Philippa Ballantine - Wrayth

You have me. I will never leave you.

Raed had never before considered if the Rossin had a sense of humor—not that it was one that he appreciated overly. It was merely a distraction that he didn’t need since reading the map was becoming harder and harder. The designer had drawn a series of strange red circles on the map, but the map had no key.

Raed was just contemplating what they could mean, when the floor slid out from under him. Reflexes far beyond a normal mortal being kicked in and Raed managed to catch hold of the lip of the trap before he fell, though his shoulders were nearly wrenched from their sockets.

The geistlord was awake now, ready to take over. “Not yet,” Raed gasped, as he flexed his fingers against the stone. He didn’t want to lose his clothes and gear if at all possible. Though the beast had no respect for such trivial things, as a man, he preferred not to enter dangerous situations naked. With some effort he managed to get the edge under his armpits and from there haul himself upright.

So he had his explanation of the red dots on the map. As he followed the path he took careful note and edged around them. It certainly explained why there were no people on this level either. The Shin were obviously master trap makers, which cut down on how many guards they had to have.

He was just contemplating how many of the Shin themselves must have fallen into their own traps while distracted, when a sound pierced the suffocating silence.

It was laughter. Female laughter. It was so unexpected and delightful that Raed stopped. In his life, there had been precious little female company let alone merriment. If he concentrated, he thought he could recall his mother and sister giggling—but perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. On the Dominion the women had occasionally had cause for amusement. Snook had been most cheerful—the most likely to see the fun in any situation.

Snook. Now dead at his own sister’s command.

Frowning, recalling why he was here, Raed went to find out what was so funny in the lair of the Shin. He had a feeling he would not like it.

Merrick made his return in the tail of evening to the Mother Abbey. It was only a short distance from the Imperial Palace to the home of the Order of the Eye and the Fist, and it was a walk that he had taken often since returning from Chioma. Though the Emperor himself had shown little interest in returning Merrick’s mother and his half brother back to that southern province that they should by rights be ruling, the Grand Duchess had been most considerate of their care. She had seen to it that Japhne was given a wing and the best doctors when the time came for her to give birth. She even visited her so that the older woman would not be so alone. Apparently they had many things in common, and despite Zofiya’s reputation, his mother found her a great companion.

As he looked up at the stars he found himself considering Her Imperial Majesty the Grand Duchess Zofiya in quite a different light. Everyone at the Abbey thought he was studious and quiet, but he noticed the fairer sex like any other normal man. Since he had traveled back in time and stolen a few moments with Nynnia, he had been more at peace with his lost love. The mere fact that she still existed—even if he could never be with her again—had allowed him to come to a certain acceptance. Nynnia had given up her body in order to save the world from the destruction of the terrible geistlord the Murashev, and she seemed content with that. It would be churlish of him to remain angry for her choice.

So his refreshed eyes and soul had perceived immediately that the Grand Duchess was very beautiful. Even to have thought that a season ago would have been ridiculous, but in their time together, he had seen beyond the intimidating cover she presented to the world. She had lost her faith and her goddess had proven to be a horrible fraud. In a way, Merrick and she shared a loss.

Naturally, these thoughts were idle ones. Deacons could indeed have sex, love affairs and even get married—however Imperial sisters had to be far more cautious. He could tell by the expression in her eyes that she liked the look of him—he’d learned that much in the past year—but in her position, she would have her pick of lovers from among the Court.

Still it was pleasant to wonder about some things, such as what would her lips taste like? What secrets of her inner heart would she reveal after they kissed? How would her skin feel against his?

Merrick shook himself free of these idle thoughts as he reached the gates to the Mother Abbey. Between intrigue and duty he allowed his imagination free rein—but once back inside the walls of the Order he had to return to reality. The lay Brother opened the postern gate and let him in without challenge. Most Deacons were ensconced in the dormitory, but others were on patrol, or doing the business of the Order.

As his step passed over the lintel, Merrick stopped, for a second frozen comically there, head tilted to one side. Everything was quiet and in its correct place. The Presbyters tucked in their presbyterial chambers. Arch Abbot Rictun was awake working on some paperwork, the light flickering in his antechamber behind the stained glass. The lay Brothers were either asleep in their quarters or moving quietly about their duties. Deacons, Sensitive and Active were the same, but lying in their cells in the dormitory. The powerful and beautiful Breed horses shifted in their stalls, but signaled no distress. Injured and addled citizens and Deacons were sleeping or cared for in their rooms. All but one.

Merrick set off at a run in that direction—his senses now focused on the infirmary with the intensity of a hawk searching for a field mouse. Their Bond had gone so quiet that he had almost forgotten it was there, and now he was kicking himself for that carelessness. She was dead—by the Bones she was dead and he had not even noticed!

Bursting into her room, Merrick ran to the bed expecting to see Sorcha’s still corpse lying there—but there was nothing. Nothing at all. Her bed had been stripped and a lay Brother was in the corner bundling the sheets away.

“What happened?” Merrick grabbed the poor man by his shoulders and gave him a sound shake. “Where have they taken the body?”

“There is no body.” In the confusion the young Sensitive had not noticed Sorcha’s retired partner Garil in the chair in the corner of the room near the door.

He spun about. “What do you mean? They can’t have buried her so quickly!”

“She’s not dead…at least not yet.” Garil raised a hand and gestured the bewildered Brother away. He shut the door behind him in a manner that suggested he was very grateful to get out of the line of fire.

Merrick sized up the older man. Something in his tone set the young man’s teeth on edge. He did not know a great deal about Garil’s personality, and only a little more of his life. Sorcha had told him once, since it was no secret, that he had been badly beaten by some thugs, years ago, and taken off active duty. She had retained a genuine affection for him, even after their Bond had been severed, and trusted him implicitly.

Indeed, at one time both Merrick and Sorcha’s lives had been in his hands. When they had ventured to the Otherside, where geists came from, they had shucked off their bodies and ventured there in spirit. It had been Garil who had brought them back. Yet now, every hair on Merrick’s body was standing on end and his skin ran with an uncomfortable prickle. Cautiously he stepped away from the bed. “Deacon Reeceson, I need you to explain yourself. And now.”

It was awfully impolite to address an elder of the Order in such a way, but technically Merrick outranked him since he was still a practicing member and Garil was not.