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Her heart beat and air filled her lungs, but the dullness refused to leave her eyes. I pushed harder. Her skin warmed and flushed. Her chest rose and fell. Yet, when I stopped, her blood stilled and she failed to take another breath.
He had stolen her soul. I couldn’t revive her.
A heavy arm rested on my shoulder. “There is nothing more you can do,” Irys said.
I glanced around. Behind me stood Cahil, Leif, Dax, Roze and Hayes. They crowded the small room and I hadn’t even noticed their arrival. Tula’s skin cooled under my fingers. I pulled my hand away.
A sharp, bone-crushing exhaustion settled over me. I dropped to the floor, closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. My fault. My fault. I should never have left her.
The room erupted with sound and activity, but I ignored them as tears poured down my face. I wanted to dissolve into the floor, mixing myself with the hard stone. A stone had a single purpose: to be. No complicated promises, no worries and no feelings.
I lowered my cheek to the smooth marble. The cold stung my fevered skin. Only when the noise in the room faded did I open my eyes. And saw a scrap of paper lying under Tula’s bed. It must have fallen off when I had tried to put life into her body. I reached for it, thinking it had been Tula’s.
The words written on the paper cut through the fog of my grief like Moon Man’s scimitar.
The note said: I have Opal. I will exchange Opal for Yelena Zaltana at the next rising of the full moon. Send Tula’s grief flag up First Magician’s tower as a sign of agreement and Opal will not be harmed. More instructions will follow.
23
“WE’LL SEND TULA’S grief flag up, but we’re not exchanging Yelena for Opal,” Irys insisted. “We have two weeks until the full moon. That should give us enough time to find Opal.”
Again, loud arguments echoed through the magician’s meeting room. Zitora had returned from her mission for the Council so all four Master Magicians were there, as well as Tula’s family, Leif, and the Captain of the Keep’s guard.
Leif had tried to ask me about the Sandseeds before the meeting started, but I cut him off with an angry response. I still couldn’t look at him without seeing his eight-year-old face in the bushes, watching my kidnapping and doing nothing.
The events that had occurred after I discovered the ransom note felt as if they happened in a dream. Once everyone settled down, the killer’s movements prior to attacking Tula were uncovered.
He obtained a position with the Keep’s gardeners. Unfortunately, the people he worked with couldn’t agree on his facial features and Bain had drawn four completely different men from their descriptions. They also failed to remember his name.
With ten magical souls, Ferde obtained enough power to equal a Master Magician. He concealed his presence in the Keep with ease and confused those he worked with.
Tula’s guards were shot with tiny darts dipped in Curare. They could only recall seeing one of the gardeners delivering some medicinal plants to Hayes before their muscles froze. The fact that Ferde had infiltrated the Keep had put the Keep’s guards in serious trouble.
“He was living in the Keep and we had no clue,” Roze said. Her powerful voice rose over the din. “What makes you think we can find him now?”
Tula’s mother and father drew in horrified breaths. They had arrived the day before. The news of her passing had shocked them to their core. I could see in their drawn faces and in their haunted gazes that knowing the same man held Opal made their lives a living nightmare. Just like mine.
“Give him Yelena,” Roze said into the now quiet room. “She was able to animate Tula. She has the power to handle this killer.”
“We don’t want anyone else harmed,” said Tula’s father. He wore a simple brown tunic and pants. His large hands were rough with calluses and burn scars; evidence of a lifetime of working with molten glass.
“No, Roze,” Irys admonished. “She doesn’t have full control of her magic yet. Probably the main reason he wants her. If he stole her magic, think how powerful he would then be.”
Bain, who had translated the markings on the killer’s skin, told the group in the meeting room that the purpose of the man’s quest was written in his tattoos. Bain’s information matched what Moon Man had told me.
Ferde performed an ancient Efe binding ritual that used intimidation and torture to turn a victim into a willing slave. When all free will had been surrendered, the victim was murdered and her soul’s magic was directed into Ferde, increasing his own power. He had targeted fifteen-and sixteen-year-old girls because their magic potential was just beginning.
Sour bile churned in my stomach as I listened to Bain’s explanation. Reyad and Mogkan’s tactics in Ixia to increase Mogkan’s magic had been sickeningly familiar. Although, they hadn’t raped or killed their thirty-two victims, they tortured their souls from them, leaving them mindless. Just as horrible.
Ferde had gained eleven souls. According to the ritual, the twelfth soul must go to him willingly. No kidnapping for the final ritual, which, when completed, would give him almost unlimited power.
Debate on why Tula survived the initial attack led to a guess that Ferde had been close to being discovered and fled before finishing the ritual.
“Yelena should be protected at all times,” Irys said. Her words brought me back to the meeting. “If we can’t find him, we’ll set up an ambush near the exchange site and apprehend him that way.”
The magicians continued to argue. It seemed as if I would have no say in the plans. It didn’t matter. I would either find Ferde or be at that exchange site. I had failed Tula; I wasn’t going to let Opal suffer the same fate.
A messenger from the Council arrived as the meeting ended. He handed Roze a scroll. She read it then thrust the paper at Irys in what appeared to be disgust. Irys’s shoulders drooped when she scanned the document.
What else has gone wrong? I asked her.
Another situation to deal with. This one is not life threatening, though, just bad timing, she said. At least this will be another chance for you to practice your diplomacy.
How?
An Ixian delegation is expected to arrive in six days.
So soon? I had thought the messenger with the Council’s reply had just left.
Yelena, it’s been five days. It’s a two-day ride to the Ixian border and a half a day to the Commander’s castle.
Five days? So much had happened in those five days that I felt as if I lived one endless day. Difficult, too, to believe I had been living in Sitia for only two and a half seasons. Almost half a year gone in what seemed like a fortnight. My ache for Valek hadn’t dulled, and I wondered if meeting the northern delegation would cause me to miss him more.
I followed the others from the room. In the hallway outside, Zitora linked her arm in mine.
“I need some help,” she said, guiding me from the Keep’s administration building, and toward her tower.
“But I need to—”
“Get some rest. And not go searching the Citadel for Opal,” Zitora said.
“I will, anyway. You know that.”
She nodded. “But not tonight.”
“What do you need?”
A sad smile touched her face. “Help with Tula’s flag. I believe asking her parents would only increase their grief.”
We entered her tower and climbed two flights of stairs to her workroom. Comfortable chairs and tables littered with sewing and art supplies filled the large chamber.
“My seamstress skills are limited,” Zitora said. She moved around the room, adding fabric and thread to the one empty table near the chairs. “But not for the lack of practice. I can sew and embroider, but I’m better at drawing. When I have the tim
e, I’ve been experimenting with painting on silk.”
Satisfied with her collection, Zitora dug through another pile of cloth and pulled out a sheet of white silk. She measured and cut off a five-foot-by-three-foot rectangle.
“The background will be white for Tula’s purity and innocence,” Zitora said. “Yelena, what should I put in the foreground?” When she saw my confusion, she explained, “A grief flag is our way of honoring the dead. It’s a representation of the person. We decorate it with the things that made up a person’s life, and when we raise the flag high, it releases their spirit into the sky. So what would best represent Tula?”
My thoughts went immediately to Ferde. A poisonous snake, red flames for pain and a jar of Curare all came to mind. I scowled, unable to imagine Tula’s spirit free. She had been trapped in the blackness of Ferde’s soul because of my stupidity.
“He’s a cunning demon, isn’t he?” Zitora asked, as if reading my mind. “To have the boldness to live in the Keep, to have the skill to kill under our roof and to have you blame yourself for it. A masterful trick, I’d say.”
“You’re starting to sound like a certain Story Weaver I know,” I said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zitora replied. She sorted through colorful squares of silk. “Let’s see. If you had listened to Irys and remained behind, the killer would have gotten Tula and you.”
“But I had gotten my energy back,” I said. Irys had thought it best not to mention Valek’s help.
“Only because you wanted to follow Irys.” Zitora raised a thin eyebrow.
“But I wouldn’t have gone with Ferde willingly.”
“Truly? What if he had promised not to kill Tula in exchange for you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, considering. She had a point.
“Once you say the words or move with intent, it’s done. What follows after will not change that, and he would have killed Tula anyway,” Zitora said. She lined the colored squares along the table’s edge. “If you had stayed behind, you would both be gone, and we wouldn’t have the information from the Sandseeds.”
