Home > Temple of Sand(7)

Temple of Sand(7)
Author: Barbara Kloss

“True. On second thought, you had better hurry.”

Ricón’s smile mirrored her own, but then the future hovered uncertainly over them both, stealing their levity.

Ricón stopped before her and touched her cheek. “It will be all right, mi a’fiamé. Trust me.”

 

 

3

 

 

Purpose drove Ricón’s steps down the wide corridors. Servants and guards bowed, though he hardly noticed, his thoughts fixed on the task ahead.

Ricón found his papa dining in the hall with Ismael and Bayek—two members of his papa’s private council, and also two of Trier’s wealthiest. Ricón couldn’t say that they were friends, only that they were friendly. Time, shared experiences, and common interest tended to shape its own sort of bond, no matter how many scars it created in the process. Kai, Ricón’s younger brother, sat with them as well, lounging with thinly veiled disinterest while cradling his glass of ruby red nazzat. Always present, rarely engaged.

Sar Branón was just lifting a dumpling to his mouth when he spotted Ricón standing in the archway. The dumpling stilled at his lips. A tense beat passed, and then he set the dumpling down and sat up straight. “Ricón.”

The chatter ceased; the others glanced over. Kai startled upright so suddenly, his nazzat sloshed onto his lap. He cursed and set the drink down, distractedly wiping at his pants.

“A word, mi sar,” Ricón said shortly.

The sar gazed upon his oldest son with relief, and anger. Mostly anger.

“Excuse us,” the sar said to the others, though he looked only at Ricón.

Ismael and Bayek stood, somewhat awkwardly, bowing to Ricón as they departed. Kai lingered, eyeing his older brother, because Ricón had never told Kai where he was going. He’d never told Kai that he was going. And not even Kai—master of social graces—could hide this bitter grievance completely.

How that grievance would amplify once Kai discovered why.

“Kai,” Sar Branón said, tone clipped.

Kai’s gaze flickered to their papa and a muscle worked in his jaw. Finally, he dipped his head and stood, pausing before Ricón.

The silence strained, shadowed by their growing differences. Or, rather, by Kai’s growing indifference.

“It is good to see you, mi a’dor.” Kai clasped Ricón on the shoulder.

“You as well.”

Ricón wished it were true.

Kai crossed to the door with easy steps, though Ricón noticed the stiff set of his shoulders, and the door clicked softly behind him.

Ricón looked back at his papa—the sar of Istraa, who was a cauldron frothing at the rim.

“You lied to me,” Sar Branón snapped.

Ricón had expected it. Welcomed it. Which was why he’d left Imari in his room.

“Yes. I lied,” Ricón replied just as sharply. “I am sorry for that, but—”

“Sorry?” Sar Branón cut him off. Spittle flew. “You told me you were going to Andai. Instead, you left it undefended.”

“I did not leave it undefended,” Ricón pushed back. “I sent a dozen guards—”

Sar Branón slammed his fist on the table, rattling the glassware. “Dashá, Ricón! You took three of my very best saredd. They are not yours to dispense! We need them now more than ever, with this heretic running loose, and you never abandon your people when they have need of you.”

Ricón took a step, his body tensed. “Your own dama has needed you for the past ten years. Where were you then?”

It was as though all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room, and Sar Branón fell impossibly still.

“Surprised?” Ricón continued. “Yes, well imagine my surprise when I received a letter from the Wolf of Corinth stating that Imari was in Skyhold.”

Ricón watched the color drain from Sar Branón’s face.

Sar Branón stood very slowly, gripping the table’s edge for support. “The Wolf knows.”

Ricón gave him a disparaging smile. “Ironically, the Wolf is the only reason she isn’t dead.”

Sar Branón’s gaze sharpened on Ricón. “What do you mean?”

Ricón explained everything Imari had shared along their journey home, and when he reached the part about her imprisonment in Corinth, Sar Branón abruptly turned and walked to the window. Ricón finished, and Sar Branón stood quiet for a very long time.

“Why did you send her away?” Ricón asked, taking a step toward his papa. It was an old argument that had left a stain upon their relationship all these years. No one else knew the truth about Imari. Not even Sura Anja—Sar Branón’s wife, and Ricón’s mama. How Ricón had come to know the truth was purely accidental, and Ricón had sworn on his life not to breathe a word of it. And he hadn’t. He hadn’t dared jeopardize Imari’s safety.

But in the end, that promise had mattered little. She’d been discovered anyway.

“You had to have known she couldn’t hide that power forever,” Ricón continued, taking another step. “You’ve seen what happens to the Liagé. Surely we could have kept her here and—”

“No.”

The word was quiet, but decisive and firm. As it had always been.

“How can you still believe that?” Ricón argued. “After everything I’ve just told you—”

“Where is she?”

Ricón looked at his papa. “If you send her away, I will go,” Ricón said, and he meant it. “I will not make Imari face this alone. Not anymore.”

Sar Branón turned to face his son then, and the expression there stopped Ricón. It was the face of a broken man, his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, and when he finally spoke, his voice was just as rattled and weary. “I can’t send her away. She is known. There is nowhere safe for her now.”

Ricón frowned, wondering what his papa meant, but before he could ask, Sar Branón stood tall, and his shoulders expanded with sudden resolve as he said, “Take me to her.”

 

 

Imari paced before Ricón’s dark windows while nerves churned in her stomach.

“Maker’s Mercy. I cannot do this…”

Perhaps she’d been too hasty. Perhaps she should’ve used Jeric’s one thousand crowns to make her own life, away from all of this. Away from the memories and pain. Away from the family she did not deserve—not after what she’d done. What if…

What if her papa hated the very sight of her?

She didn’t know if she could bear it, if he did. A confirmation that she was as horrible as she’d feared, as monstrous as they’d claimed.

Imari wrung her hands, pacing faster. She could sneak away. Ricón’s rooftops weren’t really that high, and she had the means to survive. Jeric had seen to that, and even if she miraculously ran out of his money, she could find work as a healer. Of course, she’d have to change her name again, and she’d have to be very careful not to build too much of a reputation, because then others would come looking for her and…

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