White Heart of Justice (13 page)

“Your brother?” I said, totally confused. “What does your brother have to do with this? Your lost memory has nothing to do with Ari's.”

“I know that. And it doesn't. Not really.” Rafe twisted his silver bracelet. “But . . .” He swallowed hard and looked away. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to me.

“Bhereg was a demon too. A drakon.”

I don't know what my face looked like just then (likely it was full of bewilderment) but Rafe's face—oh!—it was
full
of pain. He'd always blamed himself for his brother's death. But, now that I knew his brother had been a demon and not an Angel, Rafe's grief took on new meaning.

Raphael Sinclair had to be the most astonishing, most sentimental, and most devoted Angel I'd ever met. As residents of Halja, all Angels are required to follow the law, which of course means not harming
regulare
demons. That said, Angels generally aren't in the habit of helping them either and, in fact, most Angels have only the barest, veiled tolerance for them. Rafe's anguish over causing the accidental death of a drakon “brother” he'd never really known showed that, even at six years old, his compassion for other living things had rivaled my own.

“They're not born knowing how to fly . . . or swim,” he said dully.

And that's when I knew Rafe's admission tonight had as much to do with the fact that Ari might be arriving later as it did the fact that Rafe was still consumed with grief over Bhereg's drowning. I remembered that Rafe's specialty was grace. Rafe intended to spend the rest of his life paying for his brother's death. And this admission—telling me about Ari's memory and implying I should consider reconciling with him—was all part of that.

I walked over to Rafe and wrapped my arms around him. I laid my head on his shoulder and he rested his cheek against my head.

“I'm glad you told me,” I said. “About both things. The memory and Bhereg. But it doesn't change how I feel about Ari. Or you.”

I felt Rafe exhale softly—and then inhale sharply, as if he were about to say something else, when we heard a knock on the springhouse's outer door.

It had to be Karanos . . . and whoever he was bringing from Bradbury.

Rafe's face slipped back into his carefully carefree look.

“I'll let you finish getting dressed,” he said. But he kept hold of the lapels on my robe and, for a moment, I thought he'd go ahead and say whatever it was he was going to say before the knock. But instead he let go, turned on his heel, and left.

Chapter 12

I
was pleasantly surprised to find a beautiful selection of clothes to choose from in the white dresser of the room I was staying in. (Unfortunately, finding myself in mortal peril and then waking up somewhere else without a wardrobe of my own was becoming a habit.) I donned a black dress tunic with long sleeves and a high neck. It had whorls stitched into the ends of the sleeves and down the middle in emerald and silver thread. I paired it with simple fur-lined leather leggings and tied my hair back. Luckily, someone had fetched my boots from the spring where I'd left them, so I wouldn't have to greet the new arrivals barefoot. I glanced in the mirror, thinking I may have overdone it. In my attempt to downplay femininity, I'd achieved severity. But I didn't want to put off emerging from my room any longer.

Walking down the hall I realized the mood and energy level in Demeter's springhouse had changed dramatically since Aurelia and I had returned from our swim. Loud voices—people talking, some even laughing—filled the great room. Darkness had fallen, but the nearly full moon had risen anew, so the scene on the other side of the lead glass window was as tranquilly pretty as the one from my bedroom window the night before. I realized I'd inadvertently chosen to wear colors that reflected the landscape. How fitting for a mostly Mederi gathering, which was what this was.

Inside the great room were thirty or so other women—Mederies. It made sense, I thought. Lots of tribe members would likely want to pay their respects to Karanos and meet Nightshade's sister. As soon as I walked out of the hallway, I was assailed by kindhearted, well-meaning women. I smiled and shook hands, exchanged hugs with strangers, answered all sorts of questions about the arrow's near miss at Kalisto's Crystal Palace, my recovery here, my swim through the spring, and my life at St. Luck's. All the while though, I kept an eye out for Karanos . . . and Ari. After an agonizing half hour that felt as if it had been a half century, I spotted my father at the far end of the room. He was speaking with Linnaea. Standing next to Linnaea was a woman I would have recognized anywhere. Her hair was as white as the snow and her eyes as pink as rose quartz. It wasn't Ari that Karanos had brought down from Bradbury.

It was Joy Carmine, his mother.

Once I spotted them, I politely excused myself from my current conversation and made my way through the crowd to them.

“Hello, Father,” I said, greeting Karanos first, which was the expected and respectful thing to do. Throughout my childhood, my father had been a shadowy figure. Ever present, but often out of sight. Lately we'd begun to talk more, although it was mostly about Maegester matters.

He nodded at me. “Nouiomo, glad to see that Aurelia was able to get you healed up on such short notice.”

“Me too. Hello, Linnaea,” I said, giving Demeter's monarch a nod of acknowledgement. And then I turned to Joy. It was the first time I'd seen her since I'd found out Ari was a drakon. No need to wonder if she knew. She
had
to know. Which meant she'd deceived me as well.

The last time I'd seen her had been months ago (after one of the aforementioned times I'd been in mortal peril. My clinic client had tried to kill me and I'd recovered over Beltane Break at her house—Ari's house—or the house he grew up in). For the span of two heartbeats I tried to figure out if I was relieved or disappointed that it was Joy and not Ari who'd come, and then I decided it didn't matter.

“Joy,” I said, nodding to her, “good to see you.”

I'd forgotten how arresting she looked. I suddenly wondered if maybe
she
was a demon in disguise. Her chilly white coloring and pink eyes were certainly unusual. She'd told me she was
hveit
. Ari had assured me that she was a Hyrke, but he'd admitted Joy had an uncanny ability to read people. Joy herself had told me she had the ability to
see
things, but she'd never elaborated on that gift. Clearly she had other gifts as well. Like the ability to raise an adopted drakon child.

“What happened to your tooth?” she asked. I swear, I don't know how she did it, but she actually managed to sound like a concerned mother.

I frowned, because her concern made me uncomfortable, and waved my hand in the air to indicate that the who, how, and why of my tooth getting knocked out was unimportant. “A Gridiron ranking match,” I said peremptorily and then turned to Linnaea.

“I was told that Demeter would be willing to supply the barghests we'll need for our trip south. Could we visit the pen tomorrow morning and make our selections?”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Linnaea said. “And if the barghests knew you were coming, they would be too. If they had a motto it would be
paratus sum
.
I am ready.
Barghests scoff at being ‘born ready.' They are
conceived
ready. Conception to birth in less than twenty-four hours.”

I choked back a laugh, reminding myself that Mederies were never shy when discussing matters of breeding. But I soon became somber again. The truth was beastly sled dogs were the last thing on my mind. Linnaea glanced from face to face taking in our solemn expressions and made her excuses, leaving me alone with Karanos and Joy. Part of me wished Karanos would leave too, just so I could confront Joy about all the things she hadn't told me last year, but then I reminded myself that she'd been kind and generous when I'd stayed with her and it wasn't as if she owed
me
her loyalty. So I skipped the small talk (Karanos despised it anyway) and got right to the reason why she was here.

“I was told you have more information about the White Heart,” I said.

“So you're really going to do it?” Joy asked me. “Storm the gates of Tartarus?”

“That's the plan,” I said, refusing to let any of my fear or reservations about the race show.

“I heard you have a Guardian Angel now—Raphael Sinclair?”

I glanced at my father. Had Karanos told her about Rafe? Or had Ari? Had she been in touch with Ari since I'd last seen him in the Shallows? She
had
to have. I knew Ari loved her too much to let her wonder whether the rumors of his death were true. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to ask her where Ari was and if he was okay. She must have seen something in my face—a hint of emotion, an echo of my feelings, or perhaps even a glimpse of my future—because her expression softened.

“Your father told me about Mr. Sinclair,” she said. “I'd like to meet him too, if he's around.”

I searched the crowded room for Rafe. It was odd, after working with Ari on two previous assignments, not being able to sense Rafe's presence. I was just about to say I didn't know where he was when he appeared. I made a mental note to ask him later how he did that. Did Guardians cast spells over their wards that would alert them if they were needed?

He'd changed as well. It was one of the only times I'd ever seen Rafe wear anything that wasn't ripped, faded, or both. He wore a black high-necked tunic with a vest made out of the nastiest, fiercest looking fur I'd ever seen. He hooked his thumbs into the arm holes and grinned at me. “Barghest fur,” he said in answer to my unspoken question. He turned to face Karanos and Joy.

He gave my father a short bow and acknowledged him formally, with my father's full name and title. He then turned to Joy.

“This is Joy Carmine. From Bradbury,” I added, although it was likely unnecessary. Rafe was well aware of Ari's last name and had probably figured out that this was the person Karanos had brought down with him.

I turned to Joy and introduced her to Rafe.

They stared at each other and just before it might have become awkward, Rafe said, “You're Ari Carmine's mother.” The emotions raced across his face nearly too fast to see: relief, confusion, and then—Rafe's default—nonchalance.

“Karanos told me you worked with Noon and Ari last semester during their trip to the Shallows,” she said.

“I did.” And then: “That trip turned out to be tougher than any of us anticipated it would be. I'm sorry . . . about Ari disappearing in the Shallows.” He glanced briefly at me and then said to Joy, “Have you heard from him?”

My signature pulsed and I clamped down on it, hoping Karanos would chalk it up to the fact that we were discussing Ari, not because I knew Ari was still alive. And then I wondered once more why in all of Luck's lost land I was still keeping Ari's blasted secret for him. Why I didn't just tell everyone that Ari had been revealed as a demon in our midst, a drakon who'd been training to be a Maegester.

But one look at Joy and I knew I wouldn't. At least not now. I could tell she had truly come to help us.

“How did you, a Hyrke from Bradbury, come by information about
Album Cor Iustitiae
?” I asked.

Joy gave me an enigmatic smile. “You know me only as Ari's mother. But Carmine is my married name. My given name is Letizia Liberta Bialas—”

And then it hit me. Who Joy was.
What
Joy was.

“You're Kaspar Bialas' descendant,” I said suddenly, almost breathlessly, remembering Glashia's lecture from Artifice class the day Rafe and I took our oaths.
What was that footnote Glashia had read?
Something about Metatron's squire being a Bialas and that he'd been chosen because he'd had several unusual Hyrke characteristics, the most notable of which was his resistance to all but the strongest magic. Well, I wasn't aware that Joy was immune to magic, but it would certainly explain how a magicless Hyrke had been able to raise (and presumably discipline) a drakon child like Ari. The footnote had also mentioned a legend. That Bialas had been marked by Luck's hand similar to the way Luck marks his waning magic users—but that Bialas' mark was as light as a waning magic user's is dark.

Looking at Joy, who had a complete absence of coloring, even in her eyes, I recognized her mark for what it was. It was unmistakable. She'd inherited Bialas blood as surely as I'd inherited Onyx blood.

“Let's step out to the patio,” Karanos said.

*   *   *

T
he springhouse patio was a crisp change from the crowded, heated interior. The four of us stood under a raftered awning surrounded by tables, benches, and chairs that were draped with burlap to keep the snow off. A few feet away the snow-covered lawn started, and yards beyond that, the woods. Joy wasted no time getting back to our discussion.

“My many-times-great-grandfather was Metatron's squire, Kaspar Bialas. He's the one who hid the White Heart from the Divinity. I was told he hid it in Tartarus, Halja's southernmost dungeon.”

For a moment, I was speechless. Joy had just casually admitted she was descended from a thief—and, apparently, a notorious one at that. Still, the fact that she'd done so without any sign of guilt and in front of the executive of the Demon Council, told me there was more in her closet than just a generations-old skeleton.

I turned toward Rafe to see how he'd taken Joy's admission. Standing beneath the shadowed rafters in his barghest fur vest, Rafe looked menacing.

“Why did Bialas want to hide the sword from the Divinity?” he asked.

“It was Metatron's dying wish that the sword be kept from the Amanita. He told Bialas to hide it in Tartarus.”

Rafe's expression hardened at the mention of the Amanita but he said nothing else.

“Why Tartarus?” I asked. “And why didn't Metatron want the Amanita to have it?”

I had hunches about the answers to both questions, namely that if you had a strong, young squire who was immune to magic, asking him to hide something in Tartarus for you made some sense. And Metatron likely wanted to prevent the Amanita from doing whatever it was they wanted the White Heart for—to use or destroy it. But I wanted to hear which from Joy.

But instead of answering my questions, she fished in her cloak pocket for something. A tin box bound with string. The wind kicked up and suddenly Joy's hair reminded me of the way Justica's had looked when Rafe and I had carved her out of snow at the Festival of Frivolity—all snowy white and writhing in the wind.

“The journal you've been given by the Divinity to aid in your search will take you to a dead end. Bialas left it with Metatron's oxcart to throw off any future White Heart hunters.”

Ah,
I thought,
that would explain why all of the former White Heart hunters—Graemite, Percevalus, and Jacindus—had failed to find it.

“This box contains three letters written by Bialas, which will help you to retrieve the White Heart, if that's truly what you intend to do.”

“It is. But why do you want to help me? Sounds like the Bialases have been perfectly content to leave the White Heart in Tartarus all this time. If your ancestors didn't share these letters with the hunters that came before me, why me? Why now?”

“Because,” Karanos said, his deep voice melting into our discussion the way waning magic sliced through snow, “after your accident at the Crystal Palace, Friedrich asked another bounty hunter to find and retrieve the White Heart for him.”