Mistress of the Night Page 19

  She drew herself up and moved toward the door. Mifano stood aside. Selûne’s clergy leaped to get out of her way. Feena walked past them all and out into the corridor, turning toward her room in silent, brittle dignity.

  Blood dripped from her chin onto her breast. She stopped and turned to the nearest person—Jhezzail—and said, “Younger sister …”

  Jhezzail made no reply. Feena continued anyway.

  “The High Moonmistress must be taken to the infirmary immediately and given a sprig of belladonna to eat. A fresh sprig. It will prevent her from becoming a werewolf.” She focused on the girl. “Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, elder sister,” Jhezzail stammered.

  Feena turned away.

  Sounds forced their way into her haze. Shouting. Screaming. Crying. Her name—Julith was calling her. Feena didn’t answer.

  She reached her room, opened the door, stepped through, and closed the door. Noises still reached her, including Julith’s frantic calls. Footsteps raced along the hall outside, drawing nearer—Julith again, she was certain of it. Feena shot the bolt on the door, then sagged down against the rough wood as Julith began to pound against it from the other side.

  The high, keening whine that welled up from deep inside Feena’s belly belonged more to the wolf than to the woman, but the despair and horror behind it were entirely human.

  Adrey moved across the rubble strewn floor like a serpent. As she moved, she reached across her body and drew her sword. It left its scabbard with a dry hiss. Keph gasped.

  She was carrying Quick.

  A dark smile flickered across her face as she saw his surprise.

  “It seemed appropriate,” she said. “You already have the knife you used to kill me.”

  Keph glanced down. Shar’s sacrificial knife was in his hand. He jerked and flung it away.

  “Adrey,” he said, “I didn’t kill you!”

  “You might as well have.” Her voice was as cold as a winter wind. She lifted Quick, holding the rapier in front of her face. “Storm’s lash!”

  The lightning that writhed around the blade, bitterly white, brought no light to the darkened hall. Fear trembled through Keph’s belly. He raised his hand and the disk of Shar that dangled from it.

  “Shar—” he gasped. “Shar—”

  “Shar take me?” Adrey laughed. “Uncle Keph, she already has. Don’t you know any other spells?”

  Mistress of the Night, he prayed, guide me.

  Keph didn’t speak the words, but they echoed in the hall just the same. Keph’s gut twisted. An orison. One orison. Shar’s guidance had shown him nothing more than damnation.

  Adrey sank into a dueling pose, and Keph stumbled back.

  “Adrey, I didn’t mean it!”

  “False regret does not become Shar’s chosen,” she snarled.

  “No!” Keph spat. “It’s not false. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  “Too late, Uncle Keph!”

  She lunged and he twisted desperately. Quick slid past his belly, close enough that he could smell the lightning on her blade. Keph grabbed Adrey’s extended arm and pulled her off balance, using the momentum to leap past her.

  Through the open doors where she had entered, there was light—twilight, the hot glow of sunset, the only true light in the hall.

  Keph glanced over his shoulder. Adrey was back on her feet and coming after him. He turned back to the doorway, but Jarull and Variance barred his path.

  “It’s too late to back out now,” Jarull said.

  “The cult,” said Variance, “must be protected.”

  He gulped—and dived between them.

  For a moment it seemed like it might work. The light drew closer. He was almost there, almost out of the hall.

  Hands closed on his legs. He hit the ground screaming and kicked out. Hands fell away but grabbed again.

  “Too late,” Variance chanted, “Too late.”

  Keph glanced up at her. She wasn’t human anymore—her legs vanished in writhing darkness, while a dozen arms sprouted from her shoulders to twine around his legs. Her eyes were black. When she spoke, shadows escaped from her tongue in wisps.

  When she smiled, deepest night itself shone through.

  “Shar embraces you, Keph. She has plans for you. She’s not going to let you go so easily.”

  She began to pull on his legs, slowly, irresistibly, dragging him back toward the darkness where Adrey waited with Quick and Jarull with Shar’s knife. Keph choked and thrashed hard—

  —and sat up in his bed, sheets twisted around his legs. The light of sunset lanced through a gap in the curtains over his window. Somewhere a fly buzzed slowly, back and forth.

  He was drenched in sweat. His hair was soaked with it. When he rubbed his hands across his face, it ran between his fingers in fat drops.

  She’s not going to let you go so easily.

  CHAPTER 11

  Full night had finally fallen. Moonshadow Hall had slipped, if not into slumber, then at least into the uncomfortable quiet that followed in the wake of horror. Through her window, Feena could hear Dhauna’s intermittent shrieks and inarticulate curses as they echoed up from the infirmary and across the inner courtyard.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and murmured, “Forgive me.”

  Feena crossed to the door of her chamber—old sandals making no noise on the floor, homespun skirt and linen blouse whispering around her body—and opened the door.

  Outside, Jhezzail started. Feena bit back a wince. She’d expected there would be someone watching her door. She’d hoped it wouldn’t be someone she liked.

  “Be at ease,” she said.

  One hand made a sign. The other touched her medallion. Jhezzail’s eyes widened for a moment as Selûne’s magic took hold of her, then drooped and softened, her fear washed away. Her arms fell down to her sides. She didn’t move as Feena approached, but her eyes followed her closely.

  “Velsinore commanded me to watch your door and summon her if you came out,” the acolyte said with utter calm.

  “I guessed that,” Feena replied. “What’s been happening in the temple?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been here all evening. I think Velsinore and Mifano have been in the infirmary with Mother Dhauna.”

  “And Julith?”

  “They shut her out. She’s waiting in the winter chapel.” A spark glimmered in Jhezzail’s placid eyes and she added, “She asked me to let her know if you came out.”

  Of course, Feena thought. Julith would do that.

  Feena raised her chin and said, “Thank you, Jhezzail. I’m sorry I have to do this.” Before the acolyte could react, she thrust out her fingers once more. “Bright Lady of Night,” she prayed, “hold her fast!”

  The calm in Jhezzail’s eyes flashed in alarm, but it was too late. The power of the spell locked her muscles and joints, paralyzing her. Feena acted swiftly, darting back into her room and emerging with the patiently torn strips that had been her bed linens. The calming spell had been necessary to draw information out of the acolyte, but neither it nor the spell of holding would last long. Feena gagged Jhezzail first, then swiftly lashed her arms to her body. Grasping her tightly, she dismissed the magic. Jhezzail’s muscles sagged.

  The girl struggled, but Feena hoisted her over one shoulder and carried her quickly into her chamber. She dumped her on the bed, then grabbed her legs, forcing them together so she could bind them. Behind her gag, Jhezzail was screaming. The torn cloth turned the wails into a high-pitched whine.

  “I’m sorry, Jhezzail,” Feena apologized. “I truly am. I admire your faith. Please tell Julith that I think you’ll be a great priestess someday.”

  Long strips of fabric bound the acolyte to the bed frame so she couldn’t roll off. Jhezzail’s eyes were wild with fear. Feena turned away to avoid meeting them.

  She shut the door of the chamber but didn’t try to lock or block it. When other acolytes or clergy realized Jhezzail was gone from her post, it would be ea
sy enough for them to rescue her. Feena prayed that the acolyte wouldn’t be missed too soon—two hours, maybe more. That would be enough time.

  The corridors of Moonshadow Hall were deserted. The clerics were probably either seeking solace in prayer or huddled with the frightened acolytes, trying to mend their faith in the face of the day’s events. Feena kept a sharp watch anyway, creeping through the shadows to the refectory, into the silent kitchens beyond, and out through the stout door, into the little garden. She gave the old, mossy pillar a fond brush of farewell, then hopped over the wall and out of Moonshadow Hall.

  She didn’t want anyone to see a wolf running in Yhaunn’s shadows again, so she didn’t change form. Instead she stayed on two legs as she trotted through the silent streets of the city, climbing steadily up toward the city gates that she’d passed through fourteen nights before.

  In the sky above, the moon was only the barest sliver of a crescent, as if even Selûne were hiding her face in shame. Feena’s chest ached. Sobs had wracked her through the afternoon, and through the long twilight of evening. Inside, she felt broken.

  The water in the basin in her room was stained red with Dhauna Myritar’s blood. Feena could still taste the tang of it in her mouth—and thinking about it only brought the taste back stronger than before. Sharp. Salty. Warm. Tingling like copper on the tip of her tongue, heavy like iron against the roof of her mouth.

  Feena clenched her teeth and forced the memory away. No more sobs. No more tears. Her eyes were dry. She couldn’t cry anymore. She might never cry again. Dhauna’s betrayal felt like a void in her very spirit—Dhauna’s betrayal and her own loss of control in striking down her old friend and teacher.

  There was no point to staying at Moonshadow Hall any longer. High manners and elegant gowns wouldn’t convince Selûne’s clergy anymore. The priests and priestesses, acolytes and devotees would shun her. Mifano and Velsinore would be merciless. There would be no more games or petty humiliations. At the very least, they would do to her exactly what she was doing to herself—banishment, exile—if she was lucky.

  And if word escaped Moonshadow Hall of what had happened, the people of Yhaunn would shun the temple itself in horror. They might do more. Feena had a vision of a mob, Noyle and the other denizens of the Cutter’s Dip at its head, descending on the graceful white walls and blackening them with the smoke of a thousand torches.

  A wave of fear swept over her at the thought. She clutched for the nearest wall, holding herself up. When the moment passed, she drew herself up straight.

  It was better to remove herself from Yhaunn before any of that came to pass. Dhauna’s dreams, the dreams that had drawn her to the city and that had held her within it, were nothing more than the nightmares of a mad, old woman. The only heresy, the only danger, was in Dhauna’s age-tortured mind. The New Moon Pact … a horrid coincidence, a tale encountered in chance that had taken root in madness.

  Feena’s hand strayed to her medallion, caressing the nicked and worn surface.

  Moonmaiden have mercy on Mother Dhauna, she prayed silently. Let her wake tomorrow and remember nothing but peace.

  She wished she could hope for the same.

  The street opened up ahead of her, broadening into a wide plaza before the keep that hunched over the city gates. Like many of the merchant cities of Sembia, Yhaunn seldom closed her gates, even by night. At so late an hour, though, the guards on duty did take extra care with who they let in—and who they let out. Feena found herself waiting behind a tall riding horse that had been loaded down with bulging saddlebags like a common mule. One of the gate guards was inspecting the bags dubiously while his partner questioned the horse’s dismounted rider.

  “Hey, Grat,” he called forward. “Seems he packed like a halfling in a hurry, too!”

  The other guard’s voice rumbled off the stone walls of the keep, “Packed in a hurry, riding fast, wanting to get out the gate later than an honest man has reason to—if you don’t want to tell us where you’re headed to, maybe you want to tell us what you’re running from.”

  “Look,” argued the rider, “I swear I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to leave.”

  His voice was angry, but also frightened. And strangely familiar. Feena stepped around to the other side of the horse. The man who clutched the animal’s reins as if they were his mother’s apron strings was Keph Thingoleir.

  She ducked back and her nose wrinkled. Based on what she had seen from Keph in the Stiltways the other night, she could easily guess at any number of reasons he might feel the need to get out of Yhaunn fast. Whatever it was, with so much stuffed into his bags, it didn’t look like the young man was coming back any time soon.

  Feena pressed her lips together. It was tempting to simply slip away and let the guards deal as they would with Keph, then come back later. Keph had, after all, sneered at her offer to return his aid. Anything he was running from, he probably deserved.

  But what if Stag and Drik had started looking for revenge? He didn’t deserve that.

  In spite of what the young man might think, she did owe him.

  “Moonmaiden’s grace,” she cursed. “One last time and never again!” She drew herself up and stood tall, then stepped out from behind Keph’s horse, carrying herself with the poise that Julith had taught her. “Goodmen!”

  All three men stared, Keph most of all. Feena stopped in front of the guards.

  “I speak for Moonshadow Hall,” she said. “I will vouch for this man. Let him pass.”

  The guards glanced at each other. Annoyance crossed the face of the one that had been examining Keph’s bags and he started to speak, but his partner, deep-voiced Grat, slapped him across the gut.

  “Your pardon … uhhh … priestess,” he said with gruff respect. “Do you have any way to prove your authority?”

  He stared at her rough country clothes with some uncertainty, but Feena caught his eye and held it.

  “I am Feena Archwood, Moonmistress-Designate of Moonshadow Hall.” The words slipped off her tongue too easily. She had to force herself not to tremble at what had become nothing more than a brazen lie. She lifted her chin and held Selûne’s medallion up for them to see. “If that’s not enough to satisfy you, you may call on Guard Captain Manas. I’m certain he will be pleased to come down at this hour and confirm my identity.”

  Grat swallowed. “Ahh … I don’t think there’s a need for that, Moonmistress.” He glanced at Keph. The young man was still staring at Feena, his eyes so wide they looked ready to pop right out of his face. “This one has the look of someone with something to hide, though.”

  “He did me a service some nights ago, sir,” Feena told him. “If he passes through the gate in my charge, will you let him go?”

  “I … we …”

  Grat looked to the other guard. Feena raised an eyebrow and turned to Keph.

  “Does the city guard have any reason to pursue you?” she demanded. “Have you broken any of the laws of Yhaunn or Sembia?” Keph blinked and shook his head mutely. Feena looked back to Grat. “In Selûne’s name, I say that I believe him. Let us pass.”

  Grat stared at her—then stepped aside. “Thank you,” Feena said. “Mount, Keph.”

  The young man scrambled to obey.

  “Do you not have a horse, Moonmistress?” asked the second guard, obviously suspicious. Feena turned her glare on him, and he flinched away. She put her back to him and marched on to the gates.

  A moment later, hoofbeats followed, quick at first then slowing as Keph caught up to her and matched the pace of his horse to her stride. The young man stared down at her with an expression of awe.

  “Feena, I—”

  “Keep quiet,” she hissed.

  The slow rhythm of his horse’s hooves was the only sound as they passed through the gates and out of Yhaunn. The road to Ordulin stretched out in the starlight before them. And beyond Ordulin … Feena drew a deep breath. Arch Wood village. Home.

  She could tell that Keph was
watching her, sneaking quick, confused glances in the darkness. She didn’t say anything, and somewhat to her surprise, he didn’t say anything either.

  Too arrogant to admit he was wrong in rejecting me before, Feena thought, too ashamed to find I’ve come to his rescue this time, and too startled to find that the countrywoman he scrapped alongside is also a haughty priestess.

  Her mouth twisted. No, she reminded herself. That’s not me. I’m not that woman.

  She started to turn aside, toward the stand of trees that housed the little clearing where she’d first encountered Stag and Drik. She could change there. Her wolf form was more suited to travel, especially at night—even if the thought of becoming the animal that had attacked Dhauna put a knot in her stomach.

  “Good night, Keph,” she said. “Safe journey.”

  “Feena?” The young man twisted in his saddle and asked, “Where are you going?”

  “There’s a path,” she lied. “My journey lies that way.”

  “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

  He pulled on the reins, turning his horse. Feena stiffened.

  “What?” she asked. “Why?”

  She couldn’t quite make out his expression, but Keph’s voice was tight. “I need …” He choked, hesitated, then seemed to change his mind. “Thank you for helping me,” he said.

  “You helped me at the Cutter’s Dip,” she said. “I owed you.”

  “I told you that you owed me nothing, but you helped me anyway.” He urged his horse over toward her and asked, “Can I travel with you?”

  “I don’t need your protection, Keph.”

  The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. Keph was quiet for a moment.

  “Sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to say you did. It’s just … It’s a dark night. I’d like the company. Please.”

  Feena glanced toward the trees. In her wolf form, she could move fast, trimming a day or more from her travels, but …

  One night won’t make a difference, her knotted gut argued. Stay human for one more night.

  “All right,” she said, and her stomach relaxed. “We’d best stay on the road though.”