The Tower of the Forgotten (7 page)

The
main foyer arched high above, chandeliers shining with fragrant beeswax
candles. Inlaid in cunningly wrought marble and bronze, an elaborately detailed
family crest decorated the floor. Imogen sucked in a breath at the sight of it
and stepped carefully around it.

Alaric
reached out and tugged on a velvet bell-pull. "I’ll have the servants roused to draw you ladies a bath and
have some more suitable clothes sent up."

A
plump maid appeared, bobbing her head in such a deep curtsey that it made her
round cheeks quiver and her auburn curls bounce.

"Ah,
Matilda, excellent. Can you see these ladies to their rooms in the guest wing
and see that they aren’t disturbed until they’ve slept enough to rise refreshed? Goodnight, Mistresses
Gyony, or should I say, good morning? Either way, sleep well. We have much to
discuss later."

Matilda
seemed the motherly type, even though she was quite young. She clucked and
fussed the entire way up the stairs, fretful over finding something that Portia
could wear with those wings of hers. She also studiously ignored the axe that
flickered and gleamed in Portia’s hand.

She
brought them to a suite of rooms that opened onto a central sitting room and
held two small bedrooms and a well-sized bathroom with a curved enameled copper
tub. She disappeared down the hall and returned with an armful of white cloth.

"This
one is the largest, has a drawstring neckline, too. You should be able to make
it do until Favrielle gets through with you." She tossed one gown in
particular to Portia and handed another to Imogen. She pointed out the bell
pulls in each of the rooms and curtsied dramatically once more before
disappearing from the room.

"What
shall we do now?" Portia tossed her
nightgown onto the bed in the first bedroom.

A
fierce blush had risen in Imogen’s face. "I don’t like it here."

"It’ll be all right—I won’t let anything happen to you."

"It isn’t me I’m worried about."

Portia
draped her arms around Imogen’s shoulders. "I’m not about to call you
a liar, but there is more bothering you than Radinka’s well-being."

Imogen
looked away. "I don’t want to stay here."

"It isn’t ideal, I know. But we’ll be safe enough until we can get what we need and get out."

"No, it isn’t just…. It’s
him
."

"Who? Alaric?"

She
nodded. "I dare not speak it aloud."

"Whisper
it to me." Portia touched her forehead. "You can do it."

Imogen
nodded again and sat down on the bed, tucking her long legs beneath her. Portia
sat, settling her hip against Imogen’s like they had always
done when sharing secrets.

Imogen
sat a long moment, composing herself and prodding gently at the edges of Portia’s thoughts.

Finally,
in a quivering, soft voice she began.

"The night I died, the thing we
fought was not a normal demon. Not in the least. It has been so long since I
have been able to speak about this, I find I don’t have the right words. After
all these years that I have been waiting to tell you."

"
Tell me what?
"

"
When
I said it wasn
’
t your fault, Portia, I
meant it. It was all I could tell you, but it was the truth, the absolute
truth. You didn
’
t fail in your duty to
me.
"

"
Imogen
—"

"
No, let me finish
or else I fear if I stop speaking I will never be able to say another word so
long as a live." She reached out and touched Portia’s hair.
"Events are
not always as we remember, or as we perceive. This had nothing to do with the
fiend at all. Maybe it brought it on faster than what was natural, but you were
meant to have silver hair from the moment you were born. You were born more
angel than the rest of us. The good sisters wanted to find you, wanted to keep
you from this destiny."

"No one can keep anyone from
their destiny, but I am happy they thought to try for me."

Imogen looked around, nervous as a feral
cat, and Portia wrapped her wings around them both, sheltering them.

"It is the same with the demon
we fought that night. It was sent with all the strength and spells to overcome
us. Its duty was to kill me."

"
What?
Why? How can you possibly know that?
"

"
It
silenced me with a particular spell. The words that would have alerted you
dissolved on my tongue. But since I have come back, those blocks are gone. I
have been frantic to tell you for so long. And now, when we finally have a
moment, the very proof falls onto my lap!
"

"
I
don
’
t understand.
"

"
That
foul creature
’
s aura was all but
covered in sigils and glyphs giving it every protection against you. You didn
’
t destroy it that night, Portia, only banished
it for a time. It lives, still, and I can smell it in this house.
"

"
What?" Adrenaline
and anger filled Portia, and she jumped to her feet
. "Where? There is no
spell that can save that bastard from me now."

"It’s not so easy, please,
please, sit down, my love. I haven’t even told you the worst. It’s Alaric. He’s
part of this. The coat of arms in the main hall. That was the key."

Portia nodded
. "You seemed distressed to
see it."

"It took me a moment to
recognize it, to put it together with what I saw that night. But it was one of
the sigils on that demon. Sort of. It’s difficult to explain, but imagine a
constellation—an image drawn only point to point—and if you squint and tilt
your head then maybe it’s a bear or a dragon or a warrior. There was a glyph on
the beast like that. I had never seen its like and I had been trained, like the
others of the convent, to read glyphs and to use them. Not like the Aldias do,
to control spirits, but more like the Vedma used to, to heal and make things
grow, and channel the forces of nature and magic in specific paths.

"
So on that night,
the demon spoke to my mind and soul and it said ‘mouna
,’ silence. As soon as
it made that contact with me, I could see into it. Because a door that is open
may be passed through in either direction, you know. And I looked at the things
written upon its soul, and there were so many sigils etched into it. But one,
one caught my eye because it was unique, it wasn’t the Nephilim magic I knew.
It was different. And if I were to draw the crest of Alaric Regalii like a
constellation, it would look exactly like that."

"Alaric’s a member of the
Primacy, you know. And I bet he was one then, as well."

"
Are
you certain?
"

"
No.
But I
’
d be willing to put a
wager on it and be sure I
’
d win.
"

"
Do
you think he is working alone, or does the entire Primacy want me dead?
"

"
I think you were a
convenient pawn, just like I have been." Portia’s golden gaze flickered
westward, toward the town at the coast and the gleaming tower rising out of the
surf.

"Nigel?"

"
Not
just Nigel. Something tells me that this goes deeper and back farther than
either of us can imagine.
"

"
What
do we do, Portia?
"

"
We
have nothing but half-truths and speculation to work with. But there is still
an enemy we know, and that is Nigel in that damned tower. He is going to
complete Belial
’
s plan to tear a hole
between our world and theirs.
"

Imogen nodded.
"And Radinka. We have to
get her back to Penemue where she will be safe. Emile and Cadmus are the only
ones we can trust. I wonder how many more he’s taken and where they are? Why
didn’t Emile stop him?"

"
Perhaps
he couldn’t. The Primacy is used to getting what they want. They are used to
ruling us like a monarchy would. They speak; we bow, then obey." Portia sighed.
"I
wish I could get a message to the Captain. He’s been so worried."

"He has faith in you, Portia.
And who wouldn’t? You’re the greatest Gyony in a generation, if not ever."

"
Don
’
t forget that you
’
re Gyony, too, beloved. You went through the
training, same as me. And even if they fudged your trials to make sure we
’
d end up together, you have never brought
dishonor to the family.
"

Imogen laid her head on Portia’s shoulder
.
"I will be strong so long as you’re with me."

Portia
kissed the top of her head
. "You’re strong all on your own. How many times
have you died, now? Even I can’t claim that. I think you must have nine lives."

"I suppose I am down to seven
now, though."

They laughed and it felt good. Portia could
imagine that they were back in Penemue, safe in their room with nothing to fear
except being caught up chatting after curfew.

"Do
you think we ought to try and sleep?" Imogen said, aloud.

Portia
nodded and wrapped her arms and her wings around her, burying her face in
Imogen’s hair. She could not fight back the
tears that spilled over her lids and trickled down her beloved’s neck.

"I
know you don’t need to hear this
because you know what you mean to me. But I want to tell you just the same. I
love you, Imogen. With my entire soul, the one that’s mine and the one that isn’t.
I will never be without you. If I have to go to the underworld again to get you
back, so help me, I will. And if I can’t, then I will join you
there, do you understand? Nothing will keep me from you. Nothing."

"Despite
all the trouble you’ve caused me, I still
think I am the luckiest girl in the world," Imogen said, lifting
her chin for a kiss while her body trembled with delight. "Thank you, Portia. For everything. The pain and terror of
death is nothing compared with the strength of love. And I don’t fancy ever leaving your side again." She looked wistful a moment. "There
are nicer places there in the land of the dead, besides Salus and the
shadow-side. I have seen them. I think I might know how to get back there. If
we ever need that knowledge, which I hope we won’t."

"They
say all knowledge is worth having. Just don’t forget it, my love. I’ll be relying on you to lead us there."

They
changed into the fresh nightclothes. Portia had no intention of sleeping, but
the soft linen felt so much better on her skin than the soiled and tattered
satin gown.

Lying
side by side in the wide bed seemed a dream. In all their years together, their
nighttime companionship had been a rare treat and always crammed into a
dormitory bed or, most recently, a narrow cot. But yet, even with the luxurious
amount of mattress available to them, they lay with limbs entwined and curled
up in a space not much larger than their beds at Penemue.

Portia
waited until Imogen had fallen completely asleep. By then it was fully day,
with rosy light spilling in through the windows. She left the axe tucked under
Imogen’s arm and stepped out into the hall.
Although she felt silly wandering about in a too-large nightgown draped almost
indecently low under her wings, she had nothing at all else to wear.

The
hum of a well-run house filled the place. Breakfast smells wafted up from the
kitchens, bread and sausage cooking. Once, it would have made her mouth water,
but now it only made her ache with nostalgia, missing the Penemue of her youth
and Lady Hester’s stern affection.

She
watched from the railing at the top of the stairs as servants came and went
below: there was sweeping, there was shouting, there was laughter. On the
surface it all looked like a perfectly normal manor.

Underneath
that façade something much darker lurked. She
left the servants to their morning routine and walked back toward her room. The
bustle of morning had not yet reached upstairs, so she took a moment to explore
the other wing. At the far end, a grand door spanned the width of the corridor.
From the formidable lock on it, Portia guessed it to be Alaric’s suite.

Behind
her, another door opened. Portia spun but only found a shocked young man
staring wide-eyed back at her.

"I
know you," she said to him. "Kendrick, isn’t it?"

He
nodded. "And you’re
Portia Gyony. What are you doing here?"

She
bit back her wariness, not wanting to frighten him—not yet. "I was about to ask you
the same question."

He
shut the door with care, then pointed to another a few yards down the hall.

"Please," Kendrick whispered. "I dare not speak here in
the hall."

Portia
sounded him, applying her aura against his and feeling his fear and his utter
sincerity. He knew her; his memories of the flight from the convent were clear,
and in them, Portia saw herself a hero in his eyes, blazing and saintly. She
nodded. They stepped inside, and only when the door had shut did he release a
deep breath.

"That
was Radinka’s room." He pointed in the direction of the other room. "She was having trouble sleeping."

"She
is here? Is she well? Imogen’s terribly worried about
her. And will be about you, too, once she finds out you’re here."

"Imogen?" His eyes lit up. "She’s come along as well?"

"Yes.
She is also resting. How many more of the convent children are there here?"

"Just
Radinka and myself." He tugged on a lock of
hair, grown long and curling at the bottom.

How
like a prince he looked with his gleaming green eyes and tawny skin. Such a
contrast to Radinka’s stark beauty of pale
and dark. He carried himself like he thought a hero might, Portia saw. And he
was more than a little in love with Radinka.