Sapphire Crescent (20 page)

The priest kept telling himself that he had a perfectly good explanation in case anyone stopped him and demanded to know where he was off to. After all, he actually was supposed to be attending Emriana’s birthday party that evening. Of course, he had put off departing until the last minute, and it was those final precious moments that had allowed him to discover the truth. He would have to hurry to avoid being late, but at the same time, he sensed that hurrying too much would draw unwanted attention.

His thoughts swirling back and forth with all of his knowledge, Kovrim didn’t at first notice the pair of figures standing casually at the far end of the path he was following through the gardens. When he did glance up, he did a double take. It was a pair of Halanthi priests, apparently wrapped in conversation. He carefully avoided directing his gaze straight at them, looking for an inconspicuous alternate route. It was too late to turn aside and avoid them, though. He would either have to continue on, coming face to face with them, or double back, making it clear that he was trying to avoid them. His hands trembled, fearing that he’d been found out.

Despite his desire to avoid looking guilty, Kovrim faltered a step. Were they really waiting for him? It was possible that they just happened to have been on a walk themselves, out for a stroll and stopping for a respite. He could walk right by them, he thought. But in his heart, Kovrim knew they were not there by chance. Some premonition told him they were there specifically to waylay him. Lavant knew that he had discovered the Grand Trabbar’s secrets. The high priest had sent those two to intercept him, prevent him from revealing what he knew.

Whether his fears were accurate or he was just losing his nerve, Kovrim made the decision to turn away. He could not be caught. He had to warn Vambran. He stopped and half turned around, snapping his fingers, hoping he made it appear that he had simply forgotten something. It was a feeble hope, but he could think of nothing else.

The moment it became clear to the two priests that Kovrim was not going to walk any closer to them, they both came alive, watching him overtly. He spun completely away, ready to sprint back down the path. But two more Halanthi were blocking his exit, about equidistant from him. His heart sank. They had him cornered.

Kovrim considered just turning and running into the midst of the gardens, losing his pursuers in the lush undergrowth of vines, bamboo, and trees. But the four priests were much younger than he, and he doubted he could outrun them, even if he did manage

to vanish from their sight temporarily. The other option was to confront them, try to browbeat them to back off, but he doubted that would work. They had their instructions, and Lavant undoubtedly made it clear that they were to prevent him from leaving at all costs. That left just one more possibility. And despite the fact that he was more advanced than any of the other four, and his divine magic powerful enough to rebuke them, given enough time, their advantage lay in their numbers. Kovrim doubted he would be able to cast more than twice before they incapacitated him.

Hells, he thought, they don’t even have to get close to me. They can just stand back there and take their shots.

When it came down to that, the priest knew he only had one choice. He spun and scrambled into the thick cover of the garden.

Behind Kovrim, back on the path, the four priests began to shout. He ignored them, pushing his way through the dense plant life, struggling to find a way to freedom before they either caught up to him or circled around. His heart was pounding, and a sense of panic welled up in him that he was about to be caught.

Suddenly, Kovrim felt a tingle of magic wash over him. One of the four was attempting to stop his flight magically, and he believed he knew the type of holding magic the Halanthi was using. He steeled himself mentally, fighting to resist the spell, and thankfully continued to churn his legs, moving forward. He knew that he was making noise, that the crashing of the foliage was giving away his position, but he had no choice. If he stopped, they would be on him.

Another wave of magic passed over Kovrim, and he heard an insistent voice from behind him, ordering him to halt. The urge to follow that instruction was too great to resist. Despite his own inner voice

screaming at himself to keep going, he pulled up, panting and swaying breathlessly, waiting. He was doomed. The four Halanthi priests would surround him and grab him. He groaned, hanging his head.

But the priests did not catch up to him, and after a moment, Kovrim was willing to run again. Only then, he didn’t charge full force through the bushes, but instead began to creep through them, listening to the sounds of pursuit. There was the occasional shout, sometimes from behind, sometimes from up ahead. Whenever he heard such, he altered his direction, angling always to keep clear.

Something in the back of the priest’s mind told him that they were herding him, that he was being driven right toward another of their group. One who was being quiet and waiting for Kovrim to stumble onto him. He stopped moving, then, listening to the sounds around him, and he began to believe more earnestly that it was exactly his pursuers’ plan. They were on three sides of him, slowly trying to drive him in the direction he’d been going. He would try to outwit them by doubling back.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps, one of the four Halanthi priests jumped up from behind a barricade of shrubs only a few feet from where he was about to pass by.

“Syndo Lazelle,” the priest said, gesturing for Kovrim to stand down. “You can’t escape. Please,” he said, looking expectantly at his quarry.

Kovrim sighed despondently, and briefly thought of bolting back into the brush, fleeing again. But the Halanthi, whose name was Javoli, the Syndo remembered, shook his head as though reading the older man’s intentions.

“He’s here,” Javoli called out to the others. “We’ve got him surrounded.” He turned his gaze back to Kovrim. “You see? You only make it more difficult for yourself.”

It was at that moment that a figure cloaked in red flashed into view, smacking Javoli in the back of the head with a sap. Kovrim heard the solid thunk and watched the junior priest drop to his knees with a groan and topple over and lie still.

He turned to look more closely at his savior. The figure had a cowl wrapped around his face so that the priest couldn’t see it. The hands were gloved in red, and the figure wore soft boots of the same color.

Ah, Kovrim thought, Vambran’s savior. And perhaps mine, now.

“Come on,” the figure insisted, and it was the voice of a woman. “We have little time.”

Kovrim cocked his head sideways in confusion. The voice sounded familiar.

“Who—?”

“Not now,” the woman responded, motioning frantically. “In due time.”

Nodding, Kovrim stepped forward and began to follow the figure, the memory of her voice tugging at the back of his mind. The memory was a good one, one that made him feel safe. He felt very close to figuring it out.

Emriana’s breath nearly caught in her throat as she first stepped out onto the high balcony overlooking the gardens

of the Matrell estate. The open lawn in the middle had been filled with tables, and party guests mingled everywhere throughout the grounds. Colored lanterns hung from every tree, sat on walls and banisters and the tables themselves, swaying in the gentle breezes. On one porch looking down on the festivities, a full orchestra played lively tunes, to which numerous partygoers danced in line, laughing and clapping in time with the music as they did so, on a second large patio directly below the musicians.

The scents of lamb and eel roasting over a large fire pit dug near the spread, as well as peppers and turnips, made Emriana’s mouth

water. She could also see platters of cheeses, saltfish, a variety of spicy sauced meats and vegetables, and more kinds of sweets than she could imagine. She was already craving some of the custard pastries she loved so much. In the middle of the tables set with the food was a large pedestal with a magnificent ice sculpture atop it, an image of a mermaid lounging on a rock. The sculpture glowed somehow from within, and spellcraft also kept the frozen wonder from melting in the warm evening air.

Servants roamed through the guests’ tables with pitchers of wine, ale, and cool fruit juices, keeping every visitor’s cup or tankard filled to overflowing. Everyone had put on their most dazzling attire for the evening, and Emriana nearly jumped for joy at the number of attendees. She thought she would pop, and she imagined that the silly grin on her face must have made her look six years old, but for once, she didn’t care if anyone accused her of such. The girl made up her mind right then and there that, despite the events of the past several days, she was going to thoroughly enjoy the party in her honor.

She looked to her left, where her brother stood, thankful that he was beside her at all. The lieutenant had arrived only moments before the first guests, , coming to her straight away. Despite Jaleene’s protests, ‘ Emriana let him into her rooms, where he proceeded to tell her what was going on with the mercenary company, and how he’d managed to sneak away.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay,” he explained, “so we can’t waste any time tonight. The first chance you get, suggest a private walk and take Denrick where we agreed. I’ll be there and we’ll get the truth out of him.”

The realization that Vambran might be gone by morning made Emriana shudder. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that he would disappear again before the two of them managed to uncover the

details of the mystery behind the two murders, and yet it was looming in front of her. The girl shook her head, refusing to let those worries spoil her evening. Instead, she focused her attention on the fact that her brother was there right then.

Vambran was decked out in a most regal outfit, his officer’s uniform. He wore a finely tailored pair of dark blue breeches, loosely tucked into his crisp black boots, which came almost to his knee and were then turned down to a wide cuff. A snow-white silk shirt billowed over his arms, with tiny slashes in each sleeve designed to show off the blue silk layer ,underneath. His black leather riding gloves made a nice contrast to the shirt. Over all of it, the lieutenant wore his ceremonial breastplate, all polished silver with gold highlights, including the family crest, a bas relief tiger’s head facing directly forward. He had even buckled on his crossbow, which hung from his belt on the opposite side from his sword.

“You look dashing,” Emriana whispered to her brother. “Especially the breastplate.”

Vambran smiled and whispered back, “It was Xaphira’s, you know. She gave it to me the night she disappeared. I had to have it adjusted for size a bit, of course. You, by the way, look radiant.”

Emriana giggled and looked down at her own attire. She and Jaleene had spent most of the afternoon preparing her for the evening, and for the first time, she was glad for it. She wore a dress the color of sea foam, creamy white with just a hint of green highlights in it. Over it, her entire upper torso was bedecked in an elaborate vest of fine gold filigree that hugged her bosom snugly, enhancing her figure. From the wrought mesh of gold hung emeralds interspersed with tiny bells and chimes. Every move she made caused the little instruments to tinkle gaily. Even the girl’s boots, hidden beneath her dress, were festooned with strings of bells that jangled sweetly when she walked.

Emriana’s hair had taken the longest, for it had been pulled up and piled stylishly atop her head, with individual ringlets hanging down at each temple. Though she found it difficult and occasionally frustrating to walk elegantly and keep still so that it would not come loose, she felt very regal. Jaleene had even applied some face paint, highlighting her cheeks and darkening the area around her eyes. When the girl had seen herself in her wall mirror, she felt that the last vestiges of her childhood had faded away.

“Shall we?” Vambran asked, offering his sister his arm.

Emriana smiled and looped her own wrist around his crooked elbow, and together they descended the steps to the party.

At that moment, the orchestra stopped in mid-song, and Uncle Dregaul appeared on the balcony next to the musicians, directly above the crowd.

“Lords and ladies,” he began, gesturing for quiet. The general conversation dropped to a low hum, with only a few murmurs still rolling through the guests. “Tonight is a very special occasion, for many reasons. We have several delightful surprises in store for you throughout the evening. But before we can let the party truly begin, let’s all welcome our guest of honor tonight.” , He gestured, open-palmed, toward where Emriana and Vambran stood at the bottom step of the last staircase. “Tonight,” Dregaul said, “Let us celebrate her passing into adulthood. Let us envy her, and try to remember what it was like to be sixteen.” That drew more than a few chuckles from the crowd. “I present Lady Emriana Matrell!” Dregaul finished with a flourish.

The partygoers gathered close, clapping and cheering cordially for the girl.

As Emriana and Vambran approached the garden, guests hovered around the siblings, and every last one of them greeted her, calling out good wishes for a happy birthday. The first to meet her at the base of the

stairs were, of course, her own family. Grandmother Hetta was standing in the front, with Ladara right by her side, as usual. Emriana smiled brightly at her grandmother, and she thought she would begin to cry, she was so happy.

Hetta leaned down and gave Emriana a kiss on her cheek.

“My little Em is all grown up,” the elderly woman said, a glow in her eyes of absolute pride. “Dazzle them, dear.”

Emriana’s mother gave her daughter a tight hug. “My baby,” she said, then stepped back.

,Evester and Marga were next, with the twins by their sides.

Evester gave Emriana a quick hug and whispered, “You’ve made us all very proud.”

Then he was stepping back again, letting his wife in.

Marga beamed as she took Emriana’s hands in her own. She smiled for a long time.