Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Read online

  “Are you all right?”

  Caleb looked up. “I am now. I’ve seen desert fever before, and when it hits adults—”

  “I know.” Thamina clasped her hands in front of her. “My oldest brother succumbed to the fever a couple years ago. I’ve seen children live, they usually do. But not adults. I don’t know how she survived. Perhaps Mirelukahn had something to do with it?”

  Mirelukahn. Was Thamina a follower of the Temanin healing goddess? Wait. His mind went back to what she had first said. If the fever had broken last night . . . He folded his arms and glared at Thamina. “Why didn’t you tell me when I first brought her?”

  “I didn’t know. She was very weak. And I still wasn’t sure. So I used what herbal remedies I knew to help her. But I believe she was already on the mend.”

  Caleb looked over her shoulder at the tent. “Can I see her? After all, isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  Thamina stepped to the side. “Of course, just be warn—”

  Caleb ignored her and entered the tent. It was dark inside, with just a small lamp lit on the table nearby. He knelt down beside Nierne. A blanket lay across her body, her arms stretched out over the top, her hair splayed out around her like a halo of fire. She slept, her head tilted toward the side, a curl near her mouth moving with each breath she took.

  Something twisted inside his chest. He moved the curl back, his hand briefly touching her cheek. The thing inside twisted tighter. He felt the words before they reached his lips. Thankfulness was not a virtue he was well known for. But it now swelled up inside of him. He rubbed the curl between two fingers before letting it fall, and looked at Nierne’s face.

  It wasn’t Mirelukahn who had healed Nierne. Nor was it him, or some herb, or time. He knew firsthand the power of a true healer, one who could mend the body, the heart, and the soul.

  Word, thank you. Thank you for healing her.

  Thamina entered behind him.

  He let out a long sigh. “What?” He half turned his head toward her.

  “The woman needs her rest. I would like her to remain in my tent for the next couple days.”

  “Of course.” He tucked the blanket back around Nierne. She was still pale, so deathly pale, but there was the quick of life in her again. He could feel it.

  “I brought you here so you could see her. But we should go now.”

  Caleb tightened his jaw, but he knew Thamina was right. Nierne needed uninterrupted rest. He sighed and stood, his head brushing the top of the tent. At least she was better.

  He turned and found Thamina already outside. He ducked through the flaps and followed her.

  “The woman inside my tent. You seem to care a great deal about her. Do you plan to bond with her?”

  Caleb folded his arms. “You are very forward for a desert woman. And a young one at that.”

  Thamina shrugged. “Merely observant. And I take it from your answer that she is not yours, or you would have said so.”

  “No. Our story is long and complicated. Nierne is a scribe from the Monastery in Thyra.”

  “A scribe? From the Monastery?” Thamina tapped her chin with her finger. “Now that is interesting. And considering what I know about you”—she looked pointedly at Caleb—“I’m sure your story would make a fascinating tale around the spirit fire.”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes. “What exactly do you think you know?”

  “I know you’re no ordinary prince of Temanin.”

  Caleb clenched his hand, but before he could say anything, she turned and waved at a couple women who came walking around the corner.

  He went the other way, toward the trees and back to his camp. What was with that healer? He looked back.

  And why did she seem familiar?

  Chapter

  13

  Rowen stared out the window from her bedroom on the third floor. The sky was dark grey and a gentle rain fell across Thyra. Droplets hit the glass with soft patters, the only sound inside her room.

  Valin’s words from days before rang inside her mind, searching out the deepest part of her thoughts. We are gods. Their gods.

  He was crazy. And yet . . .

  She couldn’t deny that he was right in one aspect: They were different from humans. They might look human, feel human, but the power that lived inside her separated her from those around her, an endless chasm that could never be crossed.

  In some ways she had more in common with the Shadonae than she did with anyone else she had met.

  Rowen gripped the front of her gown and spun away from the window. What am I thinking? I am different. I am an Eldaran.

  But what did that mean? She knew so little about her people. And from what she had seen so far, she wasn’t that much different than Valin or Malchus.

  I don’t kill people.

  But had she seen either of them kill someone? Nierne said they killed people with just a touch of their hand. Was that why Valin wore a black glove? To cover up his ability?

  Rowen went back to the window and looked out. The rain had stopped. Maybe she should investigate for herself, find out what really happened here. Perhaps it would help her understand why she was here and how she could stop them.

  Her stomach churned. Stop them? How? She breathed faster. I can’t, I can’t . . .

  Slow down. She closed her eyes. One step at a time. Just one step. Today she would find out what happened here.

  She turned and headed toward the wardrobe and grabbed the grey wrap inside. She pulled it over her shoulders and went to the door. Down the hall and stairs she went to the first floor. Instead of taking the back door that led into the garden, she followed the hall to the front of the house.

  Outside, the air was cold and misty. Rowen pulled the wrap tighter around her body and shut the main door.

  She looked down one side of the street, then the other. Where should she go first? High above the trees, she could see the senate tower. She stepped back beside a tree. No. Not there. Definitely not there.

  But then where?

  Rowen looked back at the senate tower. The streets were like spokes and the tower was the hub. She remembered that from her first day here. So as long as she knew where she was, and used the tower as her guide, she could explore the city and make it back without getting lost. Hopefully.

  She turned left and started down the street. For the first hour she explored that street, only finding houses and small stores. Next, she crossed over to the next spoke-street. More houses. This time she found a large building made of red brick. It contrasted with the white buildings around it. Seemed older too.

  A wall made from the same red bricks stood around the building. Rowen approached the metal gate. It banged against the wall and slowly swung open again. She looked around, then walked toward it. A plaque was set inside the brick wall to the right of the gate.

  The Monastery of Thyra.

  This was the famous Monastery of Thyra? She looked between the metal bars at the brick building within. So this was where Nierne was from. And where the historical annals of the Lands were kept. Even the history of the Lands over the ocean.

  The gate banged again, disrupting her thoughts. She should get back before she was discovered. Valin may have said she could move about freely, but she still wasn’t convinced he meant it. Or did he really believe she wouldn’t leave?

  Rowen looked at the monastery one last time, then headed back toward the street that would lead her back to the house.

  The air grew colder. Her fingers tingled and her chest began hurt. She blew on her fingers and turned a corner—

  A soul-rending chill exploded inside her chest. She fell against the nearest building, her lungs aching with each breath. Frosty waves rose in front of her face.

  She looked up, half expecting snow, but only rain came down from the grey skies above. Her teeth began to cha
tter and she could barely feel her fingers.

  Something moved a couple blocks away.

  Rowen held her breath, her heart racing inside, her fingers splayed across the wall behind her.

  There. Like fog, only darker, almost black. And moving. It glided along the street, then turned down an alley two blocks away.

  Rowen watched the wispy end disappear beyond the building.

  She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, only stared at the spot until her lungs reminded her she needed air. She drew in two quiet gulps. Already, she was feeling warm again, or at least warmer than she had a minute ago.

  She stepped away from the wall. The air seemed to brighten around her, as if a cloud had passed before the sun, and now the sun was back. Only there was no sun out today.

  Rowen turned in the other direction, opposite of the smoke, and ran.

  A minute later she reached the house and entered, making sure to fully close the door behind her.

  She turned and placed her back against the door and slid to the floor, her heart still drumming. By now, she was fully warm again, only wet. She stared down the long, dark hallway. She had felt that chill before. Back in Azar, when Lore—

  Her throat tightened.

  When he arrived at Drake’s place to rescue her.

  She hugged herself and leaned against the door. Velyni had felt the same way, like an icicle had been thrust into her heart—

  She sat up, eyes wide. Was she here? Was Velyni here?

  No . . . same chill, but this one felt weaker. And Velyni had not looked like smoke. But if it wasn’t Velyni, then did that mean there were more like her?

  Rowen stood up. She rubbed her arms and looked back at the door. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to run into it again.

  The next few days, she studied the routine of those who served her. A meal was brought three times a day and left on the dining room table on the first floor. She had yet to catch a glimpse of whoever brought the food.

  Valin came late in the morning. She welcomed his company when the loneliness and quiet became too much to bear. But within a half hour, she longed for different company. Valin either asked lots of questions or just stared at her. And the darkness around him was almost overwhelming.

  At least she had the afternoons to herself. She spent most of her time wandering the city. So far she had only found more empty homes and shops. When evening came, she went back to her room hollow and quiet. Valin may claim she was a guest and not a prisoner, but she was no guest, and this city was her prison.

  A clock ticked on the nearby mantle inside the sitting room. Valin sat in one chair, Rowen in the other. A table stood between them with a tea tray set on top. Curls of steam rose from the amber liquid inside the cups. Rain pattered against the large window across the room.

  Valin took his cup, blew, and sipped the tea.

  Rowen sat with her hands folded in her lap. She had discovered another section of Thyra yesterday, a section that might still hold people. She wanted time to explore it today, rain or no rain.

  Her gaze darted toward the window and she watched the rain fall against the glass. Tap. Tap. The room had grown quiet. She looked back.

  Valin lowered his teacup. “Do you have a pressing appointment?”

  Her face grew hot. “No.”

  He looked at the window, then back at her. Did he know? His face was impassive as he placed his teacup back on the table.

  Rowen glanced at her own tea, barely touched. “Why do you keep me here?”

  He folded his hands. “Here? Do you mean this house? I believe I said you had your freedom.” He leaned back into his chair. “I don’t keep you here. Rather, I hope you will choose to stay here. But I must warn you, if you do decide to wander the city, be on your guard. Not everything here is safe.”

  She looked again at the window. “Why? What do I need to be afraid of? There isn’t anything left in this city.” Or was he referring to the smoke creature?

  “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

  She looked back. “Then tell me.” Yes, please tell me what that thing was.

  Instead of answering, he steepled his fingers together and studied her.

  Rowen stared back. What went through his mind when he looked at her?

  Valin leaned toward the table and lifted his teacup. “There are still people here.”

  “People?” She laughed. “What people? I haven’t seen any.”

  Valin took a sip. “There are still people here. Hiding.” His eyes grew hard. “You can’t see them from your window. And there are other things here too, besides people.”

  Rowen frowned and picked up her own cup. If there were people here, why hadn’t she met any? Where were they? She sipped at the earthy tasting drink and made a face. Her tea had gone cold. “Why should I fear those people? The ones hiding?”

  Valin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Because the moment they realize who you are, they will hate you.”

  “Why? I have done nothing to them.”

  “You don’t have to. Remember what you said about your village. They banished you even though you had done nothing wrong. Just the fact you are different will give them cause.”

  “Not all humans are so biased.”

  Valin chortled. “There you go again. Tell me, how well were you treated while you were in Temanin?”

  Rowen looked away.

  “You can say all you want about those few people who stood by you. They were an exception. An anomaly. So rare as to not be counted. Both of our pasts prove that humans either fear us or use us. So heed me when I say be careful if you wander the streets of Thyra.”

  Rowen clenched her hand.

  His cup chinked softly as he put his cup down. He stood and straightened his cloak. “I think it is time for you to learn more about who you are.”

  “What do you mean? What makes you think you know who I am?”

  Valin shrugged. “We are more alike than you know.”

  Rowen shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Valin ignored her and turned toward the door. “Tomorrow. I will show you what I mean.” He opened the door and walked out.

  The door clicked shut and she sighed. Why did Valin come here? Why was she here? She looked at the ceiling and raised her hands. “Why am I here?”

  There was no answer. There never seemed to be an answer. Rowen closed her eyes. Word, please. Why am I here? Why do you leave me alone here?

  Silence.

  Rowen swallowed the lump in her throat and stood. What did she think would happen? That the Word would just appear and lay out exactly why she was in Thyra and what she was supposed to do with the Shadonae?

  Yes, a small part of her whispered.

  But what if the Word told her to kill Valin? And Malchus? Could she do it? Would the Word really ask such a thing?

  Word, I don’t think I can kill them. I don’t think I can kill anyone.

  No answer came.

  Rowen went to the window. People were here in Thyra. She found that hard to believe, but she could not erase that hard look she had seen on Valin’s face. Valin was not happy with them. So they must exist. And if she found them, maybe she would find her purpose for being here. Perhaps it was to save these people, and not kill the Shadonae.

  She liked that idea better, although how in all the Lands she would do that, she had no idea. But it was something to go on.

  Chapter

  14

  It was a strange sight, a fortress in the middle of Thyra. The fortress loomed before Rowen, tall, cold, and impenetrable. A high wall surrounded the structure with only a double gate in the front. Weeds grew along the wall and in the corners. Past the gates was a courtyard, a mud-filled pit with puddles of water. Rain drizzled down, darkening the mud and sending ripples across the water.

  Past the mucky
courtyard was the fortress itself. Three stories high, with battlements and arrow slits along the top. An iron door stood in the front, solid and thick.

  Rowen stood in the rain, just on the edge of the outer wall. Her hair fell in wet tendrils around her face and water ran the contours of her cheeks. She pulled the grey wrap tighter around her, clutching it at her neck to keep the rain out.

  It appeared the city of Thyra had grown up around the fortress, swallowing this ancient place of protection until it was no longer needed. Until now. A torch burned to the side of the iron door and hundreds of footprints were scattered across the mud.

  This had to be where the humans were. But were they locked up? Or were they like the herald, human in body but not in mind.

  As if in answer, a man came walking around the corner.

  Rowen stepped back and around the wall. After a second, she glanced back.

  The man came to a stop beside the iron door. He stood there, the rain drizzling down on his body, his hands down by his sides. His face was hidden beneath a metal helm with a long metal piece that covered his nose, leaving his eyes and chin exposed. A faded yellow tabard covered his chainmail vest and his boots were covered in mud.

  Rowen watched him, squinting in the rain. She was too far away to see his eyes, to see if they blinked or if he was simply a shell of a man.

  She held still, searching inside for that core heat that lay deep within. She may not be able to access her mark, but she could still feel the moods around her. Her power slowly stirred, like an ember being breathed upon. It grew inside her until she warmed with its heat.

  Rowen concentrated on the man. Go there.

  Her power reached out and touched the man—

  And rebounded on her in a wave of invisible flame.

  Rowen staggered against the side of the wall and gripped the wrap with her chained hand. Her truthsaying power came roaring to life. The fire burned its way through her chest and down her arm to her palm. But there it stopped, blocked by her metal glove, a pulsing ball of heat.