Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Llauron poured himself a snifter of brandy. “So how are the patients doing?”

“Most are recovering quite well, Your Grace.”

“Good, good. I am particularly interested to know the conditions of the survivors of the Lirin raid on Lord Stephen’s border patrol this morning.”

“None of them lived, Your Grace.”

Llauron’s eyes opened in surprise. “None?”

“Yes, they were apparently far more grievously injured than we originally suspected.”

The Invoker inhaled the bouquet of the brandy, then took a sip, allowing the liquid to swirl around his mouth and over his tongue. He swallowed. “Even what-is-her-name, Cedelia, that woman with only the leg wound?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It must have gone septic.”

Llauron’s cool blue-gray eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I see. Were you able to get anything out of them before they succumbed?”

Khaddyr went to the tray and picked up a plate. He began to fill it, glancing back at the Invoker, who was staring out the window. “The usual, Your Grace. They denied knowing why they were in Navarne, or traveling through Avonderre, or participating in any way. All they remembered was being in Tyrian, and then waking up, wounded, on the forest floor in Navarne. I wish they could have been more enlightening.”

“Indeed.” Llauron sat heavily back down in his chair.

Khaddyr took the seat opposite him. “On another topic, when do you expect to begin your journey?”

Llauron drained the brandy snifter. “In a month or so; the date hinges on a few things that haven’t been sorted out yet. I’ll be sure to give you as much notice as possible to make sure things are in order for you while I’m away.”

Khaddyr smiled. “Thank you, sire. I’m sure everything will run smoothly in your absence. I will see to it.”

Llauron met his smile in return. “I’m sure you will.”

“Did I hear the guards say that Rhapsody was here earlier?” Khaddyr rubbed his hands together, massaging the chill from his knuckles.

Llauron folded his hands. She had come through the secret entrance; this was most interesting. The breach in his security was more widespread than he had realized.

“Yes,” he said. “She was here to procure medicinal herbs and salves for Ylorc’s infirmaries. She’s gone back there now. I’m sorry you missed her, but she didn’t want to be away from the Bolg for a moment longer than necessary. Seems they are in the throes of some sort of horrific endemic influenza.”

“What a shame,” Khaddyr said sympathetically. “Can we offer any assistance? I have some acolytes who have completed their medical training; you could send them to Ylorc with the next mail caravan to help in the hospitals.”

The Invoker rose and went to the supper tray. He took a plate and began to fill it, trying to keep up the appearance of an appetite that had utterly vanished.

“What a very kind thought. I’m afraid it’s too late, however. She was terribly upset. When she left Ylorc the bulk of their army had already succumbed; I fear by the time she returns there will be nothing left but a few surviving fragments of the population. Epidemic disease is a terrible thing, but it is even more devastating for primitive cultures.”

“I see. I’m certainly sorry to hear it. Well, is there anything else you wished to discuss with me, Your Grace?”

Llauron turned back to the fire. “No, not specifically. I just thought I’d invite you to supper; it’s been a long time since we’ve had a good chat. I suppose I just wanted to see what my old protege is up to.”

As Rhapsody followed the young manservant away from the arena and into the part of the complex that housed the gladiatorial barracks, a shout went up behind them. A few seconds later a man in loose, rich robes of the same color that Treilus had been wearing dashed into the corridor, pushing past them hurriedly, a look of panic contorting his face. He shouted again. The servant pulled her to the wall as the man came to a halt a few feet in front of them.

He shouted once more, an,d the sound was answered by the noise of running footsteps. Two women and a man, dressed in various forms of the healers’ uniforms Rhapsody had seen since entering the complex, ran forward to meet him, stopping as he had, looking grave. They conferred quietly in the Sorbold tongue; Rhapsody caught a few words— Treilus—fundament exploded—excrement, blood —before the group wheeled and hurried back past her and the manservant. She pressed even closer to the wall to stay out of their way until they disappeared around the corner again.

A hollow numbness began to spread through her as she realized what was happening. May you be blessed with unstoppable diarrhea , she had said to Treilus. It appeared that she had inadvertently called upon her abilities as a Namer; though she had not intended the insult literally, her unbreakable vow to the truth was being kept, intentionally or otherwise. Rhapsody shuddered, remembering her last words to him.

“ I hope you die in pain for what you are doing. And I hope that I am able to help bring it about .

Ever since she had accidentally renamed Achmed and freed him from his demonic bondage she had been painfully aware of the power of her words. She had slipped this time, had given in to her anger. And now because of her petty insult a man was dying hideously. Even if he was a reprehensible man, the thought still made her stomach writhe.

The manservant waited until the noise of the group had been swallowed up by the vast corridors of the complex, then gestured toward the entryway into the barracks. Rhapsody nodded, turning away to avoid the look of pity in his eyes, and followed him into the fighters’ wing.

She kept her head low and her eyes down as she obediently walked down the hallway. This area of the complex was far more elegantly appointed than the caverns beneath the arena, with polished floors and doors bound in brass fittings. The wood of the doors was thick and solid, but even so she could hear the occasional moan or scream of passion as she passed; it was a sound that made her gorge rise.

The manservant stopped before the door at the very end of the hallway, pointing to it to indicate this was where she was to go. She saw the look of sympathy in his eye change to dread, and gave him an appreciative smile. Then she shooed him away with her hand, nodding to signal she understood what she was to do.

She waited until he had left the corridor and was gone from sight. Then she pulled from her waistband the small bag that held the bottle Llauron had given her. She removed the vial of emollient from her bodice and slipped it into the bag, straightened her costume, and touched the upswept knot that held her hair off her face and neck. She held her breath, cast one more look around to be sure that no one was watching, and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Come,” said a voice within the room. The depth and power in it gave her a chill.

Rhapsody opened the door quietly and peered inside the room. It was large and spare, with an abundance of candles burning in multiple taper holders. In the center of the room was an enormous wooden bed, and even from the doorway she could see that its sheets were of the finest satin. The walls were hung with weapons and martial trophies, and discarded clothes lay in a heap by the foot of the bed.

The gladiator rose into a sitting position. Rhapsody had expected him to be powerful and large, but she was not prepared for the reality of his size. He was almost as tall as Grunthor, with immense shoulders and a titanic chest that rippled as he moved. He was surprisingly handsome, with white-blond hair that stood in waves and eyes that even in the darkness glowed dark blue as the sky at sunset. He exuded a power that made Rhapsody’s palms sweat, but she was not afraid, at least not yet. She couldn’t tell if it was the presence of the demon blood within him, or just a factor of his strength. The vulnerability she felt in the skimpy costume caused her skin to rise into goosebumps, but it was too late to turn back. “Constantin?” His eyes narrowed. “Yes?”