Braid of Sand Page 11

  He ran his hand over the stubble growing across his jaw. This was Naiara’s realm, and she’d made it clear over the years that she was no friend to him. He couldn’t afford to leave himself so vulnerable again.

  Raziela’s soft breathing whistled in and out of her nose. He allowed himself the luxury of studying her.

  The despair that had consumed his world hadn’t touched her here. Innocence wasn’t something he was used to. Neither was seeing someone lie so calm and trusting beside him, as if they weren’t scared and disgusted by the scar on his arm or the things he’d been paid to do.

  He needed information. About her, about this place, about how he’d gotten there... It would be easy to convince her to share her secrets. If she could fall asleep with him sitting behind her, on some level she’d already decided to lower her guards. Whether the offer stood while she was awake was another matter.

  Without his past between them that shouldn’t be too hard. He could be whoever he wanted to be around her. The Shadow Striker didn’t have to exist here.

  Some of the tension in his chest unraveled. He could just Castien here. There was no reason for her to find out what kind of monster he really was.

  For all its massive length, her hair wasn’t particularly thick. He parted it into two equal parts and set to work on it again. He recalled the way she’d twisted it back on both sides of her face. There was something soothing in it, a task that had nothing to do with inflicting pain or fear. His mind still reeled with the horror of what had been done to her.

  No wonder she spoke of mortals as though she wasn’t one of them.

  She thought she wasn’t a prisoner? Daughters of Light, that’s what they used to call the priestesses, and in her naivety this girl believed she was a child of Naiara. She took pride in it, convinced herself she served some greater purpose, as if a creature who controlled the winds, rain, and earth needed help from a mere girl. He couldn’t decide whether to be angry at her stupidity, or pity her for it.

  Raziela Ardelean. Hagan Ardelean’s daughter.

  He recalled the young girl he’d glimpsed a lifetime ago when she and her father would walk the docks hand in hand to meet new shipments of cattle when they came in. Lord Ardelean had been a well-respected man before the hurricane—an unprecedented storm—ravaged their shores. It flooded the fields along the coast, sank every boat in the harbor, and washed away farmsteads and livestock over the course of one day. Wealthy men were bankrupt overnight—Lord Ardelean among them.

  Knowing what he knew now, Castien realized it was inevitable Lord Ardelean became a target. Like his daughter, he was naive, privileged, and too open-minded for his own good. Eager for new ideas, he had a mind that molded like clay in the right pair of hands. When estate duties didn’t keep him busy, he made the mistake of attending the lectures held by the philosophers and charismatic scientists. GrainGro was just another product in a long line cranked out by SIAR Lab technicians too deluded by their own intelligence to realize there would be consequences for trying to manufacture the powers of the Goddess in a lab.

  Castien paused to pinch his temple, as if the pressure could force the long-buried memories of those days closer to the surface.

  He’d been carving a path up the brutal ranks within the Academy, but he recalled the frenzy that had crackled in the air like static as new products, pills, and procedures were announced almost daily to wrest control of their lives away from Naiara—or so they thought.

  As if to prove just how little of their world they controlled, the storm came surging in off the sea without warning, stirring up a tidal wave that washed away every living thing or standing structure along the Eastern Coast. That should’ve been enough to wake people to the truth of their place in the universe. Apparently not. Where faith was a fragile flower that required constant care, doubt sank in its roots like an invasive weed, and no matter how many attempts were made to get rid off it, once it was in it kept coming back.

  Castien combined the two sections of hair as if he was creating a rope. His knuckle grazed the metal of her gorget. He found himself gritting his teeth until his jaw ached.

  He’d been fifteen the day the Temple fell. Raziela couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.

  The knife tucked down the back of his boot called to him. Cutting all that weight would be doing her a favor.

  He took in the sumptuous furnishings that decorated her room. All this luxury, and for what? Was she Naiara’s idea of a pet? Did caring for the girl ease the goddess’s conscience for the millions of people she’d left to starve?

  And the girl knew nothing about any of that suffering? Was it kinder to leave her in ignorance, or did she deserve to know what was really going on?

  For a hundred years she’d lived in this strange realm convinced that her solitary confinement was for the good of Phalyra. If he could have stood face to face with the Goddess he’d have wrung her neck with the braid he was weaving with his hands.

  In his anger, he tugged a little too hard. Raziela moaned and gave her head a little shake. Castien envied the leisurely time it took her to rouse, as if she’d never woken up with the fear of death hanging over her.

  He waited for her to remember he was there. How odd it must be to wake up next to a stranger after never speaking to another person for a hundred years. Flaming sails! He couldn’t get over the amount of time she’d been locked away. And he wasn’t the most reassuring person to find herself trapped here with. The scars and muscles he used to warn others to stay away were probably disconcerting to someone as innocent and sheltered as her.

  He watched her closely. Though she pretended not to be concerned by his presence, he heard her small intake of breath before she scooted away under the pretense of stretching in the morning sunlight.

  A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth the moment she slid her hand to the side of her neck only to come up against the polished metal of her gorget. Still, she twisted her head this way and that, trying to relieve the inevitable crick in her neck.

  “What do you intend to do now that you’re here?” she asked, surprising a chuckle out of him with her frankness. He supposed he shouldn’t have been shocked. All by herself, why would she ever need the art of beating around the bush? Considering who and what her companions were around the Tower, he was amazed she still remembered how to speak at all.

  “This may come as some surprise to you, but I’d like to stay here for a while. This is a paradise compared to what I’m used to.”

  She looked over her shoulder, though there was still stiffness in the way she turned her head.

  “I recall Phalyra. It was not so different from this.”

  “What you recall and where I live are two very different places. Your goddess was not pleased with the men who tried to ransack her temple. While you were spirited away for your own protection and the protection of her secrets, we were left to face her vengeance.”

  Her brows drew together, almost believing him but not able to accept that the goddess she served could be as spiteful as the one he described.

  “Are you a man of your word?”

  Castien wasn’t sure if she realized that she wound her fingers through her hair when she asked it. Those unbelievably long locks were the embodiment of her trustworthiness. Still, the question made him want to laugh.

  “And how would you expect me to answer if I were not?”

  Faint color tinged her cheeks, and a twinkle came into her eyes as she acknowledged the ridiculousness of the question. But she didn’t look away.

  “There are secrets here, secrets I have given decades of my life to protect. I would be glad of your company, but I will hunt you down with all the powers of the Goddess behind me should you betray me—or her.”

  The threat slid by him. That was expected. It was the first part that caught his attention. ‘I would be glad of the company.’ The eagerness that opened in her brown eyes when she said it staggered him. A hundred years! He couldn’t work his mind around
it. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone who’d lived for a hundred years—not since the scourge that soured every inch of the earth. His great grandfather had died in his late seventies, but that was the oldest person he’d ever known.

  “If you don’t mind my company, then I would be glad for a little stretch of peace.”

  To his surprise, she laughed.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed if you think I’m just going to let you lounge about up here while I take care of the Temple and gardens. I—what’s the matter?”

  At the mention of the gardens his features drew tight. Gardens. While he’d eaten at her table the night before, he’d been too stunned by the food to think about where it came from. She had gardens—with fruit trees!

  12.

  The moment she mentioned the gardens, something his face changed. He looked like a wolf, and her fingers itched for a dagger. Then, just as quickly, he relaxed and became himself again. Careful, she warned herself. She knew next to nothing about him. It was dangerous to believe that the side of him she preferred was his real face. The scars and burns on his skin should have been warning enough, but instead, those marks of his past trials fascinated her.

  “I’m warning you, it won’t be easy work. We’ll need a good breakfast first.”

  There it was again, though less pronounced than before. At the mention of food he looked the way a drowning man might look toward land, but she allowed herself a moment to take in his broad shoulders and knew that a man of his build could not remain so fit without a healthy diet.

  “What’s on the menu this morning?”

  “After last night, I believe I owe you a plate of fish. Would you like to join me while I catch some?” The question slipped out before she thought about it. She didn’t mean to sound eager, but she had never had a chance to show off her home to anyone before. Perhaps, if he spent enough time here, he would come to respect the Great Mother the way she did.

  He rolled back onto his heels and stood in a quick unfurling that had him looming over her again. She scrambled up with far less grace, unnerved by the height difference. By the Goddess, the man must have been over six feet tall!

  Thanks to a night spent in front of the fire, her neck felt cocked to one side. She’d grown so used to the constant strain in her neck and spine that she barely acknowledged the discomfort anymore, but this was a different kind of pain.

  The way he moved set her teeth on edge—as if he was supremely confident that anything that happened he could handle on his own. Not even the misadventure with Gursel had shaken his composure. And she couldn’t even say that he had been frightened then, just at a severe disadvantage.

  Swinging away, she went to her trunk to pull out a peach day dress. She tossed it over the end of her bed and unclipped her gorget with one hand. Pain flared from the crick in her neck the moment the metal sprang loose. Wincing, she slid the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  He had backed against the opposite wall, distrust stamped across his face.

  Heat worked its way into her face. Humiliation prickled across her scalp.

  The last time she’d shared a chamber it was with the other young girls pledged to serve the Goddess. They’d bathed, dressed, and slept in the same room with no concerns about modesty between them. But she wasn’t an eight year old girl any more. More importantly, neither was he.

  “I...I was just changing into fresh clothes.” She hated the tremble of mortification she couldn’t keep out of her voice. “I suppose, you must want to change too. I doubt I have anything that will fit you, but you’re welcome to look through my things if you want.”

  Words just kept spilling out of her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to make them stop.

  His expression was unfathomable as he searched her face. Whatever he was looking for he didn’t find it. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I’ll wait on the stairs.” Three long strides carried him across the room. The door closed behind him with a swift snap.

  Raziela’s hands shook she was so mortified.

  When she emerged fully dressed a short time later, he was sitting on the top step with his back to the door. They avoided looking at each other as she led him down to the first floor. Rather than take the door to the Temple, she turned left into the closet where all her gardening supplies were stored. Tucked in the back was her fishing pole. It was a long limb she’d picked up after one of Mazin’s fits. It was sturdy yet supple enough to curve and bend with the weight of a fish. Tied around the top was a line of string woven by the dryads, and her hook was another gift from Gursel. As he seemed just as eager to forget the incident in her room as she was, Raziela felt some of her equilibrium return.

  The sky was unusually overcast. Strong winds plastered her skirt against her body. Hopefully, Mazin wasn’t on the verge of another tantrum. She’d just cleared the branches knocked into the courtyard from the last one.

  Castien said nothing as he shadowed her steps across the pebbled grounds. The forest was just beyond the main garden wall. Her favorite fishing spot was the wide river that ran beneath the willows. She preferred to climb onto one of the branches hanging out over the water and let her legs dangle on either side as she waited for the fish to bite.

  When they stepped into the shade of the trees, Castien frowned up at the canopy.

  A branch near his shoulder shifted, and Lutea lifted her twiggy head. Raziela waved frantically at her to be still. The dryad froze, melding back into the branches again. The outline of her was still visible, but only someone used to dealing with tree spirits would guess she was anything other than an unusual pattern of lichen and bark.

  Relief whistled out between Raziela’s lips. Though they lacked the jagged rows of teeth Gursel had, in their own twiggy way the dryads were just as disconcerting to look at. She doubted Castien would react much better to them than he had to Gursel.

  “It’s so green here.”

  He swallowed audibly, still inspecting the canopy. Quickly, Raziela turned away from the spot where Lutea was hiding. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that the beauty of the place was owed to the generosity of the Goddess. Instead, she said, “You said you wanted peace. I find it very peaceful here.” Sometimes too peaceful, but she kept that to herself.

  Giving him space to collect his thoughts, she moved on to her favorite willow whose boughs reached out over the river. She had just gathered her skirts up between her legs when she remembered his reaction back in her bedchamber. Blushing fiercely, she dropped the fabric and furrowed her brow. Maybe she could make it out there some other way.

  Living with nymphs, zephyrs, and satyrs for company—none of which wore clothes—she’d never developed a sense of modesty, but at one time in her life there had been rules. Even more disconcerting, she had the feeling that the rules for her eight-year-old self weren’t the same for the woman she was now.

  “I can lift you up if you need help,” he said unexpectedly from behind her. Raziela blushed even redder. Could he guess what was running through her mind? How mortifying!

  “Thank you, but I don’t need any help, it’s just...” the heat in her face grew, but she saw no other option. “It just occurred to me that climbing trees might not be appropriate. The High Priestess, Farhana, who ran the Temple when I was first initiated used to scold the older girls for dancing past midnight and lifting their skirts on festival nights. I don’t...that is...,” She stammered into silence. If he made fun of her she vowed she would stick her fishing pole through his eye.

  He said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. She could feel the amusement rolling off him again. It made her furious with herself for confiding in him. Why should she care if he was scandalized? He’d done worse things than flash an unseemly amount of skin, she was sure.

  Cutting him off before he could form a response, she hiked up her skirts and climbed as nimbly as she could out onto the low-hanging limb. He followed, slow and
agile as a panther.

  “Why do you care what’s appropriate or not?” He waited until he’d swung himself up into the tree and settled beside her. The branch wobbled under their combined weight. Raziela untied the line from the pole, careful not to look at him. Now that the moment was behind them she’d rather forget it than try to explain. If she told him, it would make her look even more foolish.

  The longer she stayed silent, the more charged the air between them grew. If she didn’t say something she felt the whole forest might detonate.

  She wrapped her fist around her fishing pole like it was the hilt of her sword.

  “I don’t remember the way things are done. I know there are rules, but I’ve forgotten them.” Her fingers fumbled trying to fix a piece of bait to her hook.

  He went quiet again, and she was sure it was because he was fighting to hold in his laughter. If he so much as made a sound, she would push him off the limb into the water.

  “Are you worried you’ll do something wrong, or are you afraid I’ll think less of you?”

  She hadn’t given it that much thought, but as she dropped her line into the water with a little plop, she turned the question over in her head.

  “If I behave like a wild thing or a child then you will treat me like one. You already look down on me for my faith in the Great Mother. I would rather not give you a reason to think even less of me than you already do.” Her cheeks were practically on fire as she forced the words out. To his credit, he kept his eyes on the water.

  “I don’t look down on you,” he said finally. Raziela wanted to scoff, but he smirked and tilted his head to shoot her a sideways look.

  “I might pity you a little, but if I’m honest, I envy you more than anything.”

  He hollowed his cheeks, as if he hated admitting that even to himself. Avoiding her gaze, he reached up and tore off a long leaf to worry between his hands. That he revealed that small failing to her seemed to put them on more equal ground. Raziela’s mind settled, and she looked up at the branches.