KARDIA, LAMPROS CITY, KALONICA, DROSERO
The warm sun wrapped Isaura as she stood at the far edge of the inner wall with her moon discs. How strange, even still, the sound of the waves battering the cliffs. Growing up in the desert had deprived her of the sea’s mighty voice, one that comforted.
She whirled and flicked the first disc, then the second, at a tree. Each gave a satisfying thump as it chomped into the bark. Strolling over to retrieve them, she recalled the way she had fought alongside Dusan against the Irukandji in those woods of the Altas Silvas. An involuntary shudder struck at the thought of those blue-marked raiders.
Much had changed for her in the forest, which was known as the Sanctuary of Secrets for the many secrets it had stolen through the years. Now, it also claimed her confidence that Kalonicans were safe. As a child, she’d believed living in the north would keep her well. Yet, it was in the north—farther north than her home in Moidia—that Marco was taken.
Overcome by the memory, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. That night had been so perfect, so sweet—like his love. She swallowed, remembering his kidnapping. The scuffle. His shout. Desperation in his pale eyes as the intruders dragged him away. The strike against her skull that rendered her useless.
Tears speeding down her cheek, Isaura felt the presence of another. After drying her face, she clicked the discs together and straightened. Turned with a plastered smile to the master hunter. “I love the sound of the sea.”
“We should return to the house.”
Of course. Stuff her behind walls, alone. Make her miss Dusan more. But she had enjoyed enough time out of doors this rise, so she would not argue.
“Where’s Mistress Lasdos?” Roman had an unmistakable tinge of annoyance as they walked.
“There on the patio with a book, as I suggested she enjoy the time to relax.” She swept a hand in an arc, indicating the great barrier that nearly blocked the view of the mountains and the city huddled around it. “With so large a wall, I am safe to practice with the discs. And mayhap enjoy a walk to the cliffs. Dusan so enjoyed this view . . .”
“Forgive me, but your grief—”
“Sadness. Not grief.” That might come later, but for now, she keenly held to the belief that Dusan was alive and would return.
“I never left . . .” His words from her dreams moved her hand to where his had rested before she jolted awake.
“He does yet live,” Roman said quietly, acquiescing to the walk.
They reached the steps to the lower courtyard with its three arches flanking the fountain of Eleftheria. “I know.” Isaura squinted a smile as she set her discs on the wrought-iron table nestled among the flowering cordi bushes. “I confess, with each passing day, that belief grows more difficult to hold on to . . . yet I do . . . will.”
“Just because you cannot see him or feel his touch does not lessen his existence.”
“As can be said of Vaqar and Eleftheria. Alas, they are immortal. Dusan is not.” She continued down to the lower terrace that would lead to the green overlooking the sea. “Yet I know he will do everything in his power—even to the detriment of his own well-being—to return.” She hugged herself, avoiding thoughts of him doing something rash that would cost his life. “I do not believe the Lady brought us together, gave us this child, for it to end there. And I . . . dream of him.”
She shifted around before the steps and gazed up at the massive palace. Admired the cream plaster aglow from the sunset. Green roof tiles. The sparkling city beyond. Only then did she realize she was looking for someone. She eyed her regia a dozen paces behind. Were they the reason she turned, half expecting to see someone? They had mastered staying out of sight, but still . . .
Roman studied her in a way only a master hunter could, one that made her feel . . . well, not a criminal but more a . . . specimen.
Feeling awkward—too aware that he knew how she felt—Isaura descended the last steps, taking to the carpet of grass that softened her steps and relieved the ache in her lower back. In the months since Marco’s abduction, she had grown accustomed to Roman’s presence and instructive ways. How everything seemed to become a lesson of some kind. “You must think me foolish.”
“Not at all.” Hands at his sides, Roman was prepared for anything, just as Dusan had always been. “Do you talk to him?”
She plucked a waxy leaf from a shrub along the northernmost wall. “Who?” Veering away calmed her—on that side, the cliff plummeted eighty feet, though scree plunged at least another fifty. A fall from here would mean certain death.
“Marco. In your dreams, do you talk to him?”
With a shrug, Isaura tried not to frown at the strange question. “They are but dreams. Is there a way to control what we do in them?”
He walked to the edge and eyed the foamy surf. When he came around again, he was smiling. “You did not answer my question—do you talk to him?”
Shoving her braid back over her shoulder, she wondered at his question. It irritated that he pressed her regarding something that was treasured, private. Somehow kept her from despair. It was not for him to know or not know. Yet, considering him and this line of inquiry, she expected he would wait until she answered. “I do.” Even now she saw Dusan, head on the pillow, smiling at her, his hair . . . That was for her, their moments, and she would not share the details.
Yet something seemed off. What? Why did her insides quaver as those memories were conjured?
“What unsettles you?” Roman cupped her arm and directed her from the cliffs.
Isaura blinked at the maneuvering and at being read so openly by one other than Dusan. “Nothing really.” Why was he urging her back up the steps? “Do you fear I will fall?” she asked with a laugh. “I have never been careless or clumsy.”
But Roman motioned to the regia. “Take her to the house.”
Fright overtaking her at his sudden change in tone and manner, she grabbed his forearm. “Wh—”
Something glinted in the air, flying straight at her. She shifted away.
With a bellow, Roman became a blur. Shouts erupted.
Alarmed, Isaura reached for her discs, only to remember she had left them on the table. She turned to run for them, but black dusters flapped as swift movements caught her up in a gust of tension, thrust her up the steps, almost without her feet touching the ground. “What . . .?” The erupting chaos, confusion, and panic were surreal. She tried to avoid stumbling or falling as they shoved her toward the castle. “Please, wh—”
A horn of alarm trumpeted through the yard.
Face washed white, Kita looked at Isaura and rushed ahead. “Get the pharmakeia!”
Peals from the belltower bounced off the fortress walls. Why were the bells ringing?
Isaura hurried, her heart and mind racing wildly, unsure what was happening. What caused the panic. Her head ached as the doors to the keep flung open and regia bled from the halls.
“Protect the kyria!” Hushak shouted.
Isaura glanced past the throng, back toward the cliffs, to Roman there on the edge. Her heart seized at three brown-clad men attacking the master hunter. Regia swooped down from the terraces to join the fray.
“Where is the pharmakeia?” Hushak demanded.
“Here!” a gruff voice replied.
Who needed tending? Isaura glanced around, a bit dizzy—from the excitement, no doubt. Being hurtled by Hushak and Kaveh into the library only heightened her fears, especially when her guards swung around. In the seconds before the doors slammed closed, a dozen or more regia formed on the other side, swords drawn.
Breathless, she gaped. “What is—”
“Let me see to your wound, my kyria.”
The pharmakeia startled her. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Oh, it is not I who is injured,” she reassured. “It is Roman who—”
“Please. Sit.” He caught her shoulder.
Even as he forced her onto a settee, Isaura argued. “In earnest, good—”
“You bleed, my kyria.” His grave expression stilled her.
She followed his gaze to her bliaut, stained crimson. Blood marred the beautiful brocade. “How . . .? Where . . .?”
“Your neck, Majesty.”
Her fingers found the wound and stinging line she had not yet registered. “Oh.” The room swam, and she was urged to lie back. Foggy curtains veiled her vision.