Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) by Leona Wisoker

Author:Leona Wisoker [Wisoker, Leona]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw
Publisher: ReAnimus Press
Published: 2014-11-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-Three

The Palace lay inside a wide belt of connected gardens: Idisio cut through each one, following the often meandering paths without really seeing his surroundings. The conversation with Deiq cycled and recycled through his mind: I should have stayed on the streets; and Deiq’s prompt, unsympathetic response: You’d be dead by now.

Idisio had assumed that the trip south with Scratha had somehow triggered his heritage, but Deiq seemed certain that Idisio had been about to start changing anyway.

Like Alyea’s going to change soon. He tore his mind away from the implications of how all the desert lords had been covertly watching her — as though they expected her to throw herself at them any moment. Idisio didn’t see himself ever being that overcome by baser impulses. Not after what he’d been through. Not unless he went completely mad.

But Deiq had been positive in his response to that fear: You’re not going mad. All the changes you’re going through, however strange they may feel, are normal. Thin reassurance, but better than the gut-wrenching fear that he couldn’t trust his own mind or body in the coming days.

At least he didn’t have to worry about dying. It’s very hard to kill an adult ha’ra’ha, Deiq had said. Apparently it had taken a considerable effort, and more than a little treachery, to even damage the one beneath Bright Bay. Several desert lords, some of whom had died or gone mad in the effort... and Tank.

Now there was a name Idisio hadn’t ever expected to encounter again, for all that he’d been having visions about the redheaded boy for weeks now. He’d assumed those visions had been prompted by wondering whether there could be a connection between the big, funny sailor Red and the skinny, mad-eyed redhead he’d found huddled in a trash-filled alley years before. It still seemed an insane coincidence, even with Deiq’s careless comment that ha’ra’hain were apt to draw such connections to themselves; and Deiq’s explanation of Tank’s true purpose had left a hard, uncomfortable feeling in Idisio’s stomach ever since.

He’d been a distraction. A sacrifice. Bait.

And now they’re using me the same way: as bait to catch another mad ha’ra’ha. Just like they used Tank. And he’s dead because of it. They killed him.

Idisio wasn’t sure why that upset him so much. He’d barely known Tank; the redhead had stayed for a matter of days before the incident with Blackie—and other matters—had driven him out of Idisio’s life. So why am I having visions about him all the damn time?

They didn’t tell Tank the whole story, and they’re not telling me the whole story. Once more, so much for the vaunted status of being ha’ra’hain. I can’t even trust Deiq, apparently—he’s perfectly willing to put me out on the hook.

Idisio slowed, looking around, and found himself in an herb garden. To his left, a long, raised bed of fennel served as a feathery screen considerably taller than himself. To his right, a lower, circular raised bed overflowed with a ruddy-tinted, small-leafed sprawling plant.

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