The Chalice of Malvron: Argetallam Saga, #3

Prologue

She was screaming again. Broken, choked cries echoed by the shriek of karkaton.

Lucan pressed his back against the wall, hands clenching his knees. On the other side of the brickwork, his sister gasped while her tormentor gave her a moment of respite. He could just make out the click of Kenistrith’s boots as she circled Janir.

He couldn’t see, but he hardly needed to. Kenistrith spoke, her words unintelligible, but the half coaxing, half coercive tone was familiar. Janir didn’t reply or, if she did, it was too quiet for him to hear.

The karkaton keened, the high-pitched wail mingling with Janir’s broken screams of pain.

Stop fighting, Lucan whispered to the darkness, fingers knotting in the knees of his trousers. You’ll only make it worse.

Lucan?

He jumped at his name, quickly spotting the lithe figure in a loose white smock. Her dusky skin almost glowed by the light of the candle stub she carried. It cast flickering shadows across the angular planes of her cheekbones.

The girl glanced to the wall as the wails continued. A sickening thud followed by a snapping, ripping noise made Lucan’s stomach twist. The girl took a shuddering breath and focused intently on him, as if that could make either of them forget what was happening on the other side of those bricks.

You weren’t in your rooms again, Genvissa said hesitantly.

Because I was here. Again. Lucan kicked at a loose cobblestone in the floor. What do you want?

Genvissa let a breath out her nose. Your wounds are still healing.

When silence was his only answer, Genvissa knelt at his side. She had a basket of herbs and poultices on her arm and she carefully picked through it by the light of the candle.

If you could just lean forward, I can remove your shirt. On the other side of the wall, Janir screamed again and Genvissa flinched. Lucan.

My father had never beaten me like that. Lucan imagined he could still feel his head snapping back when a karkaton struck his jaw. It had gone on for nearly an hour and it had been days before he could even walk again. I thought he was going to kill me. Lucan chuckled, not sure why.

Genvissa hesitated. I’m sorry. She meant it, too. This slave pitied Lucan, an Argetallam prince, and it never ceased to fascinate him.

One beating and I broke. I told my father everything. Don’t even know why I tried. Lucan swallowed as Kenistrith’s blows thudded in rapid succession, every one of Janir’s whimpers cut off by the next strike before she’d reacted to the last. Janir spared and even saved my life. After everything I’d done to her. Lucan looked away. And everything she’d seen me do.

He’d killed for the first time, a girl—a child, really. It had been an accident, but seeing as how he’d tortured the girl before that, he didn’t think it was any less murderous.

Genvissa had heard that story, but she still laid a hand on his arm, careful so as not to touch the sores beneath his sleeve. Her hand appeared so small and delicate. So breakable. He could do absolutely anything to her and his father wouldn’t be more than mildly annoyed. They both knew this, yet she followed him into dark hallways alone and touched him like he was the one who needed protection.

I tormented her for years as children. Staring at Genvissa’s hand on his sleeve, Lucan listened as Kenistrith shouted something before a hard thud told him she had slammed Janir against the floor. Janir showed mercy to the one creature she should have hated more than anyone. And I thank her with this.

You are not the one in that torture chamber, Genvissa whispered.

But I put her there. Without me, they wouldn’t have found her or even known she was alive.

Lucan...if this is your way of punishing yourself—

You think the torture even compares to just listening?

Genvissa took a shaky breath. I don’t know that girl, but I know what they’re doing to her and it breaks my heart. She’s your sister and I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you.

Scoffing, Lucan straightened. I was born to be her rival. Only one of us can rule. He shook his head. We’re not exactly family in the typical sense of the word.

Is that you talking or your mother? Sometimes, Genvissa saw far more than he wanted. Lady Bricen has never made a secret of her ambitions.

She’ll be disappointed. Like my father. I’ve proven myself a coward.

You are not a coward.

What makes you so sure?

She cupped his cheek. Lucan, I...you... Genvissa shook her head and pulled away. Is this why you have requested assignment to Valmahken?

Partly. Lucan folded his arms across his chest. I don’t see how it’s any of your concern. The warmth of Genvissa’s touch lingered on his cheek and he was careful to look past instead of directly at her.

Come with me, she coaxed. Please, Lucan. The rumors around the palace say you spend every night here.

Because Kenistrith likes to work at night.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself!

You underestimate me. Lucan settled back against the wall.

Genvissa shook her head with defeat. The Lord Argetallam has charged me with tending your wounds. If you don’t heal properly... Genvissa didn’t finish that statement. She didn’t have to.

You can tend me here, but I’m not going back to my rooms tonight.

Will you sleep on this floor? A hard edge crept into Genvissa’s voice. It was odd to hear a slave grow angry with him.

On the other side of the wall, Lucan’s sister whimpered, her shackles rattling. Assuming I sleep at all. He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t even understand it himself.

But Genvissa must have.

Alright. She bit her lower lip, distracting him for an instant. Alright. Just let me tend your burns.

Lucan unbuttoned the front of his shirt and stripped down to his smallclothes, sitting cross legged on the cold stone. Genvissa began applying salt poultices over the black splotches to draw out the karkaton’s venom, bandaging the larger sores over his ribs and left shoulder. The salt stung at first and he gritted his teeth. He should be used to it by now, but it always came as a surprise.

From the other side of the wall, Janir’s screams faded into dry, heaving sobs. The karkaton fell silent, but her agonized tears carried on while Kenistrith’s voice droned in the background.

Genvissa? Lucan grimaced as she peeled the old dressing off the first wound. He gritted his teeth and looked away as part of an inky scab came off with it.

Yes?

Can you care for a person you’ve been taught your whole life to hate?

Yes.

Chapter One

Janir clawed off the bed, tumbling to the floor and landing in a tangle of silk sheets. Whimpering, she fought to tear herself free. Her nightgown came halfway to her knees and left her arms bare, but she had no concern for modesty at the moment.

Everything was white stone, red silk, and polished brass. There was more wealth within an arm’s reach than most people possessed in a lifetime and Janir had no idea whose it was.

Her exposed legs and arms were blackened with bruises. She could hardly breathe without sharp aches shooting through her body. The dark outlines of welts were visible beneath her white shift.

The bedchamber door swung open and Janir cowered, almost collapsing on her unsteady feet.

It was a girl probably just a little younger than herself, a white smock pale against her terracotta skin. The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of Janir, but she quickly recovered herself with a hasty bow. My lady, forgive me, but you should be resting. She set down the tray of steaming tea and a bowl of light broth. Please, come—

Don’t touch me! Janir’s voice spilled out strained and raspy, more a croak. Staggering, Janir braced herself against the wall. Don’t...just let me out of here. Just let me—

What’s going on? demanded a sharp female voice from beyond the door. Janir could feel the presence of dark light, reminding her of the bright pinpoints within a black star sapphire. It came closer as the voice approached—an Argetallam.

The princess is awake, Mortana Kenistrith, the slave girl replied, not taking her eyes off Janir.

Already?

Let me go, Janir pleaded, not sure who she was begging. Please just let me go.

Another woman appeared over the threshold, sloe black hair captured in a web of oiled braids. She rested one hand upon the doorframe, bicep rippling against her golden armband.

Janir pressed against the wall, wishing she could melt into the stone. Don’t.

Kenistrith lifted her skirt to step into the room. There’s nothing to fear.

No, don’t! Janir stabbed her nails against the stone, fingertips raw and sore already. Stay back!

My lady, the slave cautioned, I’m not certain she—

A raised hand from the mortana silenced the girl. Inform the Lord Argetallam. Go.

Swallowing, the slave bowed and scurried from the room. Janir was left alone with the noblewoman.

Janir, do you remember me? Kenistrith took a step closer and the girl cowered back, fear overtaking her like a spasm. Do you know where you are?

Janir collapsed, her legs like pudding. She trembled on the floor, a deep, primal terror leaping to life. Stay back, she rasped. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone. Please...

Ignoring her, the woman took a step closer. Then another. Janir.

Shuddering, it was all Janir could do to keep from screaming. She crunched her tongue between her teeth and fisted her hands in futility.

Child... Kenistrith’s icy hand touched her bare shoulder and fear jolted through Janir in a wave of fresh strength.

Crying out, Janir scrambled over the bed and rushed to the nearest door, bursting into dazing sunlight. She threw her arms up to shield her eyes, striking a hard rail and abruptly finding herself face to face with more than a hundred feet of empty air.

Janir! Footsteps and the rustle of skirt came after her.

Scrambling away from the edge of the balcony, Janir blundered to the corner. A window ledge was just an arm’s length from the rail of the balcony. It was open and if she could reach, she could climb in from the outside. There was about two feet separating her from it with a sheer drop to the ground between, but she could get away. She could escape—and she couldn’t let them catch her again.

You’ll fall! Kenistrith took a sharp step closer and Janir grabbed the edge of the rail.

Don’t come near me! Countless bruises and sores squalled as she propped one knee up on the edge. Black oozed from the sores she ripped open on the stone. Janir shuddered in revulsion.

Alright! Just please come down from there.

No! Stay away! Janir’s voice cracked as she reached for the window sill. She wasn’t even sure she was strong enough to pull herself across, she just couldn’t let—

More dark lights flocked on the other side of the wall inside the apartment. The metallic, shadowed presence of Argetallams gathered on the far side of the door.

Kenistrith? called a man from within the apartment.

Balcony! Quickly!

What’s wrong?

Janir had no intention of being around to meet the newcomer. One way or another, they weren’t catching her again. She dragged her other knee onto the railing and braced her weight against the side of the window.

She’s hysterical. She—

Janir! Before Kenistrith could finish, an iron fist circled her arm and jerked her back.

No! No, let me go! Please! Janir jerked madly, wholly senseless to the drop behind her. I won’t go back!

My lord! Be careful!

The man wrapped Janir’s waist in a bear hug and dragged her off the railing. She screamed and kicked, tearing open sores with every movement. She struck at him ineffectively, fists landing like the blows of a rabbit.

He yanked her to the ground, locking her against him in a rigid hold. Janir writhed and wrenched, pounding at his chest and whatever else she could reach.

My lord, let me— Over the man’s shoulder, Kenistrith came closer.

Janir shrieked in terror and braced her palms against her captor, locking her arms and fighting to push him away.

Leave us, Janir’s captor ordered. Leave us now!

Kenistrith hesitated barely a moment, then withdrew. Disappearing around the corner, Janir didn’t doubt that the serpent of a woman was still there, waiting.

Let me go, Janir sobbed, deflating in futility. She slumped against the man and began to shiver despite the permeating heat. Please let me go.

Hush. Hush, little one. It’s alright. Her captor stroked her hair, but kept one arm tightly locked around her waist. Do you know where you are?

No, Janir shuddered. How did I get here? How did I—?

This is Adasha. Your home. Look. Her captor shifted, moving so that she could see the vast network of walls, roofs, towers, and streets that made up the white city. You’re home, Janir.

Staring out at the metropolis, there was a sense of familiarity, she supposed. Home—wasn’t that what she’d wanted? To go home?

What happened? Janir sniffled. What...?

You’re not well. I’ll explain later, but you aren’t yourself. It might be difficult to understand, but you’re not in danger from Kenistrith or anyone else here. Do you trust me?

Janir offered a noncommittal squeak by way of response. She wasn’t sure of anything, just the panicked sense of urgency that she needed to escape, she needed to get free.

Her captor—or rescuer—said nothing for a long space. He held her tightly on the ground, not allowing her to move. Slowly, he stroked her hair, carefully, so as not to frighten her.

Janir, do you know who I am?

His dark, closely trimmed beard scratched her forehead as she looked up. The sharp lines of his cheekbones and the subtle wrinkling around his grey eyes stood out—at once familiar and alien.

Did she know him? There was a word for it. A word her tongue was forming, but she couldn’t think at the moment. Janir let it out, let it roll off her lips like an old habit.

Father.

The stranger’s features softened. Yes, child. And do you trust me?

I...I...don’t let them take me back, Father. It hurts too much and I can’t...I’m not strong enough. The burns are spreading...into my head...staining my mind and I can’t...

Shh. The Lord Argetallam cradled her against him, rocking slowly. You’re safe now, Janir. I swear no one will harm you. It’s alright. You’re alright.

Whether Janir could trust him or not, she needed to. Everything hurt, everything ached. She was weak, she was vulnerable. She needed someone.

Hush, child. You need to rest. Can I take you back to your room?

Janir whimpered. Not back to her.

Kenistrith means you no harm, either. The Lord Argetallam brushed her tangled hair behind her ear. Do you trust me, little one?

Shuddering, Janir didn’t have a choice. He was right—she was tired. So, so tired. Her head throbbed and her body felt drained, siphoned of all that made it move.

Come here. The Lord Argetallam slipped an arm under her knees and scooped her off the ground. He clutched her tightly, as if he feared she might attempted to wrench herself free again, but Janir was spent. The initial jolt of blind terror was already wearing off. It was a wonder how she had moved at all.

Carrying her back into the apartment, the Lord Argetallam jerked his chin to the bed. The