Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (6 page)

Lance’s heart sank. “You’re right, I don’t like it. I’ll go,”
he added quickly, “but I don’t see why you’d want me to represent you. I’d make
a terrible diplomat,” he said bluntly. He’d met ambassadors aplenty in his years
in Temborium serving as the Child of Peace. The thought of trying to emulate
their oily tongues gave him hives.

“I don’t need a diplomat,” Wenda said firmly. “What I need is
an example, and you’ll be perfect for that.”

“An example of what?” Lance asked warily.

“General Pallax promised Kandrith a year of peace in return for
his worthless son, but as soon as that passes he’ll invade again. We captured
the legionnaire who scaled the Red Saints, but in an empire the size of the
Republic of Temboria there are bound to be others who can.”

Lance couldn’t deny it. “Yes. Pallax is probably already
searching.”

Wenda leaned forward. “So you understand why Gotia and this
rebellion are so important?”

“Because while the Republic’s off quelling their rebellious
province they don’t have time to think of us.”

“Yes. Politically, I’d be happy if they were mired there for
fifty years.” Her lips twisted. “Personally...do you remember living there?”

Lance and Wenda had both been born in a village in western
Gotia. Lance had been only eleven when the Republic’s Legions finished
conquering their country, made it a province and enslaved the inhabitants. Wenda
had been even younger. “Yes and no. I remember our village, a tree I used to
climb, a stream I swam in, a dog I owned, but I have no strong feelings for
Gotia itself.”

“I don’t remember much either, but it’s a connection, one you
can use when you go there.”

“What do you want me to accomplish?”

“As I said, politically all Kandrith needs is turmoil, but
they, too, are slaves. We are all Loma’s children. I want you to teach them
sacrifice magic. If even a small part of Gotia follows our example and gains
independence from the Republic, I hope it will start a string of
rebellions.”

Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “Ambitious.” It would never have
occurred to him to think so long-term, but she was right. Once again he felt
grateful that Cadwallader had picked her as Kandrith and not him. Or his
mother.

“I was planning to send you anyway, but this rebellion is a
godsend. Finding a group of people willing to fight for their freedom will save
us months.”

And Kandrith only had ten months left.

“So I’m to be your living example of how magic works,” Lance
said. “I think yon merchant is expecting gold and warriors.”

“As if Kandrith had any to spare!” Wenda rolled her eyes. “We
can barely spare you. A fight against the Republic’s Legions is doomed in any
case. I’m hoping you’ll open their eyes to other possibilities.”

Lance wasn’t sure how that would work, but he was willing to
try. “When do you want me to leave?”

“Within the week.”

Lance took a deep breath. “First, there’s something I need you
to do for me. With your soulsight. I—”

Marcus interrupted, head tipped back. “Why is someone walking
on top of the castle wall?”

Lance automatically followed his gaze up. Pure terror burst
over him like a deluge of icy water as he recognized Sara’s slender figure far
above.

* * *

Sara flexed her knees and hopped up and down on the
narrow ledge.

“Again.”

Sara jumped slightly higher. One of her feet landed off-center,
her heel hanging over empty air. She teetered, then regained her balance.

The woman hit her own thighs with her fists. “Jump over the
edge, down to the ground.”

Sara pondered. The courtyard lay thirty feet below. If she
jumped, she would break numerous bones in her body. If her neck snapped, she
would die.

“What are you waiting for? I told you to jump.”

“I’m trying to decide if I should listen to you.” She didn’t
have to. Lance had told her that.

“It will be over in an instant,” the woman said. “You won’t
feel anything.”

“Yes, I will,” Sara disagreed. “It will hurt.” If she jumped
there would be pain. More intense than the boiling water. Agony.

“Only for a moment,” the woman said, “and then you’ll be at
peace.”

Peace meant calm. “I am already at peace.”

“If you won’t do it for me, do it for my son,” the woman said.
“He deserves to live again, to smile again, not be chained to you.”

She’d forgotten this woman was Lance’s mother. Did that give
her words more importance? Sara wasn’t sure.

“Lance is not chained to me.” Obviously. “If he wished to leave
me he could.”

“He’s too kind-hearted to order your death. So I’m going to
take on the guilt for him. He may hate me for a time, but at least then he’ll be
able to mourn you and begin to heal. He’d never admit it, but your death would
relieve him of a burden.”

Sara leaned a little farther out over the edge and saw Lance
staring up at her. He and another man shouted at her, but the wind snatched
their words away.

Was Lance’s mother right? Would Sara’s death help him? She
didn’t know, but there was an easy way to find out.

She stepped off the edge.

Chapter Five

Sara hit feet first. Her leg bones took the brunt of the impact, splintering under her, as first her knees, then chest then face hit. Crunched. White pain crashed into her, blotting out thought.

Sara blinked slowly. She lay facedown on the hard ground and tried to catalogue the various nerve reports. Pain, of course, pain from so many places it would be shorter to list what didn’t hurt. Blood slicking her legs and running from her broken nose, shrieking wrongness in her twisted limbs—knees, elbows, hips—spreading numbness below her ankles, coppery taste of blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten through her tongue.

Something grated in her chest when she propped herself up on one elbow to look for Lance—a rib piercing her lung, perhaps? Breathing took effort as if water filled her lungs.

Her vision doubled; she saw two Lances, moving closer but still thirty feet away. She wondered distantly if she would die before he reached her side.

* * *

Lance hobbled a dozen steps behind Marcus, his terror drowning out the jabs of pain from his sprained knee.
Sara
.
Goddess
,
let
me
be
on
time
,
let
me
save
her
.

Marcus reached her first. He stood over her, blocking Lance’s view. “God of Death.” He shut his eyes and turned his head away as if revolted. “Don’t look,” he said to Lance. “Let me fetch a blanket. She—”

Lance shoved him aside and fell to his knees on the flagstones—another bolt of pain, but he didn’t feel it because Sara’s eyes were open, watching. Death hovered only moments away, but her blue eyes were pools of perfect calm in a mask of blood. She lived, and that was all that mattered.

“Goddess, have mercy.” He laid his hands on her torso first—it felt soft and pulpy, wrong.

He tasted spring on his tongue—green grass sending out shoots, leaves budding—and heard songbirds trill as Loma, the Goddess of Mercy, filled him and poured her red healing light into Sara’s bloody shell.

He was vaguely aware of Wenda somewhere in the background demanding to know what had happened. “I can’t
see
.”

Internal injuries first, knitting together all those places that bled in secret, mending organs, reinflating lungs, draining them—

“She just stepped off the wall.” Marcus sounded stunned. “It’s—it’s Lady Sarathena.”

“What? But—” Wenda’s voice turned grim. “I should have expected this. He’s like Mother—single-minded to the point of insanity.”

“I am not like Mother.” Lance moved on to Sara’s legs. Blood pumped out of her thigh. Heal the artery, push the bones jutting through the skin back under...

“Yes, you are,” Wenday said. “You see one possible solution to a problem, no matter how snail-brained, and you jump on it without taking time to think if it will work or if there might be a better way.”

“The last snail-brained idea I had was going to Temborium to rescue you,” Lance pointed out. As gently as he could he straightened Sara’s legs so they would heal correctly. Anyone else would have screamed or passed out. She watched him with blue eyes, as if absorbed. Her muscles were relaxed, not tensed from the pain.

“I’m not ungrateful,” Wenda said, “but it was still snail-brained and so is bringing Sara here. Sara gave up her soul to save you. It was her decision. It’s over and done. You can’t turn back time.”

“I’m not trying to turn back time.” Feet next. Toes, ankles...so many small bones.

Wenda threw up her hands. “Yes, you are! Sara died weeks ago. Listen to me—I sacrificed my vision for soulsight. Sara doesn’t have a soul.”

The words struck like a death knell. Lance flinched from them, and the terrible truth he’d been avoiding even as his hands moved automatically to Sara’s collarbone. “No,” he said hoarsely. “She just needs more time. There’ve been signs...”

One sign in two months, the voice in the back of his mind whispered. If it meant anything, shouldn’t she have shown more progress?

Marcus cleared his throat. “Ah, Wenda?”

Wenda spoke over him. “She just tried to kill herself. Grant her peace!”

“No.” Lance felt on firmer footing now. “Sara’s not suicidal.” He cradled her head, realigning nose cartilage, healing bruises on her brain.

“I saw her step off,” Marcus said apologetically.

Lance flinched, but stubbornly insisted, “We don’t know what happened up there.”

“It seems clear to me,” Wenda said pointedly.

Lance ignored her, concentrating on Sara. A moment later, the Goddess faded back, the healing complete.

Sara immediately sat up, her face as composed as if she’d just woken from a nap.

Lance sagged onto his heels, his hands trembling in reaction. He’d almost lost her. He needed to understand why. A deep breath, then, “Sara, why did you go up to the roof?”

“A woman told me to come with her. I followed her.”

“What woman?” Lance asked, but his stomach clenched.

Sara pointed over his shoulder. “Her.”

Shaking, Lance stood. His knee hurt, but he needed to be on his feet to face his mother or she would have the advantage. “What in the Goddess’s name did you think you were doing?” he asked her harshly.

His mother’s chin lifted. “In the Goddess’s name, I was trying to provide mercy. Something
you
haven’t been able to bring yourself to do.”

“You had no right—” Lance began, so furious his words tangled up inside him.

“Wenda,” Marcus started to say.

“I didn’t push her,” his mother said. “I merely told her to jump. No one who had a speck of self-preservation would have done it. She doesn’t belong among the living. She has no soul.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Wenda chimed in.

The blood pounded in his temples so hard he thought he might burst a blood vessel. Despair and anger churned inside him like bile. He made his voice cold and clear so there would be no possibility of understanding. “If either of you ever harms Sara or tells her to harm herself, I will never speak to you again.”

Resounding silence. Both his mother and sister had the gall to look hurt.

He continued painfully, every word a stone in his gut, “It’s my decision whether or not to grant Sara mercy. Mine and mine alone.” Just admitting the possibility of giving up, of losing her, destroyed him.

“Of course,” Wenda said soothingly. “But when the time comes, promise me you’ll let us help.”

He nodded. Remembered she couldn’t see it and cleared his throat. “I will.”

“Let’s go inside then. The wind is chilly.”

“Just a moment,” Marcus interrupted.

“What is it?” Wenda snapped, her head turning towards his voice.

Marcus stood his ground. “As Protector, it’s my job to be your eyes. You say Lady Sarathena has no soul, but she was lying down when you looked in her direction. You may have overlooked something.”

She looked impatient. “I doubt—”

“This is the woman your brother loves,” Marcus said firmly. “You owe him more than a glance. To put his mind at ease.”

Lance knew Marcus was trying to help, but he also doubted Wenda could have missed a soul. Right now all he wanted to do was limp back to his rooms and—what? Lick his wounds like an animal? He’d pinned so much hope on Wenda’s soulsight.

He felt fragile, shattered inside, as if his bones had been the ones to break.

Wenda flushed at her husband’s reprimand. “Very well. I’ll examine her. Where is she?”

Sara stepped directly in front of Lance’s blind sister. “I am here.” Blood streaked her face and hair, and her dress was a gory mess, but she moved as lithely as a wild dryad. Watching her made his throat ache.

“This is a waste of time,” Lance’s mother grumbled.

Lance reminded himself that he loved his mother. He didn’t really want to murder her. Unable to bear looking at her self-righteousness, he turned to Wenda and saw awe transform her expression. His heartbeat ratcheted upward.

“I see a soul,” Wenda whispered.

“What?” His mother said the word for him; Lance’s vocal cords seized with terrible hope.

“She has a new soul.” Tears shone in Wenda’s milky eyes. “It’s very small, the size of a mustard seed, but it shines brightly. You did it, Lance. You healed her.”

* * *

The world seemed to stop and then start again, only better, brighter, than before. His knees trembled from the force of the joy bursting through him.
Sara
had
a
soul
again
.

The woman he loved had come back to him.

He closed his eyes, sending up a prayer of thanksgiving to Loma.

An unexpected answer came back like a fading echo. The Goddess sounded almost...sad. “
I
did
not
do
this
.”

* * *

Lance’s arms closed around Sara’s shoulders and back, holding her snug against him. Sara relaxed, soaking up the sensation. She could feel the warmth of his body from neck to thighs. His dry lips pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sara.” His voice held the special timbre he used when he said her name sometimes, the special one for her alone.

“Nonsense!” The short-haired woman pushed her way forward. “She doesn’t have a soul! Just look at her. You can see that her eyes are empty.”

“I’m blind, Mother,” the red-haired woman said. “And I assure you, she does have a soul.”

“But why did she step off the wall?” the short-haired woman asked. “Why didn’t she scream? It’s not right.”

Silence fell. “Should I answer?” Sara asked Lance. “She didn’t look at me when she asked the question.”

“That was rude of her,” Lance said, “but please answer anyway.”

“I stepped off the wall because she told me you would be better off if I died.”

Lance’s nostrils flared as he inhaled.

“I didn’t scream because you’d already seen me, and I didn’t need to attract your attention,” Sara finished.

Another silence.

“Her soul is very small,” the red-haired woman said. “Perhaps it arrived when you healed her.”

“When the Goddess healed her.” Lance put his arms on Sara’s shoulders and moved to face her. “Sara, do you feel different now than you did before you...fell?”

“No.”

“How do you feel? Now?”

Sara thought. “My body is healed.” Every scrap of pain had lifted away as if it had never been.

His brows drew together. “No, I meant, how do you feel? Happy? Sad? Relieved? Angry?” Then, more slowly, “Do you understand what those words mean?”

“Yes, but they have no relevance. I don’t feel anything.”

“See?” the short-haired woman said.

“All it means is that she needs more time to heal, to grow her new soul, that’s all.” Lance’s arms went around Sara again and squeezed. “You will feel again. I swear it.”

* * *

Bors gave Sara a puzzled look as they entered the Hall. “How’d you get past me? I’ve been on the door all morning...” He trailed off as he noticed the bloodstains.

“I jumped off the roof.” Sara sailed past, oblivious to Bors’s gaping jaw.

Lance didn’t feel like explaining either.

She
has
a
soul
now
. Lance hugged the words to himself. Sara, obviously, still had a long way to go, but she would mend in time.

Bors cleared his throat. “Kandrith, Rhiain requests an audience.”

Lance’s mother scowled. “The matter can wait until the Kandrith has refreshed herself.”

“Don’t fret, Mother. I’m not that tired,” Wenda said.

Their mother directed her frown at Marcus. “It’s your duty as Protector to make sure she doesn’t exhaust herself.”

Lance felt his temper stir. Did his mother want to be at odds with both her children? First she’d encouraged Sara to step off a wall, and now she was interfering in her daughter’s marriage.

“I’m fine,” Wenda snapped.

“She’s practically gray from exhaustion,” their mother exaggerated, still glaring at Marcus.

Marcus tried to placate his mother-in-law, a mistake. “If Wenda’s safety were in danger, I would act,” he told her, “but Wenda is the Kandrith. If she wants to grant Rhiain an audience, that’s her decision.”

A sniff.

“I’ll see you at lunch, Mother,” Wenda said firmly.

Their mother’s lips compressed at the dismissal, but she left. Lance wished he could, too—he needed to think through what it meant that Sara had a tiny new soul—but his testimony would be needed, so he followed Marcus and Wenda into the throneroom. Sara took up a position against the wall beside him.

Once he would have had to instruct her to do so, but now she followed him everywhere—an encouraging sign.

“Rhiain, the shandy, and Gaius Mendicus, legionnaire,” Bors announced.

Rhiain squeezed inside first, her massive racha shoulders brushing both sides of the door frame. Bors shoved Gaius in after.

The legionnaires’s gaze darted around nervously, as if seeking escape. Bors leaned close to the other man’s ear and growled a warning, “Don’t do it. She’ll bring you down in five strides.” Bors then retreated to guard the door.

It jolted Lance to see Wenda sitting on the same throne their father had. How many times as children had they played on the red cushions?

Wenda smiled warmly in their general direction. “Rhiain, I thought you intended to tour the countryside for a few months before winter hit. Is there a problem?”

“Yes, there is,” Gaius Mendicus said loudly, having recovered his nerve. He sneered at the room.

Lance supposed that to one used to the marble columns and painted mosaics in Temborium, the throne room’s wood-grained stone walls and crude weapons would look plain and provincial. And Gaius would see a young, one-handed blind woman on the throne, not the Kandrith, capable of deep magic.

Wenda set her jaw. “I was speaking to Rhiain, not you.”

“Enough of this farce,” Gaius said. “Let me speak to the man who is truly in charge.”

“I am Kandrith,” Wenda said coldly.

Lance felt no urge to defend his sister. Not only was she more than capable of squashing Gaius, but speaking up would undermine her authority.