Knight Avenged (Circle of Seven #2) Page 3

  Particularly since he suspected the goddess might be right.

  At least, this time around. If what she feared proved true, Halál was now in league with her archenemy, the Prince of Shadows.

  Mood set to vicious, Henrik jumped the last few feet to the ground. Ice and snow crackled beneath his boots. Unmoving, he waited until Shay landed beside him. Expression set in lethal lines, his apprentice nodded a greeting to Andrei and unsheathed one of his swords. Henrik’s mouth curved. He couldn’t help it. Aye, the bratling might have a lot to learn, but swordplay wasn’t a lesson he needed. Shay’s skill with a blade was second to none, making difficult look downright easy.

  Drawing an arrow from his quiver, Henrik notched it in his bow. Weapon at the ready, he tipped his chin at Andrei. “You lead. We’ll follow.”

  “Merde, H.” Blue eyes glinting in the weak light, Andrei palmed his throwing stars. “Are you feeling all right? You never allow anyone else to lead, so . . . what? Got a fever? Feeling weak in the—”

  “Shut it, Andrei, and get moving,” Henrik said, in no mood to be teased. Most of the time, he didn’t mind his friend’s sense of humor . . . or the affection that accompanied it. Right now, though, he could do without that kind of razzing. “I don’t want them slipping away.”

  “Bien sûr.” Andrei flashed a set of pearly whites. “Slippery bastards always run when you show up.”

  Shay snorted.

  Henrik bared his teeth on a curse.

  Andrei backed off and, footfalls silent, led the way into the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Wind gusts played in the open areas between buildings. Thin skiffs of snow blew around his legs, stripping the cobblestones, leaving icy patches on the ground. Henrik hardly noticed the cold. Eyes scanning the terrain, he slid in behind his comrades and tracked east toward the center of town. White Temple loomed, rising like a ghoul in the darkness. Unease swirled like frosty air, tightening its grip on his heart.

  Pulling his bowstring taut, Henrik killed his disquiet. He could abide being this close. Could handle anything as long as he got to fight . . . to deliver a punishing blow to Halál by executing the bastards who served him. The battle couldn’t come fast enough. Henrik craved the kill almost as much as he needed to breathe. Mayhap then he’d be able to forget. To let history be just that . . . history. Even as he stood in the shadow of a place that still gave him nightmares.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The headache came on without warning. They always did. The rush throbbed against Cosmina Cordei’s temples, pulling at her scalp, making her jaw ache and her teeth hurt. Absorbing the pain, she forced one foot in front of the other. She must keep moving. Alone in the descending chill of midnight wasn’t a good time to be idle.

  Or discovered, never mind cornered.

  Given a choice, she would never have ventured out after dark. Night didn’t agree with her. Neither did White Temple, the one place she thought she’d never see again. And yet, after three days of traveling—and two nights spent braving the open road—here she stood, heart racing, fingertips numb, already deep inside the belly of the beast with only one thing on her mind . . .

  The sacred ritual.

  She must remember the words. Delve deep into the past—into unwanted history and brutal experience—and perform the rite without error before the full moon crested. If she didn’t . . . if she—

  Worry tightened her throat. Tension sank deep, twisting her stomach into knots. She tried to smooth out the rough edges . . . to tell herself it would be all right. That she was being silly. That no danger lay inside the holy city. That the Goddess of All Things would protect and keep her. The deity she served had always done so, but as Cosmina held the mantra inside her mind—repeating it over and over, again and again—doubt seeped in, invading her certainty. Now she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. It had been so long, five full years since she’d left the temple and the Order of Orm. But despite everything—her unease, the awful stillness, the quiet desolation of White Temple—she refused to turn back.

  Or allow fear to rule her.

  The late-night visit couldn’t be helped. She must keep going.

  Footfalls quiet, she crept into the thickening shadows. Turning down another wide corridor, she tiptoed past limestone walls with raised carvings honoring the Goddess of All Things. She knew each one by heart. All the impressions. Every curved symbol. Numerous prayers etched in stone. The silence, though, was different. Once a joyous place, the hallways inside the holy city had always been filled with laughter. Now silence reigned, making her heart pound and cold air rasp against the back of her throat. Each hard-won exhale puffed between her lips, frosting the space in front of her face. Ignoring the chill, Cosmina upped her pace. Almost there. One more length of corridor. A three-stair ascent and—

  A soaring archway materialized in the gloom.

  Thank the gods. Finally. The entryway into High Temple.

  Taking the steps two at a time, she crossed beneath the massive stone lintel high above her head. Senses keen, she veered right, away from the center of the enormous rotunda. She didn’t want to traverse the middle of it. With moonlight ghosting through the many windows near the roof edge, ’twas too risky. Anyone might see her. Take aim, let fly, and make her pay for daring to enter the goddess’ realm.

  Cosmina swallowed a huff. The worry was ridiculous. No one was here, after all, but . . .

  She glanced over her shoulder anyway. Nothing. No one. Naught to indicate she was being followed. And yet, she couldn’t shake her disquiet. Or the belief she wasn’t alone. A premonition? Complete paranoia? Mayhap . . . mayhap not. All she knew was that something felt wrong. ’Twas the small things. Infinitesimal, really. Signs most would’ve missed—a slight stirring of the air, the quiet whisper of magic within the walls, the rise of the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. All murmured, making blood rush in her ears as her senses prickled in warning.

  Using night shadows for cover, she made a beeline for one of the massive pillars that circled the chamber, separating the rotunda from the wide aisle ringing it. The soft tap-tap-tap of her boots echoed, keeping time with her heart as she slid to a stop at the base of the first column. She shuffled sideways and scanned the expanse of High Temple, looking for danger inside the sacred chamber—the jewel in the Goddess of All Things’ crown, a physical manifestation of her power here on earth.

  Not that anyone would recognize it as such now.

  Long deserted by the Blessed—those who served the goddess—High Temple reeked of abandonment. It looked the part too. Was the epitome of neglect, cobwebs hanging in corners, brittle leaves littering the mosaic floor beneath the arc of the golden dome. A pang of regret curled around Cosmina’s heart. Such a mess. So unnecessary. Sad beyond words that the chamber—and a once vibrant community—lay in ruin. Almost beyond repair in a city that had always been renowned for hope, revival, and . . .

  Healing magic.

  But then, ’twas the very reason she’d made the journey, wasn’t it? Perform the ancient ceremony. Revive the old ways. Do as the goddess demanded and recall the Blessed to White Temple.

  The thought made her temples throb with renewed vigor. Swallowing a curse, Cosmina sank into a crouch. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she turned into the raised collar of her winter cloak. Rabbit fur brushed her cheek, bringing soft comfort as compulsion reared its ugly head. Unable to resist its allure, she checked her throwing knives. Tucked into her boots, the familiar hilts settled in her palms. Good. No need to panic. The twin blades were right where she needed them, close at hand, easily drawn, more quickly thrown. Her fingers flexed around the well-worn hilt as she pulled one blade free. Steel glinted in the weak light. Taking comfort in the sight, she held her breath and listened.

  Naught. Barely any sound at all. Just the low moan of the wind pushing against the temple walls. All right, then. All clear. ’Twas now or never.

  Time to move.

  Spinning into th
e aisle, she hurried toward the base of the next column. The agonizing thump expanded inside her head. Her stomach pitched, then rolled. With a quiet curse, she slid to a stop and, using the square base of the round pillar for cover, leaned against the cool stone. Steel rasped against leather as she sheathed her dagger and pressed the heel of her hand to her eye socket. It didn’t help. She squeezed her eyes closed. The pain persisted, becoming worse with each passing minute.

  Blast it to heaven and back. Of all the rotten luck. Such bad timing too. Distraction wasn’t an option. Neither was staying in one spot for too long.

  Too bad the coming vision didn’t care.

  Ever obstinate, her gift ignored her wishes, refusing to go away. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cosmina shook her head. Gift. Right. What a farce. Her talent as a Seer was more curse than boon. A plague upon her mind. A constant drain upon her body. A sickness that traveled so deep it infected her heart and soul. Normally, she was better at controlling it. Could block out the images, forestall the inevitable, and keep her visions at bay for as long as needed. Tonight was proving to be an exception. Bright light kept flaring in her mind’s eye. The constant barrage sapped her strength, weakened her guard, and—

  Gods. The pressure. It was so intense now, making her skin crawl and her eyes tear.

  Raising her hands, Cosmina cupped both sides of her head. The cap she wore to conceal her hair shifted, pulling at her scalp. Pain drove a spike through the top of her skull. With a silent curse, Cosmina pitched forward. Her knees cracked against the marble floor. Battling the onslaught of the premonition, she barely noticed the collision. The gods keep her. She must hold the line. Needed to keep her mental barricade up and the vision from—

  An image pushed its way inside her head.

  Her hands curled into the leather sides of her hat. Oh nay . . . not here. Not now. But her gift for the second sight didn’t care what she wanted. Without mercy, it clawed through her mind, shredding any chance of denial. The image of a man solidified in her Seer’s eye. Stark details tumbled over each other. Short hair as black as a raven’s wing. Hazel-gold eyes. Armed to the teeth. Warrior strong. Twin swords raised and at the ready.

  “Blast,” she whispered through clenched teeth, trying to shut out the mental apparition. The beginning of a name morphed in her mind: H . . . his name started with an H. Henry or Heath, or mayhap . . . Cosmina frowned. Goddess preserve her, she couldn’t tell. Couldn’t steady the vision long enough to procure the information she needed. “Damn you to hell and back. Get out of my head.”

  Surprise, surprise, the warrior didn’t listen any better than her gift. Despite the fact he’d yet to speak inside the vision, H-whatever-his-name didn’t seem the obedient type. Riding roughshod over people seemed more his style. Was it unfair to make the assumption based on appearance alone? Cosmina huffed. Probably, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her in peace. But even as she prayed for him to fade, she wondered what envisioning him meant.

  Was he friend or foe? Would he hurt or help her?

  Damn good questions. Ones that highlighted an ever-persistent problem. As much as she wished otherwise, her visions never came with a road map. Or any kind of explanation. Instead of a complete picture, she ended up with bits and pieces. Visual snippets and broken whispers. Quick flashes that left her scrambling to fit the puzzle pieces together. Never the whole story. Always a jumbled mess inside her head.

  Incredibly frustrating. Dangerous too, considering the warrior was still planted on the forefront of her brain. He was too strong. Far too capable. She could tell by the way he held himself inside the vision and knew—without a shadow of doubt—H represented a threat of disastrous proportions if he proved to be an enemy of the Order of Orm.

  Too bad her mission couldn’t be forestalled, never mind ignored. Turning tail and returning home would be easier. Safer too, but she’d never been a quitter. Duty called. The goddess had been clear. So instead of backtracking to the nearest exit, Cosmina lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Her boot heels pressed against her bottom, she drew a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity, and started to count. One . . . the horror of her stupid gift. Two . . . ridiculous quest. Three . . . just kill her now and call it a night. Four . . .

  She released the air on a shaky exhale, then nodded. Better. Much, much better. The handsome hazel-eyed warrior was fading along with the excruciating pain. As he disappeared, draining from her mind like grains of sand through open fingertips, her focus returned. Her gaze narrowed on her target: the towering wall beyond the golden altar at the front of the rotunda.

  Almost there. A hop, skip, and a jump away. A mere stone’s throw from the secret entrance into the Chamber of Whispers.

  Adjusting her heavy satchel, Cosmina secured the strap against her shoulder and pushed to her feet. As her weight settled back on her frame, she shifted onto the balls of her feet. Strength infused her muscles. With a burst of speed, she charted a course and sprinted past the next column. Her gaze skipped around the space, landing on the dome rising above the rotunda. Moonlight shone through the stained-glass windows ringing the base of the cupola. Color exploded across the floor, painting the pale marble with strange patterns, revealing the hour. Almost midnight. It wouldn’t be long now. Within minutes, the winter solstice would commence and her duties would begin.

  Which meant she must hurry. Before she lost all possibility of redemption.

  A second chance. The opportunity to belong once more. Cosmina’s heart throbbed a little harder. ’Twas a gift, one presented to her by the Goddess of All Things mere days ago. Even while on the run, the dreamscape visit still haunted her, hanging on edge of conscious thought, urging her toward what the goddess wanted. The deity worked that way, invading dreams to convey a message. Or present one of her subjects with a new path.

  Sprinting past another column, the exchange expanded between her temples, making her recall the unexpected conversation.

  “Cosmina . . .”

  The warm whisper drifted on a stream of power a moment before an image formed in her mind’s eye. Glorious to behold, the goddess reached across time and space, enfolding her in majesty. And as the soft web of welcome embraced her, Cosmina knew she’d come home. That all the years of struggle had been worth it. That the powerful being who held her close needed her help and could not be denied.

  Aware but still lost to sleep, Cosmina bowed her head and sank to her knees inside the dream. “Majesty . . . you honor me with your presence. Thank you for your protection and grace through dark days and lost years.”

  “Naught has been lost, child,” the goddess murmured, a smile in her voice. “You have thrived outside the Order of Orm, and I am proud to call you mine own.”

  The praise tightened Cosmina’s throat. “How may I serve you, Majesty?”

  The goddess laughed, the tinkling sound one of delight. “You always were keen of mind, Cosmina. Quick to comprehend.”

  “I had a good teacher in my mother.”

  “Indeed.” Sorrow in her eyes, the goddess’ expression turned solemn. “I am sorry for her loss and your hurt.”

  “All things happen for a reason,” Cosmina whispered with lingering sadness. The goddess’ concern—and obvious grief—did naught to soothe her. Five years had come and gone since her mother’s murder, and yet the pain persisted. Now Cosmina missed her more than ever. Wished for so many things, but most of all, to have her back. A foolish longing. Naught could bring her mother back. She knew that. Accepting the facts, however, didn’t help. Her heart still ached, and the loss still hurt. “Is that not what you teach?”

  “It is, child . . . although some things are more difficult to understand than others.”

  Didn’t she know it. Years spent in exile had taught her well. Evil abounded in hearts and minds, tempting fate. A harsh reality, one in which destiny wove a crooked trail, refusing to spare the innocent.

  Leveling her chin, Cosmina met the deity’s gaze. �
�What would you have me do, Majesty?”

  Brilliant green eyes returned her regard. “Return, Cosmina. Journey to White Temple. Perform the ancient rite and recall the Blessed to the holy city. Evil rises to the west. The Order of Orm must be strong and the sacred rituals observed if we are to withstand it.”

  As Cosmina pushed to her feet in the dreamscape, the image of the goddess faded. Woven in magic, her final command arrived on a smoky whisper . . .

  “Rise and return, child. The future rests with you.”

  End of conversation. And the last she’d heard from the Goddess of All Things.

  Yet, Cosmina knew the deity watched from afar. She felt her gaze, the heft and weave of a cosmic wind as the goddess tracked her progress, cheering her on, moving obstacles until her path opened and the way became clear.

  Staying low, Cosmina raced past another pillar. Using each base for cover, she rounded the outskirts of the room. Gaze on the wall beyond the High Altar, the irony of her actions struck home, dragging an unwanted memory to the forefront of her mind. Her throat went tight. How many times had she been in this chamber? Hundreds? Thousands? Too many times to count? As she headed around the last corner, her eyes on the staircase in front of the altar, an image flashed in her mind’s eye . . .

  Four, mayhap five, years old, she was playing hopscotch on the marble tiles, beneath the golden dome, while other members of the Blessed looked on.

  Such a pretty portrait. One filled with good memories despite how wrong it had gone in the end. Her banishment at the hands of Ylenia, the former High Priestess, might have separated her from the Order, but the holy city remained her home. And the goddess her one true purpose.