Rachel Devenish Ford - Beloved Night: World Whisperer Book 5

This book is for Gale and Joy. I love you.

And for Kenya, the daughter of my dreams.

H errith hurried along the narrow alley in the bottom tier of the city, head down. On either side of him, the buildings rose up, two or three stories of red stone, crammed full of the lives of people. Their washing hung out of the windows or along strings that stretched from one side of the alley to the other. On the walls of the slippery street, Herrith could see the prints of many hands, blackened and shiny over time. He heard babies crying in the heat, women calling out or laughing. The scents of dinner wafted through the air, and at least once, Herrith heard the muttered words, "Red Robe."

He paid no attention to the muttering. All his concentration was directed toward the slight figure of a woman in front of him. She had slipped out of the palace just before Herrith, and the guard, a Circle member, had pointed her out.

"She's acting suspiciously," he had murmured. "I don't know who she is, either."

Herrith was instantly on the alert. There shouldn't be anyone in the palace that the guard didn't know. He needed to make sure the woman wasn't up to anything dangerous.

He paused and put his hand on the building beside him, feeling old and a little shaky. The woman was moving swiftly. After a few breaths, Herrith followed her again. Work at the palace was growing ever more tense. Gavi told Herrith that he was almost certain the kitchen staff had been seeded with spies from the king. The Circlethe little group of resistance fighters in the Desert Citywas trying to decide whether Gavi should go or stay. The boy desperately wanted to stay close to Aria, but she was so heavily guarded that few of them ever saw her.

They all needed to know: what would the king's next move be? Gavi asked Herrith every day if he knew anything, and Herrith had to restrain himself from snapping at the boy. Didn't Gavi know Herrith would share the information with him just as soon as he heard? Herrith had lived a life of danger, a spy and member of the resistance who had existed in the king's awareness since he was a young boy, and still these days vibrated with more tension than ever before.

King Ikajo had stopped confiding in Herrith, his cousin, the Red Robe who had been with him the longest, and Herrith knew that the king could easily, without a second thought, decide to end Herrith's life. There didn't seem to be anything remotely like loyalty within the king's soul. The only person Ikajo had ever seemed to love, even remotely, was Isika, his hope. Ikajos father had stolen the Maweel queen, so Ikajo could father a Warrior Whisperer with Amani, her daughter. Now that the daughter, Isika, had rejected the king, Ikajo was dangerous in a way that terrified Herrith and everyone around him. Isika had the potential to be the most powerful person alive because of the combination of strengths within her, and she wanted nothing to do with Ikajo's plan to subdue the lands around them. The king's dream was dying.

Herrith was shocked and dismayed by the king's way of thinking. Did he really believe Nenyi, the Shaper, the Uncreated One, was so easily manipulated? That she could be tricked into creating a weapon for Mugunta, the evil one, from a combination of bloodlines? The king had been so sure. Maybe he knew something Herrith didn't.

Herrith nearly lost the woman as she turned a corner, so he sped up, clutching at a pain in his side. There she was. She was slight in figure, swathed in layers of clothing. As Herrith watched, she clutched her cloak more tightly around her, clinging to the shadows as she sped along the narrow alley. Her hands were covered, no part of her body visible. She looked like a drift of clothing, scudding along the narrow street, hardly touching the ground. Goosebumps broke out along Herrith's body, and he cursed his superstitious mind. The thought had come to him, briefly, that he was following a ghost.

The fragrances of a city evening continued to shower Herrith's senses as he hurried after the woman. He smelled heady night-blooming flowers, dough and rich spices frying in hot oil, an old woman's cigar. Herrith's stomach rumbled. Mara's food waited for him at the Circle meeting, but he was stuck following this woman, who now seemed to be traveling erratically, zigzagging through the alleys, apparently searching for something.

He almost missed seeing her stop and had to regain his balance as he skidded to a halt. The woman stood gazing into a large window, large enough that Herrith could see into the room from where he stood, hiding in the shadows a little further down the street. What was she doing? Was she a spy? But there was nothing significant about the old weaver she watched. He sat, unknowing, at his loom, lit by magic stones in a sconce on the wall. The rhythm of his shuttle moving back and forth, back and forth, seemed to entrance the woman for some time. Finally, she hurried down the alley.

Herrith paused in front of the window to see if he had missed something, but no, the room was bare and simple, with one weaver working in the low light. Herrith watched for a moment, then, with a brief shake of his head and anxiety starting to pinch his gut, followed the woman again.

The woman had begun to cling more closely to the shadows, as though she suspected she was being followed. She looked back over her shoulder from time to time, and Herrith held his breath and kept himself very still. He couldn't see her face with the hood of her desert cloak pulled all the way forward. Once or twice, it seemed that she would turn and go back the way she had come, but each time she stood, head down, clinging to a wall with a gloved hand, and then continued into the lowest tier of the city. Other than the zigzags, she was heading in the same direction as Herrith, toward Circle headquarters.

He grew more afraid, anxiety turning in his stomach, trickling into his limbs until he trembled. The king watched them all so closely ever since Isika had infiltrated the City, releasing hundreds of people destined for slavery and nearly killing the King.

Aria was guarded like a rare diamond, marched from her rooms to sit near the king and attend him, then taken back to her rooms when he was tired of her. Herrith was rarely close enough to her to talk to Aria. When he did manage to be in her vicinity, he was careful not to look at Aria for too long. He felt the king's eyes on his every move, the king's awareness spreading out to draw all of them into a tighter grip than ever.

The woman stopped again, gazing into another window. This one didn't even have glass. It was merely a few bars crossing a small squarish hole on a dilapidated building. She stood, swaying slightly, for several breaths, seemingly transfixed. Herrith couldn't see what she was looking at, but when she finally moved on, he hurried closer to peer in.

A small family sat on the floor, eating from a single pot. Light came from a few candles. This meant the family couldn't afford the magic lighting of the city, and the weak light barely illuminated a mother feeding her toddler bits of rice. Nearby were a small boy and girl, eating quietly from the pot. They took turns without fighting, but as soon as the food was in their hands, they quickly shoved it into their mouths, as though it would disappear. Herrith felt tears sting his eyes, watching them, and made a mental note of their location. The mother smiled down at the toddler in her lap.