Soulwoven: Exile

Chapter 40

~40~

Two hours before the destruction of Eldan City

Ryse pulled herself up the wall beneath Aegelden Elpioni's bedroom, slow and careful, trusting Jen's robe to keep her camouflaged against the white stone. There were few handholds and toeholds, but they were enough to climb on.

She was glad for the climbing. There was no room for thought when she was climbing. No room for doubt. She just found the next hold and pulled herself onward. She kicked her boots off for better traction. The stone hurt her skin, but the pain was inconsequential.

A few minutes later, the tiles of Aegelden Elpioni's balcony pressed cold and slick against her toes.

It had been easy to get there. No one had stopped a soulweaver and a Twelfthman walking together. Not in the moonlit expanse of Temple Complex, and not in the shadowy gardens behind the Hall of the Twelve either.

The necromancers had been defeated. Molte Eldani was dead. Aesith Pendilon had lost his heir.

The Twelve had become the greatest power in Eldan, and it had made them careless.

The door into Aegelden's chambers was open, and Ryse crept forward on her stomach. Ren followed. Gauzy curtains drifted in the night breeze behind them.

Ahead, a whale-sized canopy bed glazed with light blue sheets and pillows occupied a raised dais. It sat in the center of a bedroom larger than any home Ryse had ever known. The air smelled of heady incense, and in the blue-white light of the moon, she saw paintings and tapestries, plants in golden urns, plush chairs and cushions and rugs. An archway beyond the bed led to a darkened space she assumed was the wardrobe. Two heavy doors near it were closed and silent, the gateway to the rest of the apartments of Yenor's Highest.

Aegelden's sleep sounded deep and peaceful. Untroubled. Unharried by the nightmares he deserved.

Ryse's hands twitched.

Her eyes met her brother's. Ren looked cold and ready, as calm as Aegelden's breathing.

He held up three fingers. Two. One.

Ryse stood.

Aegelden lay in the center of an ocean of cushions and sheets and blankets. A sleeping gown covered his torso, but his legs sprawled naked across his bed. It would take Ryse two steps to get to him. Two steps during which the mattress would move and he would wake. Her heart thundered. Her legs bunched.

She sprang.

As her foot hit the bed, it sank into something soft and liquid and so deep she nearly lost her balance.

A water mattress, she thought.

The waves her step set off raced ahead of her, jostling the pillows, jostling Aegelden. Ryse twisted to keep her balance.

Aegelden sat up and turned toward her.

She stumbled forward another step. The fluid inside the mattress bucked and sloshed. Aegelden's eyes glowed white, and the River began to swirl.

Ryse jumped on top of him.

She struck him hard on the side of the head, sent him sprawling across the bucking bed and got behind him and wrapped her arm across his throat. Squeezed.

Because if he couldn't breathe, it would be nearly impossible to weave.

Ren stepped in front of them. He'd drawn one of his swords.