Braid of Sand Read online

  Her movements were slow as she gathered her fallen sword and offered a quick prayer to Vitales. Too late, she realized she’d forgotten to ask the Great Mother what was causing the tree to die.

  She leaned against the wall waiting for the cogs and wheels to lift the hidden door. When it yawned open, she was greeted by rain falling in pounding sheets that would drench her to the bone the moment she stepped out.

  Raziela sighed. It was just as well. She was due to wash her hair again anyway.

  A gust of wind sent the rain flying sideways. The cold water splattered her long skirts and she glared at the dark clouds. Mazin didn’t need any help from the zephyrs to wreak havoc with his storms, yet Aeris seemed to view them as his personal playtime. It wasn’t the rain that tore off limbs and branches, it was the winds, and lately, Mazin’s storms were becoming more destructive. As she bent her head against the gale and stepping into the driving rain, Raziela couldn’t shake a cold sense of foreboding.

  Living in a world where everything stayed the same, it was impossible not to detect the change in the air.

  6.

  Osee was long gone by the time Castien emerged from the Receiving Hall. No doubt he’d learned what he wanted to know and slunk off home before the King could issue him another mission too. Unlike the rest of them, who’d been driven out of society’s good graces or chosen exile out of defiance, Osee embraced their lifestyle out of a sheer love for the gold it brought.

  A shriek assaulted Castien’s ears as he descended the palace steps. He was prepared to ignore it—he assumed the SIAR Labs employee was performing again. However, when bitter expletives broke up the wail of despair, he couldn’t help but turn to look.

  The old woman from the interrogation was sitting on her heels shaking her fist after a scraggly boy fleeing up the street. Her hands were empty—the boy must have stolen her reward.

  Having seen her reverence for Naiara and the smoldering disdain she bore the King, Castien wondered if there hadn’t been more to her tale than she’d felt compelled to share before. If so, he’d have to hope her fear of his reputation would be enough to get her to talk.

  He bore down on her. What little color she had left in her face fled as she tipped her head back to look at him. Her long fingers twisted in the folds of her skirt, but she met his cold stare with trembling defiance.

  “Come.” He reached for her hand, but she hissed and jerked away.

  “I knew he wouldn’t let me live. If you’re going to kill me you do it right here so everyone will know what your puppet master put you up to.”

  He said nothing, just stared down at her with a look that said he’d have no trouble throwing her over his shoulder if she didn’t do as he said. It was the silence that bothered most people. If he stayed quiet long enough, the weaker ones always started to babble.

  She lasted longer than most, but after a few moments she got stiffly to her feet.

  It was almost funny the way the beggars scuttled to get out of his way and then closed ranks behind him to see what he would do. It was a rare spark of entertainment in their otherwise miserable existence. Either that, or—like the King—they wanted to know more about how and where the woman had discovered the miraculous basket of food.

  Seeing their hungry gazes, it surprised Castien that the boy had been the one to run away with the prize when any of these gaunt figures would have fought him tooth and nail if they knew what she’d been carrying.

  “Your name?” He kept his voice low and even, but she flinched as though he’d brandished a loaded pistol at her.

  “Thetis.” Her eyes jumped to the exposed scar running down his arm, and her hands shook even more. Castien waited until she lifted her gaze back to his face, aware every second of the crowd inching closer.

  “I was there while you spoke to the King. I heard the tale you spun him, but now you’re speaking to me.” He let a growl roughen his tone. “I give you fair warning, I will accept nothing but the truth. Where did you find the rampion?”

  They paused under the bakery sign that was hanging by only one chain instead of two. The windows had all been broken at some point either by thieves after the machinery or bored children with nothing better to do.

  Though she was terrified of him, Thetis’ impatience proved greater. She huffed out a breath that made the stray hairs curling over her forehead flutter.

  “It’s just like I told the King. I was on my way to work when I got it into my head to visit the Temple to pay my respects to the Great Mother. It was just lying there on the ground for anyone to see.”

  “You said you were walking by when you saw it. You never said you were there to pay your respects to the Goddess.”

  While it wasn’t much of an omission, Castien honed in on it like a bloodhound catching a scent. She lifted her arms in a shrug.

  “You think I’d tell that man that there are those of us who still revere the Goddess he hates so much?” Her black eyes jumped to his scar again and she gulped. “That was ten years ago to the day. Things here are worse than ever. We’ve all tried hating her for everything that’s happened. It’s high time someone went to beg her forgiveness and remind her we haven’t all forgotten the old days.”

  “And you think your prayers were answered?”

  Castien kept his face impassive. She thought he was cut from the same cloth as Herodes. Most did. She expected him to rant and rave at any mention of the Goddess, but even if he blamed Naiara for the scorching wasteland she’d made of Phalyra, he knew he’d played his own part in its destruction and therefore, he had no right to complain.

  Thetis lifted her chin.

  “It’s as likely a cause as any other.”

  More likely in fact. No human would have parted with so many fresh, healthy greens, not even to prove a political point. And if it was the work of one of the dissenters, then they’d have stepped forward to claim credit for their work. Unless they wanted it to seem like the work of the Goddess.

  Herodes had ordered the scientists and politicians to wage a smear campaign against her to make anyone who believed in her existence look simple-minded and pathetic. They’d given long-winded speeches explaining away her existence with silly excuses like sunspots, plate tectonics, and changing currents. Believing in a higher power had fallen out of fashion, and anyone caught clinging to the old ways was subjected to ridicule or worse.

  “You believe it’s her, don’t you?” Thetis tilted her head to squint at his face silhouetted against the rising sun. “You believe she’s coming back.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck her chin out toward him, daring him to deny the accusation.

  A muscle twitched in his left arm, making her eyes jumped back to the lines etched by lightning across his skin. The hairs across the back of his neck rose as if the power of that long-ago beam of energy still lingered in the air. His nostrils flared, the only sign he allowed of the tension coiling inside him.

  Yes, he knew Naiara was out there, but whether she had Phalyra’s best interests at heart, that was the part he was willing to debate.

  He felt no need to share his thoughts with Thetis.

  “If it is her that’s done this, he’s doomed us all. You know that.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the palace. “Every word he speaks against her only hardens her heart against us all the more. Phareman was the rightful ruler. This one just found a loophole and exploited it to invoke the right of Polemarch and declare himself King when Phareman died. What does he have cause to be so bitter about?”

  Castien stepped away from the probing look in her eyes. He had the information he needed. He wasn’t about to let her turn the interrogation around.

  Without a backward glance or a word of thanks, he turned on his heel and left her watching him from the shadows of the abandoned bakery.

  AFTER LEAVING THETIS, Castien tracked Osee back to his apartment at the Dancing Goat. Though Osee grumbled about consultant work not paying enough to be worth his interest, a spark of curiosity lit his
dark eyes.

  Though Herodes had insisted time was of the essence, they rented horses from the local stable. The horses would take them farther than the quarter tank of gas that would cost their combined earnings for an entire month. Even the wealthiest families couldn’t justify the exorbitant cost of fuel for their cars anymore, and the mines were closing their doors one by one as the cost for staying open outweighed their profits.

  An unopened bag of GrainGro lay propped by the door. A flyer was stapled on top depicting an illustration of a smiling farmer seated on a plow pulled by a barrel-chested workhorse. They were set against a backdrop of towering fields of wheat.

  “Grow even more than ever before!”

  Castien might have crumpled the flyer into a ball if the stable hand hadn’t chosen that moment to return with their horses. Though they were in the King’s personal stables, the animals brought out for them were in pretty sorry shape.

  “Is something the matter?” The young woman addressed Osee. She’d taken one look at the scar on Castien’s arm when they first arrived and hadn’t mustered the courage to do more than glance in his direction since.

  “What do you expect us to do with these?” Osee waved his hand at the animals. She shot a furtive glance toward Castien and ducked against the neck of the gray whose harness she gripped.

  “These are the two finest horses we have, Sirs.”

  Osee snorted.

  “When I was a kid I stuffed a stocking with grass and tied it to a broom handle to make a pretend horse. That stick had more meat on its bones than these nags combined.”

  “These are all we have, Sirs.” Though her voice shook, she didn’t back down. Castien had encountered that stubborn brand of cowardice before. These were the best horses she was willing to let him ride. He was marked, and in her eyes that meant cursed. She wouldn’t risk losing a steady earner on a man who might be struck down by another bolt of hellfire at a moment’s notice.

  The top of the girl’s head barely reached his chest. Tearing the reins from her hand would take less effort than blinking.

  “I don’t think you understand, Yolande.” Osee made a show of pausing to read her name plate. “We’re on official orders from the King, and he’d be very unhappy if he found out it took us twice as long to get back because a certain stable hand decided to give us two bags of bones instead of the horses we asked for.”

  A pucker formed on the Yolande’s mouth as she slid her eyes toward Castien and chose to let her fear of him override her fear of dismissal from her job.

  “They’ll do.”

  Osee’s mouth fell open.

  “They’ll do? Cas, we’ll be carrying them before we make it halfway down the block!”

  “Your father’s a farmer?” Castien leveled the question at the stable hand. If she’d been a cat, her ears would have lain flat the moment she realized he was talking to her.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him not to go planting wishes and expecting miracles to grow.” He nodded at the bag of synthetic fertilizer.

  There was a moment of shocked confusion and then she turned on her heel and marched off.

  “And you wonder why the locals don’t like you.” Osee grinned.

  Castien rode the dull chestnut while Osee opted for the gray. Though Osee was a competent rider, his mount danced with unease the closer they came to the former site of the Temple.

  “Stupid brute!” Osee hissed under his breath, trying to get his horse under control. Castien sent a wry look over his shoulder. Not willing to wait, he pressed his knees into his mount’s ribs to get it to hurry up.

  As a general rule, Castien kept his distance from Temple Hill. Some called it the Ruins, but he preferred to think of what stood there now as the Skeleton.

  Thanks to the blast of energy from the sky that erased the former temple from existence, thin formations of electrified sand twisted into brittle tubes that reached for the sky like a leafless forest—or bony hands.

  His scar itched with the shudder that passed over him.

  As the sea gulls fly, the distance to the old temple wasn’t very far, but the terrain was hilly and thanks to the earthquakes that had followed the beam of light, there were large boulders strewn in the path they had to steer their horses around. Twice, Castien even had to get down to lead his horse past a crevice.

  Once, there had been a smooth road leading to the Temple, But it had been crushed beneath rock slides and ripped apart by the earthquakes that followed the blast.

  “What do you expect to find?” Osee asked as they dismounted at the foot of a flat stretch that had once been the outer courtyard.

  Castien paused and considered the landscape.

  “More questions.” His thoughts already drowned in them.

  Looking around, Osee gave an uncharacteristic shudder. “Did you ever find out how you made it out of here?”

  Castien shook his head. Though the earth had tried to move past the destruction, there were still patches of blackened rock from the explosion. He did his best not to look at them. He didn’t remember what happened after the bolt hit him—only the incinerating heat filling him until he was nothing but searing skin and boiling blood and burning bone.

  He woke up hours later at the base of the hill. Someone must have carried him. If he’d been blasted that far, the landing would have crushed him.

  “She’d marked me so that even the Shadow Realm wouldn’t take me.” He was used to repeating the familiar phrase with an ironic quirk of his mouth, as if that meant he was somehow more than other men, as if Naiara’s hatred imbued him with power. Surrounded by the carnage that lingered a decade later, it was impossible to summon that mask of indifference.

  “All that, and Herodes still insists she’s nothing but a superstition?” Osee looked over his shoulder. The dark hairs on his arm stood on end.

  “Oh, the good king believes she’s out there, don’t you worry.” At the mention of the King, Castien regained his anger and equilibrium. “He sent us to find proof that his suspicions aren’t true. It was his fairy tale of scientific advancements he was hoping weren’t a figment of his imagination. All this he knows is real.”

  They started up the hill, senses straining to detect anything unusual. This high on the hillside, they were prey to the breezes that blew in from the sea. It whipped and whistled around them, toying with their balance. The smooth stones made the steep hillside even more precarious. All in all, it was as if the earth itself were warning them away. Turn back, before you make things worse.

  Though not a single stone of the old temple remained, Castien could make out the fading outlines where buildings, walls, and fountains had once stood. Memories crowded in on him—screams and flames and smoke. He shook his head. The massacre was only the beginning of the horrors. Though their fate had seemed barbaric at the time, all those murdered priestesses had been spared the nightmare of what came after.

  “Where was the altar?” Osee looked around to try and orient himself. As a boy, Castien had often visited the temple with his mother, but Osee never had.

  Castien started to answer, but a cloud of dust blew a fine powder into his face. He spat and shook his head to clear the grains from his eyes.

  “Ah, here it is. I think I see marks from the basket.” Osee squinted at a patch of gravel. There was a circular indentation in the loose rock that trailed away from them to disappear in a tuft of stiff mountain grass. A quick look around confirmed they were far enough into the interior of where the Temple had once stood that it was likely the site of the old altar.

  “Even if I could make anything out in all this, it’s hard to say whether the tracks are from the person who first dropped it off or from the guards the old lady summoned to carry it away.”

  Castien nodded, unsurprised. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find. It’d have been nice to discover some of the old gardens still growing despite the damage to the environment. In his mind, he’d pictured a local who uncovered the precious find and cult
ivated a small plot in secret. Standing there, it was plain to see that wasn’t the case.

  Another gust of sandy air staggered Castien, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes.

  “If it’s a conspiracy, we’ll need the others. There are too many leads to uncover by ourselves.”

  Osee nodded, brushing his hands against his black trousers.

  “I think you’re right. And just in time too. It looks like a dust storm is brewing.”

  Looking down the hill, over half the city had been obscured by a brown haze.

  “Right, you’d better go then. I’ll take one more pass around here to make sure there’s nothing we’ve overlooked and then I’ll meet you at the Dancing Goat.”

  Osee eyed the cloud of sand moving over the city. He didn’t make the mistake of arguing. He sucked in his cheeks, deep in thought.

  “If it is the Goddess, what are we supposed to do next?”

  “Best we can do is pray to the stars it isn’t.”

  Osee didn’t press him, but he looked uneasy. They had worked hard to establish a reputation for pulling off the impossible. It was an easy enough thing when they were the only people for a hundred miles with access to an occasional meat supply thanks to Armelle’s trips into the Northern Wilds to visit her parents’ graves. Still, they stood no chance against a goddess.

  Osee disappeared, leaving Castien alone on the hillside. He sank onto his haunches, rubbing a hand over his face. What he needed to do was rule out possibilities. What would anyone other than the Goddess have to gain by leaving a basket of lettuce? Even if the greens were meant to be a message, who could afford to send that kind of symbol, and who was it meant for?

  The palace had confiscated the most fertile lands for growing, and he couldn’t think of any place there was soil rather than the infernal sand.

  Balancing on his toes, he pivoted to survey the palace in the distance. Could someone in the King’s court have orchestrated the find? Unlikely. There wasn’t a single courtier selfless enough to part with that much precious food, nor did any of them have the courage to defy the laws that demanded all food go into the communal granaries. To fall out of favor with the King meant losing the comforts and privileges that came from being a member of his court—access to the royal springs and invitations to the feasts he held at the palace. Such luxuries were worth everything when the alternative was squabbling over the wells and fountains drying up all over the city with the rest of the poor, sick, and homeless.