Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 4

He’d start redecorating the suite next week. The Queen’s rooms too. He had plans for their new occupant.

  Preoccupied with ideas for the execution of those plans, he climbed into the enormous bed and sleep quickly claimed him.

  The deeper Thaddis sank into slumber, the more the evil chains wrapped around his mind loosened. He drifted within, to his secret place, his free place…where his good life before his encounter with the evil God, Ontarem, still lingered.

  Sliding into the memory, Thaddis found himself in the weapons salon of Seagem’s palace, practice sword in hand. Blades ready, he and Indaran circled each other.

  Weaponsmaster Micfal stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, scrutinizing their every move, his keen blue gaze sharper than a knife. Without looking up, Thaddis knew Indaran’s younger siblings watched from the observers’ balcony, hoping for the privilege of being invited to come down and spar with their eldest brother and his best friend. From years of practice, he flowed into the pas-sa-ra, lifting his blade.

  Across from him and full of life, Indaran surged forward, his face glowing with the fierce joy of battle. He raised his sword to block Thaddis’s swing.

  The leather-wrapped blades met with a thunk.

  Indaran leaned closer. “A bit sluggish today, my friend.” His mouth quirked in the tiny teasing smile that never failed to irk Thaddis.

  Although not this time. Now, Thaddis wanted to drop his weapon and grab his best friend in a thankful embrace, relishing the feel of Indaran alive and well.

  But the dream kept Thaddis locked into the memory. He slipped sideways, whirled, and connected low with Indaran’s sword. A twist, a jab. Then the dance led Indaran into offense, forcing Thaddis back.

  His muscles moved stiffly. He lacked the grace he knew he should have.

  But eighteen years had passed.

  Indaran’s eyes gleamed with battlelight; sweat beaded on his tan brow. Both tall and broad-shouldered, they were evenly matched.

  They thrust and parried, sliced and blocked.

  In the dream, Thaddis reveled in his freedom from enslavement, and the familiarity of his partnership with Indaran. Long and long, he’d missed their comradeship.

  Indaran swooped into the del-tay. “Yield or die.” He laughed.

  They fought through the buth-hay, both panting and sweat-soaked, until they reached the final cross, holding blade to blade.

  Indaran’s small smile spread into a grin. “You’d be dead by now, five times over.”

  “Come to Ocean’s Glory,” Thaddis taunted back, enjoying the exchange. “Dance Besolet’s patterns. Then we’ll see.”

  How long had it been since any dared banter with Crown Prince Thaddis?

  They separated.

  Micfal stalked across the salon.

  Thaddis could tell by the look on the weaponsmaster’s face, the man would vivisect his performance. He braced himself.

  The door banged open.

  Micfal turned. A frown pulled his bushy eyebrows together.

  Five-year-old Princess Daria ran through, dragging her small practice blade. “My turn, my turn,” she called.

  Micfal’s grim face lightened with an indulgent smile. He stroked his braided beard.

  Saved by the princess.

  “Indaran, you said you’d work with me.” Shooting an impish grin at Micfal, she dodged around him with the assurance of familiarity, barreling straight to her eldest brother.

  Indaran hastily handed his sword to Micfal and scooped her up, tossing her into the air while deftly avoiding her wooden blade. “And so I shall.” He cuddled her close, kissing her cheek. The sunlight from the upper windows haloed their blond heads, sparkling two pairs of dark-lashed green eyes.

  “Now.” She waved her sword, ready to do battle.

  Thaddis had to laugh. The little beauty had a true warrior’s spirit and a kind, loving heart. All of Seagem adored her. As did he.

  Pretending to be ferocious, Indaran growled. “Or shall I hand you over to the enemy from Ocean’s Glory.” He made as if to toss her to Thaddis.

  Daria squealed, then her expression turned fierce. “No!” She set her mouth and tilted her firm little chin to an arrogant angle. She pointed her sword at him.

  Thaddis clenched his jaw to keep from laughing. This one will be something when she grows up.

  He made a mock grimace march across his face, handed Micfal his sword, and reached out to pull the princess from Indaran’s embrace.

  “She’s mine.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next day Daria stood with her family, Pasinae, Thaddis, and his counselors in front of the Tomb of Kings, soon to hold Stevenes’s remains. A large canopy shielded them from the rays of the afternoon sun, but the rest of the mourners sweltered in the full blaze. At a respectful distance, other nobles congregated, followed by many of the townsfolk, spilling over the hills to cover the tree-shaded, grassy park. As the city turned out to bid farewell to their beloved monarch, the air of grief surrounding the citizens of Ocean’s Glory was palpable, many of the crowd in tears.

  The king’s body lay on an elaborately carved stone block covered by the banner bearing his name and portrait—a rich tapestry that had previously hung behind his throne. The high priest and priestess of Besolet in long, loose crimson garments chanted laments and waved gold incense holders, which wafted the bitterness of toddin, the mourning herb, around the assembled people.

  The scent tickled her nose, and Daria had to exert the utmost control lest she sneeze and dishonor the ceremony.

  Thaddis stood near Stevenes’s feet, his head slightly bowed. His face had remained impassive throughout the whole hour-long ceremony. Dressed in a black velvet tunic and trews, with a black silk shirt and flowing satin cloak, he stayed as motionless as a statue. Only an occasional flick of a corner of his cloak by the breeze suggested he might be among the living.

  Not that Daria’s othersense could tell. Whenever she tried to access Thaddis using her ability, she met with a curious blankness. Finally she’d given up in frustration, instead turning her attention to the rest of the mourners. Anything to keep her mind occupied, for otherwise her thoughts strayed to the past. Yet despite studying the people, her feelings slipped back to old losses.

  Once again she was six years old, standing before the funeral pyre of her mother, then sailing out to the Rock of the Dead and scattering her ashes. She had watched the grief of those around her with the wide eyes of a child who didn’t really understand that her mother was gone. She only knew her heartline to her mother had been severed, just as with Indaran, and an emptiness squeezed her heart.

  Now old grief threatened to burrow through the block in Daria’s throat. To avoid bursting into sobs, she touched her othersense to distract herself. Amidst the swirl of sadness, one emotion jarred. Curious, she traced the feeling back to the source.

  Pasinae.

  Today wearing gold-and-royal blue with sapphires in her hair, at her ears, and around her neck, she appeared the very picture of the supportive lover to the next king. But then Daria caught the fleeting look of smugness that marred Pasinae’s pristine beauty. The expression faded away as quickly as a reflection in water dissipates when touched.

  As if sensing Daria’s scrutiny, Pasinae glanced her way. The woman tilted her chin, her face impassive. But as clearly as if she’d spoken words, Daria caught a warning from her othersense. What the exact message was, Daria didn’t know. She just knew to be on her guard.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thaddis’s reception hall glittered with dignitaries, celebrating after the funeral. The long drawn-out parting ceremony had taken several hours, and many individuals seemed to want to shake off their air of mourning. Exhausted, Daria sat in a corner, half-hidden by a painted screen, observing the people with both her eyes and her othersense.

  Members of Stevenes’s court packed the ballroom, four times the size of the main hall in Seagem’s palace. Servitors edged through the crowd carrying platters made from the iride
scent shells of the haramussel, heaped with an array of finger food or sparkling with crystal flutes of wine.

  Massive, intricate chandeliers of luster clams, the shells painted with tiny gold designs instead of allowed to remain in their creamy-clear natural state, illuminated the cavernous space. Daria spared a moment of pity for the servants who had to feed and water each luster every morning to keep their glow beaming for the whole season of the small mollusk’s life. The chandeliers at Seagem were smaller and less elaborate, but they still took a crew of four an hour of attendance each day.

  Her family members were scattered around the room talking to groups of nobles. Her father, surrounded by Ogan and other high-placed courtiers, held forth in solemn discourse. Setteff had buried himself in a crowd of warriors, and from the wide flinging of his arms was describing his favorite hunting story. Joshel, shoulder propped against a wall, spoke languidly to one elderly woman who appeared to have cornered him.

  A bevy of court beauties surrounded Cihkel, eager to catch the attention of the heir to Seagem. Even as Daria watched, Pasinae, with the look of a razer hunting down a hapless jukhil, wove her way toward Cihkel. A momentary qualm pinged Daria’s othersense, and she wondered if she should move to her brother’s side.

  She resisted. Her oldest brother had already stated his immunity to Pasinae’s beautiful face and lush body. And his love for Elanath should protect him.

  Daria glanced around at some of the younger men, seeing if any handsome face would spark a response from her othersense. But as she gazed around the room full of people, all she felt was lonely.

  The heat from the press of hundreds of bodies and their differing perfumes merged to press down on Daria. The tight bodice of her court dress constricted her breathing.

  Around her, stories of Stevenes floated in hundreds of conversations. Each guest wore a medallion of mourning. Some fingered the circles as they spoke. Many people laughed, some cried, others showed their sadness in the tightness of their faces or the redness of their eyes. But it was the fear trailing along her othersense that set Daria to wondering.

  Why are they afraid?

  Impatient to be alone and think, away from the fluttery, perfumed ladies and overly-gallant gentlemen, Daria slipped around the red-velvet curtains, through open glass doors, and onto a balcony.

  The breeze caressed her cheeks and played with her hair. She relaxed, allowing the tightness to leave her body. Taking a few steps forward, she saw, under the light of the large lusters suctioned to the wall, that she wasn’t alone.

  Thaddis stood with his back to her, gazing out to the darkening sea.

  Stifling her annoyance, Daria made to retrace her steps. Then, noting the slump in his shoulders, she paused. He’d buried his father this day, and knowing how heavy his heart must be, she took a few reluctant steps forward, thinking to offer comfort. “King Thaddis.”

  He half-turned. “Princess Daria, you’ve caught me at a…vulnerable moment.”

  “Would you prefer I left you to your solitude?”

  He returned to staring out to sea. “It’s not good to have lost all those dear to you.”

  What about Pasinae?

  Gripping the stone railing, he said, “You are blessed with the comfort of siblings—of not being alone.”

  Daria allowed wryness to seep into her tone, hoping to lighten his mood. “Having older brothers is not always a comfort.”

  This time he did turn to face her, stepping close. A charming smile lightened his face.

  She suppressed a rude inclination to shift away.

  “You look so much like Indaran. Not just your coloring—” he brushed a hand over her hair “—blond hair, green eyes….” His finger traced her eyebrow. “The same dark lashes and brows, same curve of cheek, same—” he tapped her nose.

  Uncomfortable with his nearness, she wanted to leave his presence, but the topic of Indaran moored her to him. “We are said to look alike.”

  “Are you like him in spirit as well? Do you share his thirst for adventure?”

  She shook her head. “I’m content with Seagem. I never want to leave.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  Daria hurried to explain. “My pulse beats with the rhythm of the city. The people live in my heart. Yadarius walks in my dreams and connects me to my family. The land nourishes my soul, and the sound of the sea pounding on the rocks lulls me to my rest.”

  Thaddis relaxed his eyebrow. “Spoken with kingly passion and a poet’s grace,” he murmured, his tone ironic. “You should have been the firstborn.”

  “I’m content to be the youngest. Do you feel this way about Ocean’s Glory?”

  His gaze grew distant as if he looked back in time. “I did once. I only wish Indaran had felt the way you do instead of being restless, needing to explore places better left alone.”

  So do I. Regret tightened her throat and misted her eyes.

  He glanced back to the ocean. “I should have dissuaded him from that trading journey, instead of encouraging him.”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference. I was only a little girl, but I know how eager he was to make that trip. My parents fought with him about it, but finally they gave in.”

  “I took a ship out to try to find him, but there was no trace.” His voice sounded flat, as if he spoke from some deadness within.

  She remembered the darkness, the emptiness from the lack of connection. “I’m surprised your parents allowed you to do something so dangerous.”

  He half-smiled. His eyes gleamed amber in the lusterlight. “I didn’t tell them. I’d have gone out again, but my mother became ill. She lingered several months before passing to the Hall of Besolet. My father’s grief was such that I couldn’t leave him.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “You did your duty as a loving son.”

  “I’ve always felt guilty about not searching further.”

  “I don’t think Indaran would want you to feel that way. He was a man and made his own choices.” And we’ve had to live with the consequences.

  “All these years, the place where Indaran was lost has called me to return. I’ll have no peace until I do.”

  “No.” Her othersense clanged, and her grasp on his arm tightened. “You must not. It’s too dangerous. Please, my Lord, don’t go. Don’t follow Indaran’s path.”

  His tawny eyes sparked.

  She caught a hint of a predator and released her grip, sliding back from him.

  Then his gaze softened. “I thank you for your concern, Princess Daria.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Daria saw the curtain flick aside a few inches. With a slight turn of her head, she could see Pasinae staring at them. The malevolence in the woman’s black eyes startled Daria, and she shivered.

  Her othersense stirred, and she knew. Pasinae is my enemy.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, Daria wandered up a broad hallway, eager to explore Thaddis’s library. Unlike the murals of sea creatures lining Seagem’s halls, these corridors had inset shell panels carved with scenes from the history of Ocean’s Glory. The white figures and scenic details stood out from the vivid orange background. A bit too garish for her taste.

  She ran her fingertips over one panel depicting a man balanced on a tiny skiff, a long spear aimed at the open, fanged maw of a huge dragonfish. Calebus and the sea monster. She knew the tale well.

  She tapped the dragonfish on the pointed snout, then meandered down the corridor.

  The hallway curved, dead-ending at a gold doorway. Two guards dressed in black uniforms stood on either side of the door.

  Her footsteps slowed. She doubted those men guarded the library.

  The guards’ faces remained impassive, but their gazes focused on her, spear-sharp, matching the weapons they held upright.

  Daria assessed them with a warrior’s eye. Each wore a sword sheathed in a scabbard hanging from a black leather belt. The hilt of a knife protruded from the top of their boots. They probably tucked away a f
ew knives where she couldn’t see, perhaps in their sleeves.

  Should I backtrack, or ask for directions?

  Before she made up her mind, the door flew open, and a young woman hurried through, one hand held to her face. A servant. Daria could tell by the drab, gray dress and the cap covering her hair.

  As she passed, the woman ducked her head, but not before Daria caught a glimpse of tears spilling from her eyes. The woman hurried around the corner.

  Daria started after her, but before she caught up to the servant, a voice called, “Princess!”

  She halted, reluctantly turning.

  Thaddis stood framed in the doorway, a satiated smile on his face. Like yesterday, he wore black velvet, this time edged with gold lace as fine as cobwebs. The medallion sparkled on his chest.

  He strolled forward. “Were you looking for me?” He almost purred the words.

  Daria wished she could find a graceful way to retreat. Instead, she walked toward him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was searching for your library.”

  “Ah, a seeker of knowledge. I’d be delighted to show you myself; however, I must meet with my council in a few minutes.” He snapped his fingers.

  One of the guards stepped out.

  “Show Princess Daria to the library.”

  The man nodded and strode toward her.

  Thaddis reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips.

  A cold shiver chilled up her spine.

  “At dinner, you’ll have to tell me what you think of my poor collection.”

  “I doubt I’ll find your library poor.” She slid her hand away. “’Til dinner.”

  “’Til dinner.”

  As Daria walked away, she resisted twitching her shoulder blades, shrugging off the gaze she knew he still pinned on her.

  Had Thaddis hit that woman?

  Daria wanted to dismiss the idea from her mind. Yadarius frowned upon violence between His people, no matter their status. Such disregard for others was apt to result in a personal dream visit from the SeaGod, where He’d deliver a tremendous scold. Either that, or give His ‘you’ve wounded me by hurting one of my people’ speech. According to reports, both were effective.