Haelo Rising, page 18
Massáude flicked his wrist at the Forçadoro beside Hector. “Take her to a cell. Get them all away from me.” Before I start killing for fun.
Cora stood, her cheek still red, a cut welting below her eye. A scrap of ripped silk hung from her elegant dress and the diamonds on her ears glistened like flagrant, unwise beacons. “Massáude.” She straightened to her full height. “Tell me what else you want. There is still time.”
“Time for what, Your Highness?” He lilted her title in a sadistic way.
“As the Galana, I can take care of you and your people.” I felt Massáude’s anger build, a dangerous fire Cora had no idea she stoked. “This is not how you find peace. Your people have been ignored for centuries, and I will change that.”
“So you’ve said. You think after what you’ve already done, your husband will agree?”
With a wince, Cora swallowed. “He will understand.”
“No.” Massáude smiled. “He won’t. But no matter. I’m afraid you have assumed a mighty misunderstanding.” For the first time, he lowered himself into the throne. He crossed his legs casually and leaned back. “I don’t want peace.”
Cora’s shocked face glinted with hurt, but then she turned strategic eyes to the Forçadores in the room. “Your people are loyal to you because you promised them peace. I can give you that. Prosperity. A voice.”
Massáude grinned. I could feel it on my own face. “My people are loyal because they have to be. And my Forçadores, I promise you, don’t want peace, either.” I heard the collective chuckles of the mercenaries in the room. Massáude stood once again and stepped down from the dais.
With a steady, powerful gait, he walked past the table holding the bloody, limp body of my grandfather, giving it no notice. On the other side of the table, I recognized the soulless body of Lieutenant Wingo. Death was everywhere.
Massáude stopped at the clustered hostages against the wall and stood face to face with the Galana. Princess Hyacinth stood to intervene, but Raul took her by the arms and held her back. Hyacinth’s aura flared.
I could see the fear in Cora’s eyes, inches away. Massáude’s gravelly voice dropped to a slow warning whisper. “My people want to see your people slaughtered.”
14
The Library
I ripped my senses out from Massáude’s mind. Like a crashing wave, they came barreling back to me at full force, knocking me back into the wall behind me. Chest heaving, I grabbed Dagger’s upper arm with my far hand and pushed him down the narrow secret passage. He went without a fight, probably because a fight could be heard through the walls.
Once we were back at the base of the iron ladder, he broke the silence. “What happened? Are you okay?”
I still couldn’t breathe without gasping for air.
He gently squeezed my hand. I inhaled deeply through my nose, then exhaled a heart-calming blow. Dagger leaned me against the iron ladder. “Something happened, I could sense it,” he said, voice low. “Cora is terrified. Tell me you know his weakness.”
Unthinkingly, I almost let go of Dagger’s hand. He gripped it just before our connection broke and our auras remained safely hidden under his powers. I didn’t know where to start. “Cora—” Not knowing what else to do, I shook my head. “Cora sent supplies to Massáude’s clan against Alcaeus’s wishes. She thought it would stop his aggression. She was only trying to help.”
Dagger swore.
Another deep breath. Another exhale. “And you—” I couldn’t help the sympathetic look I gave him. “You have a cousin. I think Massáude is using him to hurt Maria in retaliation against Karchardeus.”
All the fight in Dagger’s aura temporarily dropped. “A cousin?”
I nodded. “A young boy.”
“Here? In the palace?”
“No. Maria or Karchardeus hid him. But Massáude will torture her, Dagger. He’s a psychopath.”
He gritted his teeth. “And his weakness? Anything?”
My heart sank. “I don’t know.”
In his frustration, Dagger almost let go of our hands. He palmed his head, agitated. “We need to go back. You need to keep sensing.”
My face scrunched. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No. You don’t understand. I was in his head. It was me who slapped Cora, me who threatened a child, me who anticipated the future murder of so many. That's what it felt like. If I go back into that mind, I’ll break.” Another tear slipped past my lashes.
The surprise on his face made me feel better, like he hadn’t just sent me into Massáude’s mind knowing what it would do to me. His shoulders deflated, a movement so minute I almost missed it. “I didn’t realize.” He searched my eyes. “Are you . . . okay? Do you still feel his mind?”
I shook my head. But the truth was, I only had to drop my guard for a second and I’d remember what it felt like to be him. I wasn’t okay.
Dagger looked around, searching the dark, musty air for some sort of plan. “Is Cora safe? I can sense her moving with four Forçadores toward the Krypteia quarters.”
“For now. Massáude ordered her to the dungeons.”
Our hands felt gritty, sweaty. The dim light on his chest jerked with his movements.
“Did he reveal his plan?”
I thought through everything I’d sensed. “He wants the monarchy and Pankyra’s population destroyed. Something about the island.”
“He blocked off the exit. Everyone is trapped in here.”
“And he has the power to rip apart stone.”
A heavy silence fell between us as we pondered exactly what that meant. “We need to tell Zeta,” I said.
“We should go for Cora while we can. Once they lock her in a cell, it will be harder.”
“Cora isn’t the only hostage. We can’t free them all right now. Not with just the two of us.”
Dagger looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. I reached for the radio on the side of his leg, sensed our surroundings for any possible nearby candeons, and finding this part of the palace deserted, pressed the talk button. “Zeta? You out there?”
We waited, but nothing. “Zeta,” I said again. “Report.”
Still nothing.
“She’s turned off her radio,” Dagger explained, still anxious to move forward. “She can’t talk now. She could be underwater or too close to Forçadores.”
“Or caught.”
“Zeta doesn’t get caught.”
I narrowed my eyes, judging him. “You are not the soldier you used to be.”
He jerked back, startled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Zeta could be caught. Zeta could be dead! There are a lot of things that could have gone wrong, and you’re too . . . too muscle-headed to even consider the thought. You have a blatant disregard for caution. You’ve tossed the whole concept of careful preparation out the window. The only thing you care about is screwing over Massáude. At any cost.”
His aura seethed. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t be focused on rescuing Cora, and he’d be dead already.”
“Yeah? And what’s stopped you?”
“You!”
I jolted. “Me?”
“Yes. You. If I hadn’t been so consumed with saving you when the Forçadores breached the palace, I would have met Massáude and ended this.”
I scrunched my face in frustration and anguish and anger and every other emotion that now boiled over in my chest. I put my free hand to my burning eyes.
After a moment, he released a heavy sigh. The agitation in his aura melted. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “I hate this tension between us.”
“Yeah, me too.” I sniffed. The rift between us would ruin this mission if we let it. “Can we let it go?” I gave him my eyes, pleading.
His shoulders dropped, and though the gesture was terribly slight, it seemed as if the world around him shifted. His voice caught. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, allowing myself a second to study the lines of his face as they softened. “Let’s call Zeta again.”
He pulled out the radio. “Zeta, copy?”
I counted. At seven, her voice crackled through the speaker. “Edó.”
We both sighed in relief. “We have news,” Dagger spoke into the receiver.
A few seconds, then Zeta’s “Me too. Meet me at the place where I punched you in the face.” A pause. “The second time.”
My eyes shot to Dagger’s. “Where did she punch you the second time?”
“In the Empirical Library,” Dagger whispered.
“Where did she punch you the first time?”
“Atlantis.” He smirked. “Right after I introduced myself.” He went back to the radio. “One hour.”
“Yes, sir. Out.”
Dagger tucked the radio back into the strap at his leg. “We’ve got to move.”
I looked to our still-joined hands, then to the old iron bars of the ladder in front of us. “When you’re out on missions, it’s the little things, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Shooting bad guys and dressing critical injuries and breaching palaces and . . . and death”—my heart winced—“risk comes naturally to you. But this crap? Climbing ladders with one hand? It’s gotta be the stupid little stuff that drives you crazy.” The pissy humor was an act. I knew it. Dagger knew it. But it was the only mask I had to avoid the tumult of grief that was threatening to spill over.
Dagger gestured up the ladder.
“Yes, sir.”
We managed to sneak our way to a palace balcony, jump to the private courtyard below, and scale the palace wall. Once outside the walls, we slipped past the gates and the patrolling Forçadores behind them.
We kept to the shadows against the cave wall as much as we could, using the dark surface to camouflage our charcoal dive suits. We eventually came around to the side of the Cathedral, where just two days before, Griffin and I had sealed our fates in front of the entire city as the future rulers of the Candeon Empire.
What did that city think now?
The Cathedral’s old world façade and intricate stained glass were shrouded in the sickly glow of the bioluminescence above. I shivered. Once a beautiful memorial, it now looked like a victim to the weakening green light. “I thought we were going to the Empirical Library.”
“We are,” Dagger said. “It’s under the Cathedral.”
I scanned the dark windows of the buildings around us for any sign that someone might be watching. Dagger led us to the back where the Cathedral’s foundation merged with the cave walls. He ran his hands along the granite of the lower wall.
“How do we get inside?” I whispered.
“Hank discovered hinges here during a pre-wedding security inspection,” he replied. “I think it’s an old bootlegging door.”
I snorted.
Dagger didn’t look amused. He ran his hand along the frame of a mosaic window set above the stone foundation. “Here.” He dug the fingertips of his free right hand into the edge of the panel, making a face.
I intervened. “Let me do it. Smaller fingers.” It took a few attempts, but eventually, I raised the panel just enough for Dagger to grab. He carefully swung it open—hinges squeaking—enough for us both to fit through.
“Galanas first,” he muttered, gesturing to the dark room inside. “Careful, it’s a drop.”
I squeezed his hand tighter so as not to fall, and lowered myself into the room. The floor was inside the Cathedral’s foundation, about five feet down from the bottom lip of the window pane. Dagger, forced to follow close behind, hit the floor seconds after I did.
“Where are we exactly?” I asked, waving back the dust and spiderwebs from around my head.
“The basement of the Cathedral.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. I inhaled and coughed in the swirling dust. This entire city was riddled with tunnels and secret doors. I felt like a rat in a maze. “Where is the library?”
We walked through the cobwebs that draped beneath the stepped, low ceiling of what must have been the underside of the Cathedral’s amphitheater-like main room. At a wooden door, Dagger pulled out his gun to shoot the lock and then stopped when he saw the broken padlock lying in a mangled mess on the floor.
We spilled out into an elegant hallway. The light attached to Dagger’s dive suit shined over floors tiled with white limestone and gold sconces lining the walls. There were doors on our right and left.
“There.” Dagger nodded to the doors near the back of the ancient building.
We moved quickly. At the beautifully carved double doors, Dagger gestured for me to enter first. I pulled, but they didn’t budge.
Dagger scratched the back of his head. “Push.”
“Right.”
I leaned in and pushed the heavy doors open. Just inside was a staircase that descended a handful of steps lower before a room the size of a large high school classroom opened up. Inside, soft candles lit the walls, tables, shelves, books, and parchment scrolls in a welcoming glow.
“Your Highness,” sighed Zeta from where she stood in the middle of the room.
I exhaled, grateful to see her safe and sound. Dagger quickly let go of my hand just as Zeta rushed forward to whack me good-naturedly on the shoulder.
My aura hit me like a crashing wave. I blinked at the tingling sensation as my body got used to it once again.
Dagger leaned down and murmured low in my ear, “We’re surrounded by Pankyran stone, so no one can sense us down here,” then stepped away from me to give Zeta more space.
Zeta checked me over. “No injuries, I see.”
My eyes grew wide. “Were you expecting injuries?” But I got the impression the comment was meant as a subtle jab at her commanding officer. Dagger picked up on it and scowled.
I couldn’t help but take in the sights of the room. The walls and outer shelves were carved out of the island’s glistening stone walls. The tables were antiques—gilded, with intricate scrollwork.
And the books! Both ancient and new, carefully crafted books lined every shelf, many of their spines detailed in gold or silver leaf that flickered with the reflections of the candles. One side of the room had rows and rows of rolled parchment scrolls. Some of them looked as if no one had touched them in a thousand years.
“Who are they?” I asked, tipping my chin to the three men in the back of the room. I now understood why Dagger had been so quick to release my hand the moment we’d stepped into the room.
Two of them, military, stepped closer. The first one was shorter, the second one taller, both with the darker skin of the southern Indian Ocean clans. Zeta gestured to them. “Galana Miriam . . . Sergeant J. Jake and Corporal Eli Wood, from Beta Agema.”
I shook their hands.
They tucked their chins in respect at Colonel Dagger Stravins, but his response was only cursory. His attention was on the third man still sitting at a chair in the back of the room.
“Who is that?” I asked Zeta.
“The royal goldsmith.” Her mouth turned up in a wry grin.
The goldsmith! Our dashed hopes of re-establishing pola communication suddenly didn’t seem so dashed.
Zeta and I followed behind Dagger to where the man—short and barrel-chested with black hair and heavy eyebrows—stood nervously from an upholstered chair. He bowed. “Your Royal Highness,” he said in an unfamiliar accent. He twitched with nerves. “Goldsmith Malik, of the Nile Clan.” He bowed again.
Dagger settled just behind me, though I could tell he was eager to get the formalities over with and question the goldsmith himself.
“Goldsmith Malik.” I took his hand, tossing aside the more traditional noble head nod that I’d been trained to return when bowed to. “I’m glad you’re safe. When pola rings started going cold, we worried for you.”
His eyes glistened. He cleared his throat. “I am fine,” he affirmed in his strange Greek dialect. “I’m relieved that you are safe as well.” He bowed again.
“How did you find him?” Dagger asked Zeta.
“Long story.”
He turned his attention back to Goldsmith Malik. “Do you know why our pola rings have stopped working?”
Malik nodded hastily. “Yes. I think so.”
“And can you fix it?”
“I don’t know. I can try. But I’ll have to get back into my forge.”
“And where is that?”
His voice dropped. “Behind the Fire Room of the palace.”
“Behind?” I asked. “How do you get in?”
“No, we mustn’t go in. We’ll be seen. There are murderers in the palace! I’ve seen what they do.”
“When?” Dagger asked.
Seeing Malik’s cowering agitation, Zeta explained, “He was in the crowd that watched Massáude bring down Pankyra’s gate. He said it was as if the cave itself magically dropped a stone curtain. It crushed the people who were trying to flee.” She gave Malik a sympathetic glance. “His wife was one of them. His apprentice, too. The rock barely missed him. When the crowd rebelled, the Forçadores murdered four more in front of everyone. The city has been hiding in their homes ever since. Everyone is scared to go out.”
“Is that where Zeta found you?” Dagger asked the goldsmith. “Hiding in your home?”
Zeta interjected again. “I was about to blow the piazza fountain as a distraction. He was nearby”—Zeta and Malik shared a look—“about to do something very brave and very stupid at the front gates of the palace. He helped me instead. That gorgeous fire that pulled all those mercenaries out of the palace was thanks to him.”
He blushed under her praise.
“Malik?” I asked. “You said it was as if a magic curtain of stone fell across the Gate?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“No weapon? No . . . loud noises before it happened?”
“No.”
“Was Massáude there?”
At that, his head bobbed. “Yes. It was him. I know it was. He commanded the stone, and it obeyed.”
But how? I thought. The Makole people had power over earth and stone; I’d never heard of a candeon with that kind of ability. Had a fragment of the Makole’s earth power slipped through to Tiberius during the candeon-Makole exchange of magic centuries earlier? Or was this just another instance of rare candeon abilities? Either way, Massáude was a dangerous, dangerous man.
