A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 (34 page)

We stopped before a door arching taller than Vaughn by several heads. Loud voices churned and angry shouts made me wish I had a weapon, or the skill to use one if I had been armed.

“Here we are.” Isolde kept her voice low. “Ours is a triad of elders, similar to the Araneidae. I get a vote, Vaughn won’t. As long as we can sway at least one elder to our side, we’ll manage.” Palm braced on the door, she bowed her head. “Gods be with us.” She gestured toward Murdoch.

He threw the doors open, and we descended into chaos. The council chamber was inset, and below the walkway were lower seating areas. Before us, three squared chairs dominated the space. Elders sat in each chair. Two of them were familiar. When Pearce winked at me, I exhaled and my steps became surer. Owain slouched beside him, scowling. The third elder I didn’t know.

“That’s the problem.” Owain pointed at Vaughn. “Prisoner walked right from the grotto. No respect for the law. No respect for the clan. No wonder he acts as he does, look at his mother.”

To a person, the room fell silent.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Pearce muttered.

“Don’t throw mud in my son’s face. If you’ve a problem, you take it up with me.” Isolde let her ax twirl on her shoulder as she spun the handle. “I’ve been maven for a long time. This is the first I’ve heard you complain, so if you’ve got an issue with me, speak up now. Well? Get to it.”

Leaning forward, Owain braced his palms on his knees. “You lied.”

Isolde cast him a bored look. “Be more specific.”

The remaining elders frowned at her flippant attitude. I restrained the urge to thump her.

“See how she mocks us?” Owain addressed the room. “You’ve seen the garden, the bodies.” His voice rose. “Who among us was informed when our loved ones passed? Not me.” He swept his arm toward Deverell. “Not him. He lost his wife, my great niece, Dianna, to this plague. Her body has not been accounted for. He was not told, nor was I, that she had gone to the spiritlands. Instead of a proper funeral, her soul was set adrift without a single word of prayer. She was a—”

“—victim of the yellow death,” Isolde snapped. “If I had spoken of one family’s loss, others would have known.” She turned a slow circle before her clan. “If you’d been given a tally, then I bet my son’s firstborn that those able to flee the city would have. What would that have done? It would have spread the plague farther and faster. It wouldn’t have saved your loved ones.” When a burly male stood, Isolde marched to him, put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back in his seat. “Don’t try and sway me, boy. I stood at those gates and held back the tide when the scourge almost wiped the Mimetidae clan from the maps. I saw us at our worst. Saw us turn against our clansmen. Saw our clansmen’s corpses used as food, watched the sickness spread like wildfire.”

The male sank into his seat, face pale. He glanced away.

“I remember gathering those who showed signs of infection. How we herded them into the most decrepit of our barns. It was me that held the torch, me that set the fires.” Her jaw trembled. “I remember the screams.” Her fist pounded her chest with every step. “I bloody well screamed enough for those whose voices were lost in the flames, so don’t you dare question my loyalty.”

“Mother.” The single word from Vaughn snapped her to attention.

“Maven Isolde was out of her mind with fever.” A timid voice rose from behind me. I turned and found Nerys pushing Crystin in a spindly chair with tiny wooden wheels. A black blur sped past, and I prayed Brynmor hadn’t followed them here. “She can’t be held accountable for those decisions. In truth, when the maven became ill, it fell to Cleit to inform the council. My uncle neglected that duty the same as he neglected the patients under his care. Once he offered me shelter in the towers, the damage was done. He used me to tend the sick to appease his conscience. If Mana hadn’t come, the towers would mirror the gardens. Her potion saved us.”

I covered my wince. Her endorsement had the crowd studying our apparent health.

The elders took notice as well. The one I hadn’t recognized stared. “She discovered a cure?”

“Yes.” She approached them, papers in hand. “Here are my and Cleit’s records.”

“This came about how?” His brow creased. “She tested her potions on the infected?”

“Mana’s a spirit walker,” Pearce announced to the room. “She’s as much right to practice as the other healers we’ve had before. You can’t blame her for using gods given skill to save lives.”

“All right,” the third elder said with reluctance. “Tell us how this cure came about.”

After positioning herself before them, she began. “When Mana arrived, Isolde was dying…” Hope spun a bright filament throughout the room as she wove her tale.

Silence enveloped the crowd. Even Owain squinted at Nerys. I wondered if he read lips. Her story held enough grains of truth to satisfy the basic facts, but she took pains to glorify my role in saving their maven as well as those who should have been under Cleit’s care. With him missing, most assumed his guilt was proven by his absence. The fact that Vaughn had been absent during the outbreak but had rushed home with aid was also mentioned, loudly and frequently, by Isolde.

In the end, the elders filed out of the room into a small deliberation chamber.

Nerys took Crystin and left. It was safer for them to be gone before the verdict was read.

Time wore on. Our group huddled close, backs together, faces out and gazes skimming over the crowd, searching for signs of danger. Vaughn pressed his back to me and laced the fingers of his free hand with mine. His shoulders were tense from holding his sword at the ready. I kept my face impassive and my posture relaxed. The Araneidae’s open council had been nerve-racking enough, but this closed-council nonsense frayed my patience. Vaughn rubbed my palm with his thumb. The longer we stood quiet and looked uninteresting, the fewer nasty glares we collected.

By the time my feet ached from standing, the solemn ambiance of the room had cracked and the crowd mumbled among themselves. Waiting for a finger to point and blame to be assigned.

The drone of conversation covered the exit of the elders from their chamber.

Lleu elbowed Isolde and jostled me to attention.

The three males reclaimed their seats, all somber, all calm, all, I hoped, willing to forgive.

“We have weighed the evidence and made our decision.” The third elder looked to his peers, then stood. “We have decided unanimously that Isolde is no longer deserving of the title maven.” He lifted a hand to hush the sudden uproar. “In the interest of keeping these proceedings legal, it should be stated that our three votes cannot be overturned by her single vote, therefore consulting her was unnecessary, as well as being a conflict of interest since our determination is her fate.”

Isolde’s hand brushed mine, trembling and cold. I grasped her tight and she held on to me.

A charge in the air told me Kowatsi was near. Isolde relaxed, and understanding rocked me. Kowatsi hadn’t been waiting on Isolde to pass…he had chosen to linger here in Cathis all along.

I hadn’t noticed until now with Vaughn and Brynmor anchoring me, heightening my senses.

“Since the Mimetidae are a patrilineal clan,” the elder continued, “we have elected Vaughn, Brynmor’s heir, as her successor. Because his life threads are tied to Mana’s, we demand that an official ceremony take place within a sunset of Vaughn’s succession ceremony.” He frowned. “I hope that the former maven Isolde will see the merit in our decision and choose not to contest it.”

“We can fight this,” Vaughn whispered over Isolde’s shoulder. “Our clan is loyal to you.”

“I never wanted to be maven.” She turned her back on the council and reached for Vaughn. “I fought long and hard to keep this title, to protect Brynmor’s dynasty. When the time came that I should have stepped aside, I clung to this life because being maven was all I knew. This is what your father would have wanted for you. He’d want his forefather’s line to continue through you.”

She pinched my cheeks. “Let’s get some blood back in those cheeks, girl. I’m not dying. I’m getting out of the way.” She winked and almost resembled her usual brazen self. “Besides, you’re in need of an advisor, and I’ll have plenty of time on my hands. Count yourself lucky. Wish I’d had someone like me back when Brynmor and I wed. Gods, his mother drove me to drink. Crude and brash female as I ever saw, and loud? My ears rang from morning until night after hearing her.”

Panic must have shown in my expression, because Vaughn pulled me tight against his chest.

“It’s not too late to change your mind.” He kept his hold light as if he sensed my urge to bolt for the doors. “Once I’m paladin, I will rescind your bargain with Mother. Keep your favor from Lourdes and know my clan will offer yours aid if they are ever called upon.” His voice dropped. “I want no debts, no obligations between us. I tied our life threads without asking, but I’m asking now. Stay with me, be my maven. Let me prove to you I am worthy of the gift you’ve given me.”

Perhaps it was the way his hand fisted the back of my shirt as he spoke that did me in. As if his mind were preoccupied with saying the right thing while his heart had other plans. Or perhaps it was the way his mischief-sparkled eyes had gone dull. Thoughts of me leaving had done that. I imagined Kowatsi’s eyes must have held the same pain when Isolde told him she was leaving.

She had no choice. I had two.

Stay and love this male, learn to love his people, or return home. Endure the same half-life Kowatsi had until desperation, that bone-deep desire for my soul mate, drove me back to Cathis and right into Vaughn’s arms…where I belonged.

“How could I leave you?” I brought his face down to mine for a kiss.

“Best give them your word.” Isolde cleared her throat. “They won’t honor mine.”

Expression hardening before my eyes, Vaughn faced the elders. “We accept your ruling.”

“Good.” Pearce looked to his peers. “Now, if we’re done here, there’s somber work ahead. I move to dismiss and let the families claim their dead—or visit their healing.” His gaze lit on me. “I’ll ask that you keep treating them as you have been. I’ll also ask you to make preparations for the ceremonies to come.” He stood and offered Vaughn his hand. They clasped forearms, and Pearce leaned close. “Sorry. I tried to sway them. You know I’ve nothing but respect for your mother.”

“I know.” Vaughn’s smile was tight. “We’ll manage.”

Behind Pearce, Owain waited with a curled lip. “We’ll be watching—you and your walker.”

Not Vaughn’s maven or future wife, but his walker. The distinction suited me fine, for now.

Without another word, Owain scuffled toward the door we’d entered.

A growl from Vaughn hastened the elder’s retreat. No. Not from Vaughn. From Brynmor.

Try as I might, I couldn’t spot the canis in the crowd.

“She’s gone,” a tight voice said. “She’s gone and you weren’t punished. Your mother wasn’t punished. No one was held accountable for her death. Dianna was my first love, my only love.”

I spun and found Deverell climbing from his seat onto the elevated path.

Walking as if every step jarred his soul, Deverell approached, sword limp in his hand.

Vaughn whirled me behind him and, before the room stopped spinning, Murdoch charged.

“Wait,” Murdoch called over his shoulder. “Let me talk to him.”

For a long while, the two friends stared at one another as if they had nothing left to say.

Low murmurs from Murdoch brought an angry flush to Deverell’s face. Knocking Murdoch aside, Deverell advanced toward Vaughn. Another growl rose. When Murdoch snagged the other male’s arm and spun him around, Deverell followed through with a lunge of his blade. Murdoch fell to one knee, bellowing when Deverell kicked him in the gut and ripped open a fresh wound.

He watched Murdoch thrash with eerie calm, then faced Vaughn with a friend’s blood on his sword. One by one, males with similar features climbed up from their seats and flanked Deverell.

“Here we go,” Lleu muttered. “Mana, prepare yourself. You’re about to have work to do.”

He shuffled me behind him, then Bram, then Isolde, until my back bounced off the wall.

Palms on stone, I pushed upright. I took one step before Deverell bellowed. From the cracks between Vaughn and Lleu, I saw him charge, sword high. I stumbled forward. His bellow turned into screams. Snarls rose. A flash of black fur was all I saw. The rest was left to my imagination.

At the base of the wall, an empty torch sat upturned. I grabbed the metal cone by its handle and stalked toward the fray, shoving bodies until I stood beside Vaughn. Deverell’s throat wound was ragged and beyond my help, Brynmor had left little of his flesh. The canis himself stood to one side of the body, growl pumping. Daring Deverell’s clansmen to try and attack his son again.

If I strained, I heard Brynmor chanting,
“Come on. Come on. Come on.”

If I strained harder, I saw Deverell’s aura flicker and fade, extinguishing before my eyes.

The torch dropped from my fingers, and I uttered a quick prayer to guide his journey.

“He’s passed.” Vaughn went to Deverell and squatted, shook his head. “Let this end now.”

The centermost male gestured to those around him to sheath their swords. “His body…”