Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

TRESSYA

With a firm arm around my waist, Bloodwyn—Petrulus—pulled me away from the steps, burying us deep into the library.

"The torch has gone out. Fetch another," came a male voice.

There were no places for us to hide.

"We'd look less guilty if we let them know we're here. I'll tell them I insisted on you showing me around," I whispered.

"And the explanation for the key?"

"Wasn't that your key? I mean, Petrulus's key?"

"I took it from the guy whose clothes you're wearing. Only three apostles within Emberforge have a key to this place."

"And you know that how?"

"Explaining Selisimus will be difficult."

"Who's Selisimus?"

"And the fact you're wearing his clothes."

He'd wanted me to join him here—for reasons I couldn't fathom—but I shouldn't be surprised he wasn't going to play fair and reveal all his secrets. And I could only believe this excursion was meant to turn me in circles.

"They're a perfect fit, by the way."

I struggled in his arms, and he relented, but only to snag my wrist and yank me close. It was dark, and I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his stale breath across my lips. If he was Bloodwyn, my heart might have betrayed me and kicked up a beat, but while he wore the apostle's skin, I found it easy to control my reactions.

I pushed away from him. "You don't smell like Bloodwyn." Oh Mother, did I just say that?

"Does that bother you?"

"We're about to get discovered, and that's your focus?"

Old clothes, a body in need of a good bath, and the fragrance of smoke—that's how Petrulus smelled. It turned my nose.

"I have a plan," he whispered.

"Not if it involves more dead people."

"Do you want the Salmun to find you like this?"

"Bloodwyn," I growled, then jumped when I felt his finger pressed to my lips.

"Shh."

A small tingle sparked low in my stomach, but then I remembered whose finger it belonged to and swiped it away.

"Petrulus gives me the creeps."

"You should've told me earlier. I'll ditch him at the first opportunity."

I smirked at his sound of disgust.

"Where's Tortilus? Perhaps it's his key," came a male voice, followed by a long creak as they swung the library door wide, bringing down a stream of light.

"Who'd be down here during the vigil of devotion?"

"I can't explain. Go see who it is. I'm wanted in the grand hall."

Bloodwyn pushed me back against the shelving, then leaned in close and whispered, "I'll deal with him. In a non-lethal way."

There was no point arguing. Petrulus was my only hope of getting out of here without being seen. Strangely, I wasn't worried about the king discovering I was missing. No one could blame a foreigner for getting bored and curious, but the dead guard was a problem, and the apostle Bloodwyn hid behind the pillar along with my clothes. If he woke and found a noblewoman's dress, it would make my actions harder to explain.

Bloodwyn rushed to the bottom of the stairs to intercept the new arrival before he could reach the bottom.

"Petrulus," the apostle said in surprise.

"Rewas. No one's allowed in the Sanctum of Solmira during the vigil of devotion."

It was possible Bloodwyn knew the apostle's name, and every other damn thing about this place because he'd already entered. Many times prior, it would seem, which led me to wonder how long he'd been in Tolum. Whatever he was chasing in Emberforge was important to him, which meant it was important to me. Knowledge was power.

"And you, Petrulus. How do you have a key?"

"Selisimus needed something, then he suddenly took ill and asked me to fetch it for him."

"But that's… It's…"

"Yeah, sorry, but I don't have time for this stilted conversation."

I rushed forward when I heard the scuffle followed by a muffled cry. Already Rewas lay unconscious in Bloodwyn's arms. The apostle looked an impossible weight for Bloodwyn—Petrulus—to hold, but Bloodwyn moved him down the last steps with ease, then dragged him across the floor and dumped him at the back of the chamber.

"We're accumulating too many bodies," he said as he grabbed my elbow and hurried me up the steps. "The other one was called to the grand hall. It means the king and the Salmun are still there."

I needed my breath to run up the steps, sparing Bloodwyn my questions.

At the exit, he steered me back the way we'd came, but at the sound of a group marching toward us, Bloodwyn yanked me left down a narrow passage. On our right, a wall of iron lattice gave me a glimpse inside the small temple, lit with bracketed torches along two thirds of the wall. As we dashed past, I caught sight of a large stone altar at the far end.

Suddenly Bloodwyn pushed me against the wall, shielding my face as the group moved past our narrow passage.

"The king," Bloodwyn hissed.

"They're leaving?" I'd thought my luck would last. Curses, that I was wrong. How long before they found the dead guard?

"Not Emberforge. But we still could have a problem. They're heading in the direction of the library. If they find Rewas…" He never bothered to elaborate on that outcome, instead hurried us along the narrow passage.

We continued to weave our way through a confusing maze of ever narrowing corridors, passing pillared courtyards and small temples while my eyes became accustomed to the ever dimming light.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

"I thought we had to get out of Emberforge. This feels like we're heading deeper inside."

"We won't be long. No one's heading for the carriage just yet."

"Getting into my clothes takes time."

"I'm here to help."

I slanted him a sideways glance, struggling to see Bloodwyn under his disguise. Bloodwyn's hands on me. The idea was pleasing. But Petrulus...

"I'll ditch the skin," Bloodwyn said, seeming to read my thoughts, perhaps it was my expression.

"Don't bother. Neither is an improvement."

He smirked. Normally I was good at hiding my emotions, but he seemed to penetrate through to my heart. As a disciple that was not an easy task for anyone, especially a man. It was concerning how he'd managed such a feat in a short space of time. I was rarely swayed by a man's handsome features, yet something about Bloodwyn had slipped under my shield. I would blame the bite. There was some poison at work, making me more than easy prey, now I was his accomplice.

"It's just up ahead. We won't stay long."

"Why the crazy maze." It was a sarcastic spill of frustration, but Bloodwyn answered as though it was a question.

"The ancients believed a person had to earn the right to stand before the power of the Bone Throne. They had to pass through a series of temples devoted to various gods. If they were worthy that god would grant them passage to the next temple and so on, until the truly worthy were granted an audience with the bone king."

"And that's the king who sits upon the Bone Throne?"

"Yes."

"That's where we're heading."

"Yes."

I stopped asking questions, suddenly as eager to see this fabled Bone Throne as Bloodwyn. Hurrying along beside him, the small temples on either side held no interest for me. Our path led us along more passages until we stumbled out into a cavernous room.

In the flaming torch light, flecks of white stone seemed to dance along the floor's surface, making it appear like ripples on an oily sea. Above, the same flecks of stone gave the ceiling the appearance of the night sky. The only other color in the vast chamber was the throne of bone erected on a lump of black stone.

The Bone Throne rose imposingly within the chamber, a colossal testament to its grandeur and grotesque elegance. Forged from skeletons, its sheer size dwarfed the standard of ordinary thrones, making it not just a seat but a monument to the dominion it represented.

Each vertebra and bone had been meticulously interlocked, sculpted by the hands of a master. The throne's back was a macabre pantheon of elaborate carvings, each bearing the face of a—I presumed—forgotten deity, their expressions contorted for eternity in a meld of creation and destruction.

The armrests swooped downwards, morphing seamlessly into the colossal heads of serpents bearing crowns of thorns on their heads.

Entranced, Bloodwyn let my hand go and moved forward, seeming to forget about me. I followed, feeling exposed in this vast hall with no space to hide if someone should enter.

"I take it this is the Bone Throne."

"I'm not surprised in the short time since your arrival you've already heard of it." he said as he strolled toward it as if in a daydream.

"Once, briefly. I know it was the throne of the last king before the great war."

"It was so much more." Bloodwyn climbed the rock, but rather than sit on the throne he ran a hand along the arm rest as if stroking the serpent's head. "King Ricaud was the last king to sit on this throne. That was a millennium ago."

I blinked, thinking I saw some movement rising up behind Bloodwyn. The flaming torches provided little light and plenty of cover for anyone to hide.

"A just king," he continued.

"Some would say otherwise."

"He who currently sits on the Tarragona throne is not worthy of his ancestral bloodline. Neither are his sons."

"Don't tell me. You're worthy."

Bloodwyn glanced over at me, but my eyes flittered to the shadowy movement coming up from behind. With the tingle along my arms, the shiver across my shoulder blades, I knew it was a spirit.

"What do you think?" Bloodwyn said, moving around to sit on the throne, splaying his arms on the armrests and crossing his legs. "Am I worthy?"

The spirit rose up behind the throne, his transparent body dull in the flaming torch light. A man, seeming as proud and regal as any king, even with no crown upon his head. He wore the chain mail of a fighter and carried a sword in his hand.

"Where was King Ricaud killed?"

Bloodwyn frowned. "I'm not sure. Why?"

I shook my head. "Why would you think you're worthy? Are you claiming to be a Tannard heir?"

Andriet had said only an heir from the House of Tannard would sit upon the throne. But that could simply be an elaborate story woven by the victors of the great war.

The spirit stared down at me from behind the throne, and I struggled to keep my eyes on Bloodwyn; my developing skill in the death arts was a secret he wouldn't have.

Then suddenly, the spirit rushed forward, passing through the throne and then through Bloodwyn. His arms seized as he thrust his chest forward, head arched back, sucking in a noisy gasp. In that moment, he lost the form of Petrulus and turned into someone else. His skin was darker than Bloodwyn's, his body broader, more muscular, but with his head thrown back, I couldn't see his features.

Once the spirit left him, he collapsed forward as if kicked in the gut, then kept going until he rolled off the throne and onto the lump of black rock. Curled in a ball, I saw only his night black hair.

I rushed forward, intent on seeing the real Razohan, but by the time I reached the throne, Bloodwyn was back, pushing himself up to sitting.

I glanced over my shoulder at the spirit, and groaned, when behind him, I spied more spirits filling the chamber. A rank of soldiers behind their king, each dressed in battle armor.

"He made his last stand before the Bone Throne." And I didn't mean to say that aloud.

Since Bloodwyn was still dazed and not paying me any attention, I glanced back to King Ricaud, hoping he would speak to me. I had so many questions I would ask him if I was alone. He stayed silent, only now he was staring at Bloodwyn.

"He has many faces." Finally King Ricaud spoke, and I wasn't sure if his words were meant for me or his men.

Bloodwyn scraped his boot across the rock, righting himself, and I turned back to face him. "Are you all right?"

Head bowed, he hung his legs over the edge of the rock, supporting himself on his arms.

I sat beside him, giving him time to gather himself together, knowing too well what it felt like to be invaded by a spirit. Still with his head bowed, I took the chance to look at King Ricaud and his men again.

He appeared little older than Bloodwyn, with a crown of wavy hair falling below his shoulders and a heavy beard. Even as a spirit, his presence was imposing.

He wafted toward us, shifting his eyes from Bloodwyn back to me.

"You are looking at me, are you not, young woman in an apostles clothes?"

I slowly nodded.

King Ricaud came closer still. "How is it the living see the dead?"

I shrugged.

"That was rough," Bloodwyn groaned.

"You looked as though someone speared you through the stomach."

"Hmm." He didn't seem to be listening to me.

"He dared to sit upon my throne. He dared to claim himself worthy. The Levenians' filthy dogs seek to sit upon my throne. But this man is not of that line. I felt something inside of him, something which reaches to me across the veil and touches my soul."

I gaped, desperate to hear more of this. "You're a Razohan." I patted Bloodwyn on the shoulder.

I caught King Ricaud's frown.

"Are you implying as a Razohan I'm weak?" Bloodwyn lifted his head and gave me a thin smile.

"What is a Razohan?" King Ricaud said.

"You turned into someone else before you collapsed. Your true self. Beast-man from the north."

Finally he lifted his head, forcing me to snap my gaze from King Ricaud to him.

"You're saying strange things, Tressya, or is my hearing affected.

"The north you say. The Huungardred inhabited the north a millennium ago, but none could take the true form of man."

"You're a descendant of the Huungardred, so…" I didn't know what else to say. It already sounded ridiculous.

"Did you hit your head while I was passed out?"

"No. But that's a fact isn't it. Your ancestors bred with the Huungardred and?—"

"My last command was for the Nazeen to flee east with my Ammelle to Strathembrook."

"Who were your ancestors that bred with the Huungardred?" I implored.

"It's the wrong time to have this conversation," Bloodwyn said.

King Ricaud moved closer. "Did my Ammelle survive?" His question sounded desperate. A millennium of not knowing if his daughter survived or not. "Is that how this…Razohan claims a link to my throne?"

"You're a descendant of King Ricaud's daughter, aren't you?" I shouted.

"Easy now. You're determined to unravel me, secret by secret, aren't you?"

"Just tell me, yes or no."

"Yes."

Ricaud rushed toward me. "My Ammelle."

Without thought, I reared back, avoiding his grasp.

The king would've collapsed to his knees but since his lower half was ill formed he slipped through the floor.

Bloodwyn grabbed my arms. "Tressya, what's going on?"

"My bloodline survived through my daughter?"

I opened my mouth to answer the king, then slammed it shut, remembering Bloodwyn. "I'm fine."

The king surged to his feet. "There is hope." He turned to face his men. "There is hope."

Even if I was alone, could I refute him? Listening to the spirits cheer, I knew I wouldn't be honest. I wouldn't have the heart to tell him I was here to make sure the House of Tannard remained on the throne, and a Tannard heir, my child, secured that line.

Beside me, Bloodwyn said. "That was unexpected."

I flicked another glance at King Ricaud, but his attention was now solely on Bloodwyn. "Good unexpected, or bad?"

"Unexpected," he repeated, then pushed up. "We need to go."

"What? No way." I joined him, but he was already marching off toward the exit.

"Wait!" I shouted. He was heading straight for the line of spirits.

Bloodwyn spun around. "Come on, princess, I've got to get you dressed." His sudden energy confused me.

"You're Bloodwyn not Petrulus." His clothes were askew, buttons burst, seams ripped at his thighs.

"I thought you'd prefer it that way." And he turned and marched away.

I opened my mouth to shout again, but the spirit king and his soldiers disappeared, clearing Bloodwyn's path, so I scurried after him.

At the exit, Bloodwyn stopped me, placing his finger to his lips. I sucked in my bottom lip and held my breath, but heard no one coming. He then grabbed my hand and dragged me along beside him, weaving us down the passageways like dogs were on our heels.

"Now you're in a hurry," I puffed.

"I need to get you back in that carriage."

"You weren't in a hurry before. What's changed? What happened in there?"

His hand wrapped my waist, and Bloodwyn yanked me off my feet and into one of the small temples, crushing me against the wall.

"Not a peep," he whispered, then locked eyes with me while we waited.

My sole focus was on his amber eyes hypnotizing me and my heaving chest caught between the solid warmth of his body and the cold stones. I wasn't even assessing the risk we faced. Moments passed and the flutter through my body had turned my brain to mush.

"All clear. Let's go." Bloodwyn dragged me out of the temple and hurried us on our way. I stumbled after him, unable to switch my mind from the heat in my body to escaping as easily as he seemed to achieve. Unless he was unaffected by what happened back there.

"Are you going to answer any of my questions?" I forced the annoyance into my voice.

"I had a moment. It's passed. Now we need to get out here."

"What about Ammelle—" I didn't mean to say her name.

Bloodwyn yanked me off my feet once again, spinning me around and into another small passage, pushing me against the wall with a hand over my mouth.

He leaned down to whisper. "Too many questions, princess."

My mind fuzzed up with the smell of him, and his large hand smothering anything I would say. The amber in his eyes seemed to sparkle alive. With his eyes fixed on mine, expression solemn, I forgot everything including my ability to breathe. Especially when his hand slipped from my mouth and rested on my throat, large enough his fingers almost wrapped around my neck.

An untamed soul was behind those eyes, staring down at me. His body both taut and relaxed, large and powerful, strong and beautiful, yet his hand resting on my throat was anything but threatening. I was unaccustomed to feeling vulnerable around any man, something I should feel acutely being so close to such an excellent predator, but I knew if I told him to release me, he would; if I told him to back away, he would; if I told him to leave me alone, he would, just as soon as he returned me safely to the carriage.

Cobwebs could form for how still we stayed. Then Bloodwyn blinked. Placing his hands either side of my shoulders, he released a low rumble in his throat, which sent small vibratory ripples along my skin to my heart. I still had yet to breathe. Every hair on my body reached toward him, every inch of my skin prickled waiting for a hint of his touch.

"How do you know that name?"

"What name?" My mind was a mess.

Ammelle, that's right. That conversation seemed a life time ago. "Wait? You don't remember what happened back there?"

He leaned his elbow against the wall, bringing him suffocatingly—mesmerizingly—closer. With a finger, he twisted a stray strand of my hair. "Things are rather fuzzy. And that's a tale very few know."

"I asked around a lot, and I'm very persuasive." I couldn't think straight. Mostly because every time he twisted the strand of my hair, his knuckles dusted my cheek, like a careless caress.

"I bet you are, princess. Tell me, what would you?—"

"Forget it."

"I have a lot to offer."

"Is it clear now? I'm in a hurry." I wanted to stay pinned by his body, struggling to breathe while I waited for the tease of his knuckles on my skin. But I wouldn't allow the Razohan to realize how much he was effecting me right now.

He heaved out a deep breath. "It's clear." Once again, he dragged me off down the passage.

"Is there actually anyone coming, or are you enjoying throwing me about? Because I don't hear anything."

"You don't have my hearing."

That had to be a Razohan thing.

Finally I recognized our path. The passages widened, natural light seeped through and the sconces along the wall became few.

"If we're lucky Selisimus is still unconscious and yet to be found," Bloodwyn said, as he diverted us into the temple where I'd changed.

Behind the last pillar, we found the apostle and my clothes.

"What are you doing?" I said, as Bloodwyn scooped them up in his arms.

"Wait until we reach the outer passage and the exit. It's safer that way." And he marched out of the temple, retracing his steps back into the open air passage we'd first stumbled along.

There he handed me my clothes. "This is as good a place as any." And turned his back.

I stared at him, my mind still back with the Bone Throne, King Ricaud and what had happened in the mad dash that followed; especially what had happened during the mad dash. Bloodwyn's actions made no sense. Maybe he was possessed.

"You do realize Selisimus will be found without his clothes."

"We'll have to let him explain that problem."

"What about Rewas unconscious in the library? That's too many weird occurrences. The Salmun won't like it."

"Then we'll leave them to try and figure it out. So far only Petrulus has been spotted."

"And where is the real Petrulus?"

"That's a whole heap of questions for someone who should be worried about being caught out of the carriage."

I spun him around to face me. "Which throne would you choose to sit upon if, say, you actually won."

"The only throne that matters. The Emberfell throne is for imposters. The Levenian bloodline pollutes it." Disgust laced every word he spoke.

He turned his back on me again so I discarded the smock.

"I will win, little princess."

"You know I won't let you."

I was trying to attach my pocket bags when he turned around, catching me off guard. On reflex, I covered my breasts with my hands.

He gave me a wry smile. "All you're wearing is petticoats and already you're hidden under so many layers."

"That's not the po?—"

Bloodwyn's hands were on my waist, turning my back to him. "You need help."

"I was doing adequately."

I stared up at the sky and tried not to focus on his hands as they tied the pocket bags' strings, fastening them to my hips.

"My blade." I bent to retrieve it, but Bloodwyn beat me to it, slipping the dagger inside one of my pocket bags. As he did so, I repeated what I'd said before. "You know I won't let you."

When he stood this close, staring down at me, it reminded me that we were alone; it brought back what I had seemed so easily able to forget—that he was my enemy. It also reminded me that, despite my skills, I had little defense against him.

"Do you think you can stop me?"

Said as if he'd just read my thoughts.

"I'll try regardless."

"Then we're going to have some fun."

I was sure I would hate his idea of fun.