Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

18

Emperor Korvan sent Mhera a letter nearly every turning of the moon. She had not responded to a single one of them; still, they faithfully arrived, each written in his own royal hand. The young woman had been frightened at first to ignore her uncle's letters. He was the most powerful man in Penrua, which made him—in her perspective—the most powerful man on Arc. But no one had come to arrest her for snubbing him, and over time she grew bolder in her disregard. She would read each letter carefully, looking for some hint of an apology, some suggestion that Korvan might undo what he had done and take her back into the palace. But that never came, and she had never picked up a pen.

My Dear Niece, I hope this letter finds you well and not too burdened with your work. Spring has come to us in the Holy City, and the branches of the snowblossom trees are heavy with flowers. To see them puts me in mind of you ...

... Little Dove, I have not received a letter from you. It has been a year now, so I believe you must intend to stay silent. Or perhaps you are not reading these letters at all. But I shall still send them. I do not grow angry with you, my child, but it grieves me sorely not to know how you fare ...

.... My Dear Mhera, it is the anniversary of Koreti's death. These are trying days for me, and I think they must also be for you. I think of you each day and wish you strength. As time passes, the pain of it loses its sting; one cannot grieve forever. I hope this is true also for you ...

... Dear Niece, I visited the battlements on the port wall this morning with my Captain of the Guard. From there I could see the Haven, looking peaceful and secure. I pray to Zanara that you are in good health and know that you are loved, dearest little dove ...

... My Dear Niece ...

... Dear Mhera ...

Sister Narra, veiled and wearing the long-sleeved habit, had come into the kitchen on Sister Saskia's heels with the missive.

"I have given him our letter and the journal of your visions, Sister Mhera," said Narra from beneath her veil. "He waits now outside. I think he expects a response from you."

Mhera turned the folded parchment she had been given over in her hands. On the reverse, a red wax seal stamped with the rose-and-stars showed stark against the page, like blood.

She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, thinking, I shall not respond. Whatever this may be, I shall not.

Korvan's elegant hand was slanted, some of the letters looped and stretched. He must have written in haste.

Mhera,

We have at last arrested Rhodana in company with several other leaders of the Arcborn rebels. She will be executed within the week. I do not know if you have read my letters, but I pray fervently that you see this. Koreti will be avenged. Your vision of the field and the mill led us to her. Thanks be to the Goddess for granting you this gift; thanks be to you for accepting it.

There was no personal signature, just a smudged stamp in red ink. The letter slipped out of Mhera's trembling fingers. She looked down at the pale parchment lying on the dark flagstones, remembering the vision the emperor mentioned. Several months ago, she had Seen a field and a mill. She had not known what she Saw at first, having never been to the country. But she recalled the vision sharply.

"I See a tower," she had said, gazing into her scrying bowl. "All of stone ... There is a cross upon it that turns and turns ..."

The abbess had waited, listening. She did not tell Mhera until later that such a construction was a mill, used for grinding grain.

"It is in a field ... a field of roses. There is a woman there ... and where she walks, the roses die ..."

She had had the sense, even then, that the woman in her vision was sinister, with her fiery copper hair and her wicked face, but she had never voiced her suspicions. She was not there to interpret, only to See. But now ... had Mhera's inconsequential glimpse of a country landscape led to her family's ultimate goal?

Sister Saskia hesitantly stooped to pick up the letter from the floor. "Sister Mhera?"

Mhera did not look up. She let her hand fall to curl into the skirt of her homespun habit, clenching tight.

"Sister Mhera? Is all well? Has something happened?"

The abbess stepped around Saskia. She laid a gentle hand on Mhera's wrist, looking up into the young woman's face. "Child, what is it?"

"Mother," Mhera said. She heard her own voice as if from far away. "I must go home."