.
Dropping the reins, Eleos raked his hands through his hair, combing his waves. Leaning around his shoulder, I teased him. “Priests aren’t supposed to care about appearances.”
“Psythos senses vanity.” Eleos finished the saying. “Luckily, I’m not a priest.”
“Mhm,” I rested my head against his back. Metallic steel infected his comforting scent. “Seth mentioned something called the Acheron,” I said softly.
“Yes. There are few records of it in the Merchant Isles.” Eleos answered. “That’s the source. The river that flows into the heart of the Empty.”
“And we cross it to get inside?” I asked. “Do you still disappear if you walk in through the front door?”
Eleos chuckled at my analogy. “That’s my theory. We’ll be able to traverse the Empty and discover what hides within.” His gaze drifted to Seraphim. “If what they say is true, the denizens of Duath Nun will know more. If we can get them to talk, rather than run us through.”
“Is that another task for me?”
Eleos smiled. “If you can sweet-talk Duath Nun’s royalty, Lady Aethra, I’ll forgo worship of the gods and bow to you instead.”
* * *
The scene of bloody death replayed in my head: punctured steel, rent flesh, exposed innards, and the sheer amount of blood streaming from the dying man’s body onto the floor.
Shuddering, I closed my eyes and pinched my nose. The sharp scent of wood filled the air as I leaned against a tree and wrapped myself in my cloak.
Darkness swallowed the forest. Seraphim had advised against lighting a fire lest our pursuers find us. I’d offered to take the first watch, as sleep would doubtless evade me. The others gathered in a hastily made camp, watched over by the hunting hound Seth apparently took everywhere with him.