Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

28

Mhera could hear Matei breathing in the dark somewhere close. There was nowhere to be but close in the tiny library. She could smell him, too, unwashed and filthy from his squalid prison cell. Shivering with disgust and fear, she made herself as small as she could, pressing herself back into the corner closest to the secret door. Her every nerve was awake and alert, straining in the darkness for some sense of movement.

"Stay quiet," Matei said.

Mhera did not respond.

"We'll be safe here."

Mhera made a soft sound of contempt. Did he seek to reassure her? She felt she would never be safe again.

They did not speak after that, and Matei stayed where he was as far as Mhera could tell. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees, trying to wrap her mind around what was happening to her. Despite all that had passed in the space of an evening, reflecting on Eovin's betrayal was the most painful thing of all. He had known Matei. He had taken the rebel's side and locked her away with him. He planned to help Matei escape the city—and to help him take her, too. How could he?

She turned it all over in her mind, searching for some hint, some clue she might have missed, but she only remembered Lorekeeper Eovin as a friendly fixture in the palace, always busy with his books and his studies. She remembered how he alone had looked at her and spoken directly to her on the day she had revealed her secret gift in her uncle's council chamber. He alone had told her and not her uncle what her frightening visions meant.

No one asks for their gifts, dear lady. More often than not, a gift is a burden one must bear. He had seemed to speak with such wisdom then. Such compassion.

The minutes passed, and Mhera lost track of time. She heard Matei's breathing grow softer, his breaths grow longer and deeper. He had fallen asleep.

She was exhausted herself. Only that morning she had sweltered in the heat, standing witness to Rhodana's execution. This was supposed to have been a day of justice, of peace. A day of tying up the loose ends in her life and moving on. She leaned back against the rows of books, trying to still her mind, to quiet her spirit. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then another. Step by step, she walked her consciousness into that calm, in-between place she sought during her morning meditations, the state of mind that was so conducive to the Sight—and to sleep.

A shaft of light sliced through the total darkness of the chamber, jolting Mhera from a fitful slumber mere moments after she had drifted off, or so it seemed. Heart racing, Mhera threw up her arms to shield herself from danger and from the light, which pained her eyes. But when she peered through her fingers, she saw the lorekeeper standing there, lit from behind with the golden glow of the morning sun.

"Good morning, Lady Mhera. Matei," Eovin called.

Mhera turned her head. Curled up at the end of the narrow room, the rebel was still deeply asleep. His hair fell across his brow, concealing his eyes, and his mouth was partly open, dampening the sleeve of the arm he had tucked under his head. In that moment, he looked helpless and human.

"Matei."

The man's eyes opened suddenly and, with a sharp intake of breath, he sat up all at once. Mhera flinched, although he was a few armspans away. His hair, oily and dirty, stayed in much the same shape it had taken while he slept. "Well," he said in a thick voice, "I'm glad you were not an enemy."

"You're lucky. Your escape taxed you, but you will need to sleep more lightly, my friend." Eovin beckoned for them to come out.

"It's the first real sleep I've had in weeks, it seems," Matei said. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his joints cracking as he stretched his cramped limbs. Looking over to where Mhera still sat by the doorway, he raised his brows and indicated the door with a nod. "My lady, if you please."