Page 24 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
He needed to find answers. Did Mireithren have something to do with his torture? A flash of anger quelled the tears at the thought of the maiden. He hated her… craved her… had to do anything to stay away from her.
Pushing past the rage, Therat thrust his hand into the tangle of thorns. He clawed at the necklace, blood dripping down hisarm. A finger slipped around the delicate silver chain. He pulled, and it broke free, falling into his waiting hand.
The pendant looked smaller than Therat remembered, yet it still evoked the same sense of wonder and awe. Crafted by the hands of the greatest silversmiths in all of Eás, his mother said. A gift from Serenata’s father, the first of House Anatnará. Therat stroked the glittering white gems, remembering how he once thought them stars pulled from the night sky itself. The pendant still held the warmth of the heart that once beat beneath the crescent moon.
Therat sat clutching the necklace to his heart. The moon’s reflection in the lake was a healing aura, excising all the terror from the voices plaguing him for decades. A song composed of many soft voices in perfect harmony filled the air. A choir of the gods, if there ever was one. They sang until the first light of dawn turned the eastern sky orange.
When the sun rose, Therat vowed to return to Av Madhira. At peace, as best he could be, he would find answers for his mother and father—or die trying. He thought no longer of the maiden he hated.
Unclasping the hook of the necklace, he looped it twice around his leg. The pendant nestled in the crook behind his outer ankle bone. The metal cooled, the touch a reminder of the promise he made to his mother and father those many years ago.
He would find answers. He must.
thirteen
The Visitor in White
Apattar sat huddled underthe half-standing roof for what seemed like hours, stewing in her bitter desires for revenge and freedom from her father. The rain slowed after a time to a mellow drizzle before moving on with the winds to the northern horizon. Soft clouds and mist took their place, leaving the world below in a cool gray haze.
An eerie silence settled over the island, a bubble drowning out even the sound of the ocean waves. Apattar welcomed the blessed silence, letting it fill her mind and push out all the voices clamoring to be heard. A sense of relaxation and comfort eased through her tired and cold limbs. For a moment, Apattar thought of the guard who calmed her heart the first time she broke out with Saiya. She embraced the feeling, and her heartbeat settled after a time.
You survived, it wasn’t that bad. You are fine, Apattar.
“You are a curious thing, aren’t you?”
The woman’s voice from before broke the silence. A clear and musical sound, each word lilted into the next.
Apattar’s attention snapped to the broken roof above her head. On a crumbling balcony to her left crouched a woman with impossibly pale white skin and short waves of stark white hair. She glowed against the burnt and blackened stones. Apattar had never seen a person with skin lighter than sandy brown; this woman appeared otherworldly, a vision perhaps, or a being from another time. The pale woman wore a muted silvery tunic under a crimson red bodice, shiny black stones cut like teardrops adorning one shoulder and the upper thighs of her fitted white pants. Everything about the woman screamed danger.
Apattar could only squeak in reply.
“You needn’t fear me. You are of more use to me with your freedom, although I sense you do not entirely have it yet.” The white woman spoke with an odd tone, almost maternal and protective. “You are much too young to be… here.” Her gaze swept across Apattar’s face as she paused, lingering on the trail of curved scars down the frightened woman’s cheek.
The pale stranger jumped down with ease from her perch, stretching her long legs as she straightened. Tall and lanky, the woman carried herself with pride, reminding Apattar of the street cats running wild through Av Madhira. With a distinctlyfeline grace, the woman leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Power and authority oozed from the stranger.
“Hmm. I forget myself. Introductions first, yes,neha?I am Laisha.” Shadows surged around the woman as she spoke, the black stones somehow blacker than before. “If I meant you harm, I promise it would have been done days ago. You’re rather loud, you know? You are adept at gateweaving, but whoever taught you leaves quite a trace.”
Apattar cleared her throat, forcing her heavy tongue to move.
“I, uh… I,” Apattar swallowed, trying to imagine holding her sister’s hand. A tiny flicker of warmth came and left. “I wasn’t trying to pry into your business, whatever it is. I’m lost, is all. I only sought warmth.” Apattar grimaced, hardly believing her own words despite it being the truth.
“Oh,neha!”The woman in white named Laisha laughed as she spoke, a hollow and shrill sound. The way she said child in the Elder Tongue almost sounded mocking. “Neha, if I cared about that, I’d let my brother have his way. I’m curious about you, that’s all. There are no chance visitors to the remains of Andeshar. Say, I’ll tell you something about myself and you do the same.”
Apattar blinked, steadying her nerves. She knew this game, how the mousers on the family estate liked to toy with their prey, giving them a false sense of relief before descending with merciless fangs. Looking around, Apattar found no escape. Her waveweaving helped the woman survive the long road thus far, but she was outmatched here.
“I sense I have little choice in this matter,” Apattar said coolly, reaching for the dark void tugging at her core, letting the fear melt into it. “Why are you here?” She stood and straightened, an unusual courage taking hold.
“I am here for many things. Duty to my Queen in the broadest terms. That chain in your hand?” Apattar looked down,unaware she still clutched the thing between bent fingers. “Yes, it is ours. A… tool.” Laisha grimaced as she spoke.
Apattar shuddered and flung the chain toward the pale woman. “I know what this is,” she whispered. “This is a wicked thing!”
Laisha did not move toward the chain, her pale violet eyes still focused on Apattar. Studying the young woman, learning everything she could. Why would she be so interested in the wayward runaway?
“The world is a wicked place. I have seen centuries unfold in blood and ruin at the hands of those who call us evil. Who are they to call us cruel with no purpose? I hunt for the truth, no matter the cost. It’s what we all do, in the end.”
“Centuries?” Apattar managed to say, loud enough for the woman to hear. “Ho-how old are you?” Her eyes widened, a spark of curiosity compelling her to lean forward despite the danger.
The eldest of the Eásiri, descendants of the gods themselves, were over 400 and considered ancient to all, but they bent with age, each long year another line across their face. Age never touched the woman before Apattar. Pale and smooth-skinned, her porcelain face looked eternally youthful. Only in her eyes did Apattar see the dark and faded look of one who had seen lifetimes pass by.
