Braid of Sand Read online

  “You think that’s what this summons is about? Some sign from the Goddess?”

  Osee slid his eyes to the burn down Castien’s arm.

  “If there’s anyone Herodes expects to fear her return more than he does, it’s you.”

  Castien rolled his shoulders and tried to ignore the ripple of fear at the back of his mind.

  Thick, marble columns supported an enormous frieze above the Palace entrance. Through the center of the gamble depicting nymphs and sea maidens a crack stabbed up like a black lightning bolt. The ugly mark gave the facade an unsettling appearance, as if one strong wind could shift the slabs of stone and send the whole structure crashing to the ground. Every architect in the city had been to inspect it. They all assured the King it was in no danger of falling, provided another earthquake didn’t shake the land.

  The two mercenaries entered the first courtyard. Castien turned down the long colonnade surrounding the dried up fountain of sculpted sea maidens and leaping dolphins. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen water flowing across their marble fins.

  A flock of people clustered outside the receiving room. Some stood on tiptoe as if they were trying to see a spectacle in the local arena. Castien and Osee exchanged wary glances before Osee stepped into the shadow of a column where he could observe without drawing attention to himself. Castien strode toward the archway.

  A serving woman in a chartreuse ruffled blouse saw him first. She squeaked and jumped out of his way. Her hands clutched her midriff, as if he would try to gut her there in front of everyone. Castien strode by her as though she didn’t exist.

  “Tell us again, woman,” a deep voice barked out. “Where did you find it?”

  Castien looked over the heads of the assembled courtiers to the open space before the throne where a woman with sun-blackened skin knelt on her hands and knees. Her hair was wrapped in a bright orange scarf and mismatched sea shells dangled from her ears. Though she trembled visibly, she gave a huff of impatience before answering.

  “It’s like I told you, Your Majesty. I found it on my way to the docks...by the Ruins. The basket was sitting there plain as day on the spot where the holy altar once stood.”

  A tall young man stood between her and the throne. Prince Kephas, King Herodes’ oldest son. His black hair was plaited into dozens of finger-thick braids tied back into a long ponytail down his back. While he wore a thick purple cape around his shoulders, the cut of his clothing was as fitted as Castien’s—though his were woven from velvet expensive enough to beggar an entire town.

  Castien’s attention fastened on him with distaste.

  Kephas’ lip curled as he looked down his nose at the prostrate woman. Stroking his tightly-trimmed beard, he turned to the man seated on the golden throne.

  If anyone had embraced the ridiculous fashion of wrapping themselves in layers, it was King Herodes himself. Once a man of imposing stature, famine and the sedentary lifestyle that came from constant council meetings had taken their toll.

  His mantle was even more elaborate than his son’s, and his dark face glistened despite the two servants kneeling on either side of his throne fanning him with paper fans. Liver spots dotted his skin.

  “You lie, woman.” Herodes gripped the ends of his chair that were molded into the likenesses of bulls. “Either that, or you are a fool to have fallen for what is clearly a plot to undermine this regime.”

  The woman opened her mouth to plead her innocence, but Kephas held up a hand while tilting his head with a considering lift of his brow.

  “It is ten years to the day since the Temple fell. Could it be a coincidence?”

  “A conspiracy more like.” Herodes hauled himself to his feet and advanced on the woman. “You think I don’t know about the secret meetings, the whispers and calls for the old ways to return? You simple cowards, desperate to hide behind the skirts of your cow-eyed goddess—and for what? So she can rob us of the very sustenance that keeps us alive? So she can burn our fields and turn the seas against us so we limp on like chastised children for daring to set foot inside her precious temple? Bah!”

  He spat on the ground, missing her right hand by inches.

  Castien clenched his fist. His palm itched for a weapon.

  A sudden movement to his left caught his attention. Without turning his head, he watched a gray-haired man lean forward to cover his mouth. A flicker of recognition tugging at the back of his memory. He frowned. More than likely, the man was a former client. Still... Why did he seem more affected than anyone else by what was going on?

  At the King’s blasphemous words, the old woman pressed her forehead into the floor, mumbling prayers. Herodes’ eyes flashed and he swooped down to catch the neck of her robes and haul her to her feet.

  “You dare pray to that witch while you stand before me?”

  Realizing her mistake, the woman pinched her full lips and dropped her eyes in submission. Kephas folded his arms and took a slow, dramatic step forward. The King swung away from the woman and dropped heavily back onto his throne.

  “I too find it hard to believe this could be the work of a goddess, but even if it was done by conspirators these greens are very real. If someone has been growing them under our very noses without contributing to the communal fund, they must be found and brought to answer for their selfishness.”

  Castien took a step to the right so he had a clear view of the old woman wrapped in fraying shawls standing beside a large basket brimming with vivid, green leaves.

  “You did well to bring this to our attention,” Kephas said, abandoning the cold authority of only a moment before. He fished into his pocket for a silver coin.

  “Take this as compensation for the time you missed down at the docks. That is all. You may go.”

  He tossed the coin at her feet. She dove on it like a seagull after a bread crumb.

  Kephas turned to the King, ready to forget she existed at all, but she straightened with some dignity once the precious coin was tucked in one of the pockets of her skirts.

  “Excuse me, your lordship, but as I was the one that found them, shouldn’t I get at least a stalk or two? It’s been an age since I had a salad. My grandma had a recipe... I’d die happy in my bed tonight for the excuse to taste her dressing again.”

  King Herodes swelled at the woman’s audacity, but Kephas laid a reassuring hand on his father’s arm. Condescension dripped from his smile.

  “Yes, I suppose you may have one stem for your honesty. Here.” He plucked a single leaf resting near the top and held it out to her. Her lips pinched at the meager offering next to the overflowing basket on the ground. Realizing that it was all she would get, she snatched it with the same haste she’d snapped up the coin and executed a stiff, ungainly bow.

  “Your Highness is too gracious,” she managed to mutter with a straight face before stomping flat-footed up the aisle between the rows of benches. She was so angry she bumped into Castien’s scarred arm without noticing what she’d done. He stepped aside to let her pass, but the movement of his large frame drew the eyes of the King. Herodes stiffened and sat a little straighter on his throne.

  “Ah! There you are.” King Herodes wiped at the perspiration dotted across his forehead. “What do you make of this, then?”

  Every head in the room swiveled to where Castien stood. His skin crawled as a wave of fear and hatred swept a chill through the air.

  Whispers flew and eyes darted between him and the King. He arched a warning eyebrow at those nearest him and folded his arms as if he didn’t care what they thought.

  Kephas drew aside the ends of his cape to reveal the basket brimming with leaves. Castien kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced trying to determine where such rich produce could have grown.

  His skin prickled under their stares as they waited for him to say something. He had no choice but to approach the throne. It put him on edge. Leaving the wall exposed his back, and more than a few of his enemies were scattered throughout the room.
But bold independence had been weeded out of Herodes’ court as Phalyra declined, so he doubted any of them would make an open move against him in full view of the King.

  The basket was even larger than he’d first thought. It was woven out of willow and stood nearly to his knee. It was filled to the brim with green leaves and spiky purple flowers.

  “Rampion. Interesting.”

  Kephas’ chin came up and he exchanged a sharp look with his father.

  “Could Ardelean be behind this?”

  Herodes shook his head, pinching his brow as if the act of thinking made his head hurt. The courtiers whispered again. Castien kept his back to them, but that nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered a little bit louder. Then it clicked into place. He turned.

  The gray-haired man shrank back from his gaze as if he’d been waiting to be singled out. His eyes pleaded for mercy, but Castien had none to give.

  He crooked his finger.

  “Come here.”

  Herodes and Kephas craned their necks to see who he was talking to. Their faces hardened when they saw the shrinking man sidle down the row and make his way up the aisle, wringing his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to walk past Castien, so he dropped his eyes to the floor and hung back.

  “Your Majesty,” he whispered.

  “Lord Ardelean.” King Herodes looked down his nose.

  “H-how can I be of service?”

  “Do you recognize those leaves?” Castien kept his voice soft, but the man flinched as if he’d shouted. He licked his lips and tried not to look directly at the basket.

  “It’s as you said...Sir,” he stumbled over what to call Castien to his face. “Those are rampion leaves.”

  “Your family has a history with that plant, don’t they?”

  “That was a long time ago.” His hands shook so badly he hid them behind his back.

  “Almost twenty years,” Kephas said silkily. “That’s when you nearly plunged this world into ruin with your foolishness.”

  “I-I paid my price, Milord.” Hagan Ardelean cringed as Kephas made his way toward him with slow purposeful strides. Castien was surprised by the instinct that urged him to shift his weight until he stood between the two men. Offering his protection wasn’t an impulse that came naturally to him.

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you. You handed over your only child to suffer the wrath of the Goddess in your place. How noble of you.”

  Lord Ardelean whimpered. Castien frowned.

  “It was the price she demanded. I did it for the good of the kingdom, Milord. We were starving. It was in her best interests as well.”

  “So you say, but then ten years ago, raiders led an attack on the Temple. Every last priestess was slain—including the child you gave up to save your skin. So, you’ll have to forgive me for questioning whether the plant that sealed her fate could reappear in such abundance on the anniversary of her death by a mere coincidence.”

  Castien didn’t think Lord Ardelean had an ounce of spine left in him, but he was pleasantly surprised when the man licked his lips and replied, “To what end, Milord? What could I hope to gain by this?”

  “He’s right,” Herodes said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He doesn’t have the means to accomplish something like this—though I wouldn’t rule out one of his sympathizers.” He waved for his attendants to increase their fanning efforts. With Phalyra’s energy and fuel resources nearly depleted, Herodes had been forced to issue a decree at the beginning of summer that everything left was to be funneled into SIAR Labs to give the scientists everything they needed to keep their society on its legs. Though couched in language promoting discipline and resilience, it was a sign of Phalyra’s dire straits that even the King had to do without air conditioning.

  Castien watched with cold amusement as Herodes pulled on his sweat-stained velvet collar.

  “Yes, his brand of pathetic does inspire pity,” Kephas growled. Castien rolled his shoulders in warning. Kephas had always rubbed him the wrong way.

  “He faced the Goddess’s wrath and when the time came to pay the price he relinquished his child without a fight. As I recall, someone else ordered the siege on the High Temple and then hid in his palace when he realized the Goddess knew what he’d done.”

  King Herodes slammed his fist on one of the carved bulls.

  “That smacks of treason. You may have survived Naiara’s judgment, but test my patience and we’ll see how you fare against my dungeon master.”

  Arching a sardonic brow, Castien folded his arms and looked down his nose.

  “Ignore him,” Kephas said in nasal tones as he dropped his gaze to the scar on Castien’s arm. “Can you blame him for being superstitious? All that lightning must have scrambled his common sense. He’s only repeating the fairy tales whispered by the rest of the common folk. No amount of documentation circulated by SIAR Labs will convince the lowest of them that the destruction of the High Temple was anything other than a vengeful deity. They’ll never see the timing was merely convenient and earthquakes are part of the natural order. The fools who built the Temple had no way of knowing they built it on top of a fault line.”

  The members of the court shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

  “I had no idea you were such a geology scholar, Kephas. Convenient. Is that how you account for the burn on my arm, oh Enlightened One?”

  “Your sword acted as a lightning rod and you had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Kephas didn’t look at him as he spoke, aware of the smirk twisting Castien’s mouth. Slowly, Castien tipped his head back to look toward the ceiling which showed the inside of the bronze dome with a tall spire situated on top.

  “Now who’s the one believing in fairy tales? All the lightning rods in Phalyra couldn’t channel that much fire from the sky.”

  Kephas’ jaw worked back and forth, but he kept silent. He was too proud to retract his ludicrous theory, but it didn’t matter. They both knew he was wrong. The court knew it too, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

  “Perhaps it is a message?” Lazarus, the chief adviser to the King, raised his hand and stood up from his seat in the front row. “As you pointed out, this is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.”

  At the word ‘massacre’ Herodes eyes jumped to Castien as if sacking the Temple had been his idea.

  “And what message would that be?”

  “If it came from the Goddess—assuming such an entity exists—perhaps it means our suffering is over.” Lazarus put forth the theory with a careful dollop of hope.

  “Doubtful,” Castien spoke before the King could bark out another denial of Naiara’s existence. “I was there when the Temple came down. Believe me, ten years is nowhere near long enough to pay for the things we did.”

  “You were a boy. What would you know of such things? They were simple souls clinging to childish fantasies. They died from sheer foolishness. Had they turned over the food from their garden no lives would have been lost.”

  At that, Castien let his mask of indifference slip. His shoulders stretched as he drew himself up to his full height.

  “Is that how you twisted the story? Half those priestesses were barely older than sixteen—some were as young as six or seven. That there was any bloodshed at all is a travesty that should make anyone involved hang their head.”

  “Touching words from a man whose conscience is tied to the gold in his pocket.” Kephas sneered. Flames smoldered in Castien’s eyes as he met Kephas’ stare.

  “After what we did to Naiara’s temple, I’m not surprised she left us all to burn. Believe me, if this miracle is the work of some well-meaning benefactor, it’s not Naiara. On that, I’m prepared to stake my sword.”

  That was no idle declaration. Ever since Naiara dropped sea monsters into Sestrand Harbor cutting off trade routes, importing metals had become virtually impossible. Therefore, what few weapons remained were treasured. With ammunition for firearms rarer and more valuable than gold, swords, knives
, and daggers had been unearthed from family tombs to arm Herodes’ soldiers. There were annual competitions to see who could create the most effective weapons with the dwindling resources on hand. Each year the results grew more and more primitive, with the most recent winner having scraped by with a spear made from a broom handle and a reformed shovel-head.

  “I want you to find out where this came from.” The King spoke in an imperious voice. “If there’s more, you are to seize it, and if by chance it is that witch some call a goddess, I will give a quarter of the gold in my treasury for you to finish what we started and make sure this time she is the one who burns.”

  Castien laid a hand against his heart in mock dismay.

  “Only a quarter?”

  “Half!” the King said with an impatient wave of his hand. “There are no such things as gods and goddesses. If I am wrong, take it all and drive her from our world.”

  Kephas’ head snapped around, but Castien let out a derisive snort.

  “Don’t worry about your inheritance, Prince. Should he have cause to pay, he is sending me against a goddess who can wipe what remains of the human race off the face of the earth with a snap of her fingers.”

  “For a man with your reputation, I didn’t peg you as a superstitious fool.”

  “I survive by not ruling out possibilities, no matter how improbable.” Castien shrugged. “As for the assignment, it seems straightforward enough. Why not send your Academy graduates to deal with it? It places far less burden on your wallet.”

  He brushed at a rust-colored grease stain on his jerkin—it looked enough like blood that it hadn’t bothered him when it never came out. The King bristled.

  “This needs to be dealt with swiftly.” Herodes drove his fist into the palm of his other hand as if he could squash out the threat to his beliefs. “I won’t have the streets swimming with lies and nonsense.”

  “Yet you let the woman live.”

  “I’m not a villain. I’m not going to execute innocent people without cause.”