Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

27

The prisoner lunged to grab the raven's perch, which sent the dark-winged bird squawking into the air. He held it like a weapon, both hands grasping the stout wood shaft.

The man at the door took in the scene in an instant. "Goddess' name!"

As the rebel moved toward him, Mhera cried, "Master Eovin, run!"

The lorekeeper swiftly turned. He swung the door shut behind him—and locked it, shutting himself into the chamber with them.

Incredulously, Mhera watched as the rebel dropped his makeshift weapon and moved to embrace the lorekeeper. Eovin returned the embrace, saying, "What are you doing here, Matei? I thought you had been taken!"

"I was. You must help us."

"What—Lady Mhera?" Eovin pulled out of the embrace. "Matei, why—"

"I was in Jaeron's prison, Eovin. She came." Matei raised a hand, revealing the cut across his palm.

For the first time in her life, Mhera heard Eovin curse. "You forsaken fool, what have you done?"

The lorekeeper crossed the room toward Mhera who, disabused of her relief upon seeing him, shrank away. She nearly fell over the chair next to her in her haste. Catching herself, she edged around it to put the sturdy furniture between her and her erstwhile friend; her only thought was to stay away from him. Away from both of them.

Eovin did not pursue her. He looked at the rebel. "Matei, did ... ?"

"No. It's dangerous." The rebel quelled him with a glance. "And this cannot be undone, as you well know. Get us out of the city."

"Us! You do this, and now you want to take her with you? Out of the city?"

"Don't be a fool! Shall I stay, then, and die? And she, too? Besides, I must get to Hanpe. I must warn them." Matei's expression was grim.

Mhera could not follow their conversation. She looked from Matei to Eovin, whose face had taken on a pallor in the moonlight. His voice was soft. "What?"

"He knows where it lies. We must prepare to move. Every moment lost is too much," said Matei.

"Goddess preserve us." Eovin stared at him grimly, and finally shook his head. "We must make haste, then. But there's no getting out tonight. I've just been down to see what was happening. There have been skirmishes. The whole courtyard is crammed with soldiers." Eovin went to the window, peered out, and then pulled the curtains closed. This had the effect of plunging the chamber into darkness. A moment later, a spirit globe began to glow; Mhera watched the lorekeeper's dark silhouette as he crossed the room to light another, then a third.

"Master Eovin," Mhera whispered. Confused, betrayed, she did not know what to think.

"Were they friends?" Matei asked, ignoring Mhera.

"No. Well, not the useful kind. They were not coming for you, I'm afraid. Just dissenters from the city who came late into the spirit of the cause; executions have that effect on some folk. They were quickly dealt with. None would have been of help to you." Eovin moved now across the chamber toward his painting of the Separation.

"Executions," Matei echoed. "Rhodana's dead, then?"

"Yes." Eovin paused just before the painting, looking back at Matei. "Today. I'm sorry."

The rebel made a gesture to push the matter aside, but his voice was strained. Mhera heard the pain in it. He must have known the rebel queen. "What will we do?"

"Well," said Eovin, running his hand along the gilt frame of the painting, "first you'll hide. And quickly. I'll figure something out, but the risk tonight that we'll all three of us lose our heads is very high. Come."

To Mhera's astonishment, the large painting swung outward from the wall. Behind it was a small, rectangular chamber. It, too, was filled with books on shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling along three walls. There were more heavy tomes stacked precariously in the corners. A narrow strip of floor ran between the shelves.

"Go. Both of you. I cannot go back down tonight, I'm afraid, but I'll bring you something to eat as early as I can. Hurry!"

Matei had wasted no time; weak and exhausted he may have been, but he crossed the room and scrambled quickly into the hidden chamber. Mhera stood frozen by the chair, unable to move.

"Lady Mhera," Eovin said.

"Master Eovin, why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice choked with tears. "Why are you letting him take me?"

"I cannot do otherwise, my lady. You must go."

"No. You're ... you're with him. He's a rebel. And so are you." She paused to grasp the knowledge. "You're a rebel?"

The lorekeeper hesitated. He smiled ruefully and said, "My dear lady, there is so much about this world that you don't know. Mhera, you must go. You're bound to him now. Were I to help you to stay behind, the both of you would die."

As Mhera heard all of this from the lorekeeper's lips, panic descended again. How could it be true? Would Emperor Korvan believe she had helped Matei escape—willingly? Would he condemn her and send her to the sword? She hadn't known what she was doing. She'd had no choice but to do what Matei had asked, afraid he would hurt her, kill her. She hadn't wanted to be a part of whatever evil magic Matei had wrought, in any case. Her uncle could not condemn her for it.

She blindly grasped for the chair, afraid her legs would not support her, but before she could fall, Eovin was there. He slid an arm around her shoulders, strong and sure, and Mhera was too confused to push him away. "Come, my lady. You will be alright. You must hide now, if you value your life and mine. The matter outside may not be resolved. They could search the palace and if they do, you must be hidden."

"They'll find me. They can find me and not him. Hide him, and let me go. I must go back to the Haven. My vows." Even as she clung to this desperate hope, this compromise with fate, Mhera was walking with the lorekeeper across the room to the hidden library.

"No, child. For your life, you must go with him. Come." Eovin had to help her in, for her legs would not obey her. As she stumbled inside and fell to her knees on the hard stone floor, the painting swung back to cover the entrance. She looked back and saw for an instant the lorekeeper's solemn face. He had no marke.

Then darkness fell.