The Last Steward Page 4

  Yes, good. Fear was comfortable. Let the child fear him.

  The dome of the Temple came into sight. He raised his eyes once again to the hangman’s noose drifting in the wind, calling for its victims. Already a crowd was gathering. Dawn had only beckoned minutes ago. A hanging so soon? Death had no time limit. It called when it wanted.

  His feet stopped walking of their own accord. They wanted to watch, to see. What did death look like before it took its victim? Maybe they would tarry, see this sight, and then go to Rollvear.

  Chapter Three

  Graissa del’Blyth

  The Chancellor’s Pristine Estates loomed empty, no movement in the gardens. Graissa pulled her mount to a stop. Something strange stirred in her heart. Familiarity, like a friend beckoning her back. Back to wealth, and comfort, and ease. Shia would have sighed in happiness at the sight.

  Gritting her teeth, Graissa edged her foot around Moriah and dismounted at the gates, ignoring the tense posture of the soldiers as they eyed her with mistrust. No longer dressed in finery, she looked like a modest traveler. It was one way she could spurn the life she used to live, the life that even now pulled at her with subtle intention. Always promising, and never fulfilling.

  She didn’t need to ask whether the Chancellor was there. A quick Reading of the guards confirmed he had already departed for some meeting for the rest of the night. She turned to Vivian.

  “He’s gone. But the guards don’t know exactly where.”

  The men eyed her with concern, passing startled glances. Graissa turned her horse, casting out the Deep to find Rypen del’Barron.

  “Perhaps we should find the place of execution and wait.” Moriah’s suggestion was a good one. The Mool was tense, apprehensive. Being back would probably bring up memories she would rather soon forget. In her hurry to get home, Graissa hadn’t paused long to consider how it would affect her friend.

  “Good idea.” Graissa turned back to the guards. “Where is the execution of the rebels?”

  “Near the Temple, Mistress,” one guard responded, wariness in his tone. “On the streets, in plain view for any who would oppose the system to look and see the consequences of their actions.”

  Graissa nearly snapped at him but held her tongue. What was it Moriah had said? Changing one heart at a time wouldn’t happen through harsh words and sharp retorts.

  “Thank you,” she said instead, turning and heeling the horse toward the front gates of the city and the Temple. Vivian followed close, not speaking. Throughout their travels, Graissa had come to appreciate her quiet ways and sound logic. The Sister didn’t have much to say, partly because she knew Graissa could Read her, but also because she was contemplative, slow to react.

  The crowds had started to thin as the sun set. Time was running out. What had Father possibly been thinking? Yet pride rose within her. Doing what was right had cost him everything. And what had Mother had to say? Probably nothing good.

  Chaplain Rivers appeared astounded when Graissa found him at twilight prayers. The fancy stone altar was shrouded in shadow. Scrambling to his feet as she approached, his face was at once happy and frightened. “Mistress del’Blyth! You’ve returned!” He eyed Vivian, eyes passing over Moriah as if she didn’t exist, before turning back to Graissa. “You... you must have heard–ʺ

  “Indeed,” Graissa nodded. “I saw the platform on the street.” Should she Read him? No. He would tell the truth. “What happened, Chaplain?”

  “Much has transpired since you left.” He paused, running a hand over his bald head. “They say you are the Reader. Your father swears it is so.”

  “What do you want me to do? Prove it to you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Would you have me read your thoughts, Chaplain?”

  He backed away, face turning pale. “I meant no disrespect, my dear.” He blanched as if terrified.

  Graissa sighed. “All I want to do is speak with the Chancellor. I’m sure I can clear up any disagreements that have occurred between my father and him.”

  “I’m sorry, Graissa. I really am, but I have to tell you. Kole is in the wrong.” The Chaplain crossed his hands in front of him, face serene. “He conspired to overthrow the government, incited rebellion, and strove to disband the Council and oust the Chancellor.”

  “All in the name of freedom.” Graissa tried to keep the anger in check that rose and flushed her face. Why did everyone have to be so smug? As if they knew what was best for everyone? Even so-called holy men weren’t immune to the allure of wealth, power, and prestige. Why had she once enjoyed working beside this man?

  “Freedom? More like bondage.” Chaplain Rivers clucked his tongue, crossing his arms. “I would have thought you’d grow out of the whispered rumors that said you spoke of equal rights for the Mools.” He finally glanced at Moriah but shook his head and gazed once more at Graissa. “I guess your father was right. If you are the Reader....” He stopped, as if unsure once more.

  “Trust me, Chaplain. I know that you don’t know where the Chancellor is.” It was a guess, since she hadn’t Read him, but his eyes widened just the same. The right guess, then. “But at the same time, I’m shocked that a man of supposed compassion could be so cold-hearted.” Graissa set a hand on Moriah’s shoulder. “Would you look Moriah in the eye and tell her she isn’t worth the same as you or me?”

  He backed up further, face turning red. “Now don’t be silly, Graissa.”

  Vivian stepped forward. “Does the Creator love freedom, or bondage, Chaplain?”

  He spluttered something indecipherable. “Freedom,” he managed to croak out.

  “Does the Creator love light, or darkness?”

  “Light!” he snapped. “I don’t see–ʺ

  “Does the Creator love his creation? Or does he spurn us for deeds done wrong?”

  “You are asking questions that are....” But he stopped. “Now listen, we could have a philosophical argument about the Creator’s intentions. But let’s just agree to disagree.”

  Revulsion at his antics gripped Graissa. This was the very reason she had wanted to run in the first place. “Come, Vivian,” she said, turning and marching away. “Moriah, I apologize for his ignorance.”

  “You would do well to remember where you have come from, Graissa del’Blyth!” The Chaplains voice rang across the Temple, filled with outrage. “Don’t spurn the ones who have made you what you are!”

  As Graissa reached the door she whirled to glare at him. “Trust me, Chaplain. I am who I am despite being raised in Vale.” She stalked out, unhitched her mount and dragged him to the street. She slopped through an unknown substance and shook her foot in disgust.

  “Don’t run so recklessly through your interaction with the Chancellor, Graissa,” Vivian called, grabbing her arm to slow her. “You want to make friends, not enemies.”

  Graissa swung onto her horse with a snort. “I’m not sure that’s actually true, Sister.”

  ***

  The night passed with little progress made in tracking the whereabouts of the Chancellor. Graissa sighed as Vivian convinced her to find a place to sleep. They needed to be rested and ready at the platform in the morning.

  Graissa tossed in her bed, sleep eluding her. What was she going to say, exactly? Who would even listen?

  Morning dawned, and still she had no answers. The crowds gathered for the coming spectacle, and she ran nervous hands through her hair. An old beggar sidled up to her, seeming unaware she was even there. He muttered about his limbs dragging him there to watch. If only she was as carefree as he seemed to be, lost in his own mind.

  Cackle stepped up beside her, staring at the noose. His eyes were alight with a strange fire, as if the coming death pleased him. Graissa resisted the urge to kick him away. One minute she liked him, and the next she would remember he was a demon. Kicking an apparition would do no good.

  A dark carriage pulled up, its windows made of iron bars. The constable. Graissa’s heart clenched as the carriage came to a stop, Vernstice descendin
g and weaving around the crowds that converged on him.

  “Let them go!” someone shouted, and the crowd began to stir. Several soldiers on horseback followed, and they pushed the crowds back with poleblades extended, away from the constable as he unlocked the back door. Graissa’s heart stopped as her father was dragged out, thinning hair grayer than she remembered. Still, he stood tall regardless of the shackles around his ankles and wrists.

  Where was the Chancellor? She tore her eyes away from her father. Surely Rypen would be here.

  “Easy,” Vivian said as Graissa tensed and clenched her fists. She had somehow appeared without Graissa noticing, Moriah on her heels.

  A woman followed her father, small and dirtied. Large bandages covered her hands, soaked through with dried blood.

  The crowd grew more disruptive, throwing clods of dirt and rotten fruit at the guards. Kole was pulled toward the platform, stumbling as if weak. Graissa began to push forward, unable to stay still as he was marched to the noose.

  Another shout rang out as the Chancellor’s carriage swept into view. Pulled by mighty stallions, the carriage lurched, and the driver lashed out with his whip at any who stood in the way. The crowds ran aside, allowing it to stop next to the constable and the guards.

  Hatred ran through Graissa’s blood as the tall, handsome Chancellor descended, his Captain by his side. Mangan had once come across as a good man when Graissa had interacted with him at a formal function. Why did he stand by and do nothing?

  She continued to push her way through, shoving aside the throngs. Thank the Creator she was so short and could weave through, people assuming she was a child. The Chancellor said something to the constable, who nodded and followed behind her father, pulling who could only be Price with him. The Chancellor’s eyes swept over the crowd. They locked on Graissa as she stumbled to the front of the throng.

  The Reading was almost without thought. She staggered, the vigor of his mind powerful, as if he was a force unto himself. It didn’t last long; she let go of it and tilted forward.

  “Seize her!”

  She knew it was coming.

  So did Vivian.

  A blinding light arched across the street, enveloping the Chancellor and raising him into the air. Shouts of surprise echoed throughout the square. Captain Mangan drew his blade as the guards settled their poleblades down as if to run through the crowd.

  Graissa marched forward and stood before the Chancellor. Several guards stepped to stop her, but she knocked aside their poleblades with her hand. They would know who she was and probably wouldn’t harm her. Anger ran hot and molten through her entire body.

  “You will die for this!” Rypen hissed. Eyes of blue steel glared at her with venom, his tanned skin turning a bright shade of red.

  “We shall see.” She smiled at him and then walked through the crowd to her father.

  “Graissa,” he whispered, as if daring to believe she stood before him. The guards tightened their hold on him, looking at her with uncertainty.

  She stood straight, commanding. “Don’t worry, Father. I have a plan.”

  Kind of. No need to add that last part. She stalked past them to stand on the platform, turning to the assembled people.

  “Arrest her!” the Chancellor hollered, tone hoarse. “At once!” He fought against the invisible bonds that held him aloft. Captain Mangan stepped as if to obey, but the crowds thickened, pressing in and surrounding the platform.

  “Over our dead bodies!” someone bellowed. “You would kill the Reader?”

  Echoed voices agreed, and the crowd surged tight together, linking arms and forming a barrier. Mangan would have to kill them if he wanted to reach Graissa.

  “Go easy, Rypen.” Kole’s voice was quiet, but the authority was unmistakable. “I warned you. The people won’t stand for your dictatorship much longer.”

  Agreement swept through the people, heads nodding and brows furrowing.

  “I would ask you something, Chancellor. And for all the guards who protect you,” Graissa called. The crowds quieted. Soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons. “Do they know of your plans to send them to war?”

  Captain Mangan lowered his blade an inch. “You have no right–ʺ he started.

  “I do have a right!” Graissa strained to be heard, casting her voice across the square. “I am the Reader, the Steward who would find the lifekey of the pithion and close the Rift for all eternity!”

  “You speak nonsense!” Rypen bellowed. “You have no proof!”

  “Oh?” Graissa raised her hands. “Would you have me prove myself again, Chancellor? Would you have me Read your mind?”

  His glare could have melted ore. Graissa kept a grin from sliding onto her lips, instead stepping forward until she was on the edge of the platform. “Hear me now and hear me well. If my father hangs for treason, you should hang for the hundreds of crimes you have committed since the minute you were voted...” she paused. “From the moment you rigged the election. I’m sure the Council will love to hear that.”

  As if on cue, a man stepped up onto the platform. The blonde hair and muscled frame of General Forde was unmistakable, but he was disguised as a commoner. On his heels were the other Council members, Jorkin del’Grayson, Uttred del’Waile, and Franc del’Niope.

  “We would love to hear your thoughts, Reader.” General Forde turned a curious eye to the Chancellor. “If what you say is true, the Chancellor is the true traitor.”

  Relief coursed through her. Was this Forde’s way of acknowledging her role as a Steward?

  “Excuse me, Reader?” A timid voice, reaching hand, and mop of gray and brown pushed itself onto the platform as well. The same beggar she had stood beside earlier had somehow forced his way through.

  ***

  Gerard Redstone

  His voice had a mind of its own. He hated when his body behaved in such rebellious fashion. It was a revolution of Vale proportions.

  Stop. Breathe. Don’t look her in the eye. Just remain calm.

  “Be gone, old man,” the sweating one said with a step backward. “You stink to high paradise.”

  The Reader gazed at Gerard through blue eyes filled with compassion. “What do you have to say, Master?”

  Master. She called him Master. He raised his gaze to her strawberry blonde hair. “I bring with me something of import.”

  The handsome General moved as if to shove Gerard from the platform. Graissa del’Blyth stepped directly in his path so that he almost bowled her over. “Speak your mind.”

  “I have here – on my back – the one that often ails me... you see, it doesn’t like the cold. Or the heat. I carry the parchments.” He tried to find the point but it eluded his tongue. His mind was on the purpose, but his lips wouldn’t obey.

  “Parchment?” she asked. “Books? Scrolls?”

  “The very like.” Gerard’s heart beat quick and thunderous.

  She understood. She Read him. She knew.

  “He comes with us.” Her bright eyes peered up at the blonde General, who sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

  Voice as loud as a brag’s mating call, the General shouted, “Mangan, stand down! Constable, call off your guards! The Council will look into this matter.”

  There it was, then. Mattias, the Rook, Father would be proud as a raven preening on molting day. Ruffling his feathers with pure pleasure. Scratching his wings with a sparkling beak.

  Gerard started when Graissa put a hand on his arm. “We will discuss this privately, Master. No one hears what you have to say but me.”

  “As you wish.” He tried to step back as everyone clambered from the platform. Lost his balance. She steadied him with a firm hand, of white and purity and blessing.

  Adella would like Graissa del’Blyth. And vice versa.

  Someone yelled at the General. The Chancellor, was it? He was unhappy. The Sister released him, and he flopped on his face in the street to the delight of the crowd. No one had seen the Sister, of course. Hadn’t known
where the Deep had come from. Gerard saw. He knew. But it was useless to tell anyone. Graissa wouldn’t want him to. Her eyebrows would have been forced to raise themselves, and Gerard didn’t want to be the cause of such movement. No. Not yet, at least. And not for that reason.

  Move, feet. Follow the Reader. There, she went into the carriage around the way. The Council follows. No, he shouldn’t follow. He should ride on the back. The guard nodded his agreement. Good, this was tidy, this was neat. His back against the carriage frame. Familiarity, warm and sweet, flooded his soul. It was good to have something against his back again.

  The carriage jolted forward, and Gerard caught himself on the railing as his feet dangled over the side. The wind on his face was ravishing. He laughed.

  He could get used to such divine treatment.

  Chapter Four

  Priva Car’abel

  Priva awoke to a fierce pounding on his door. Startled, he reached for his shortblade at his back by rote reflex. Only cool air and bare skin greeted him. It had been taken from him as soon as he had left the throne room the previous day.

  “Maj Priva! The King demands your presence!” The servant’s voice was rushed, young, and frightened.

  What a bother. What did a man need to do to get some rest? Clearly rescuing a Princess from the Creator-forsaken Dreads didn’t amount to much.

  “I’m awake. Tell him I’ll –ʺ but the servant had already rushed off. His feet flapped against the stones, fading away. With a grunt, Priva heaved his aching body from the bed. Forty winters felt more like fifty this morning as the stone Fortress seeped cold tides through his feet and into his bones. He paused, and the crashing ocean echoed through the hollowed-out rock. The Fortress was hewn directly into the side of the cliff, by some power and enchantment long faded from the coast. Eliminated by the Finders.

  He dressed. At least warm clothes had been left for him. It was odd to be clothed again in finery, to tie thin, leather boots as opposed to stout walking shoes. The cloak afforded him was light, and the trousers and shirt were nearly as fine as silk. But slaothe trapped body heat as well as any coat. The dermis of a brag could be thanked for this luxury.