The colorless void transformed into black granite ceiling and walls as Balaam emerged from the portal. Stale odors met him in the great room. A fire crackled in the stone hearth, but a chill lingered in the air.
He heard the pad of the servant girl's bare feet in the hall. She paused at the doorway, staring at him with her large, pale eyes. “Send for your mistress,” he said.
Balaam collapsed into his chair facing the fireplace while he waited. His hands caressed its supple leather arms. He was hungry, but just the thought of feeding made him ill. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the grit in the creases of his skin, the tiny flakes of blood that broke into smaller and smaller fragments. Deumas had been a good soldier, a good comrade, until she tried to escape her fate. None of us will leave this world alive.
Would he be allowed to end his own life with honor? Or would he be fed to the gateway like the Master's daughter? The thought sickened him. That was no way for a warrior to die.
His wife entered the room, and for a moment Balaam saw her as he had the first time they met half a century ago, when he visited her father's estate as part of his Master's entourage. She had been a maiden in the first blush of womanhood. She was still a young woman, still lovely, but something had changed. It was her eyes, he decided. They had lost their luster, dulled from all the lotus pollen, or perhaps because of him. It could not be easy to be wed to a killer.
“You're back,” she said. Her tone was even duller than her eyes. She could have been talking to a slave, or a wall.
“I've come to see you.” Balaam stopped before he added the words “one last time.” He wasn't sure why he spared her that. He wanted to tell her about the failure he'd suffered, and the price he might be forced to pay, but instead he leaned back in the chair and watched the shadows ooze along the stones.
Dorcas came closer, but stopped at the edge of a low table. Platinum cubes of differing sizes were arranged artfully on the black lacquer finish. “You look tired.”
Silence grew in the space between them until he couldn't stand it any longer. “I have been given a mission, and it's possible I won't be coming back.”
“That's foolish talk. You'll be back. You always come back.”
“I have provided for you.” It was easier now that he'd said that much. The rest was just details. “Go to Catolus in Hveifeld and tell him to-”
“No.” She came around the table. The folds of her long turquoise gown moved, showing the flatness of her stomach, the lean length of her legs against the fabric. “Balaam, stop it.”
“He is holding money for you. When I'm gone-”
“No!” She stood just outside the reach of his arm now. Her eyes were red and swollen, but alive like he hadn't seen in so long. Ah, Dorcas. Would that we could have seen this day coming and lived our lives another way.
“If you're afraid, don't go, Balaam. Give up your post. You've done enough.”
He released a long breath and felt his chest collapse. Couldn't she see how he longed to do just that? “It is my duty.”
“Your duty.” She scoffed, making it sound obscene. “What of your duty to me? All those promises you made when you asked for my hand. Were they all lies?”
“No.” He lowered his head into his hands. “But I was naive. I'm lost, Dorcas. Everything I've done, my whole life, is wasted.”
She touched his shoulder, as lightly as a bird settling on a branch. He smelled the acrid bite of the lotus pollen on her breath. It should have infuriated him, but he was too tired to fight. “Nonsense. You have me.”
“I let her go, Dorcas.”
“Who? The scion?”
Balaam slammed his fist onto the chair arm, making her jump. “No! Deumas fled. I found her in a dingy roadhouse in Illmyn. I could have ended it then. I could have done my duty. But I let her go.”
His wife knelt beside him. “Balaam, you must go to court and explain. You cannot be blamed for someone else's cowardice. You must convince the Master.”
Balaam stood up and stepped closer to the hearth, away from her. “There will be no forgiveness. I will face the consequences for my failure. You must leave Erebus.”
“Leave? Where would I go? This is my home.”
He thought back to the seas of the Shadowlands. The quiet roar of the waves lapping against the black sands. “If I wanted to leave, would you come with me?”
Dorcas stood up, too, her drawn eyebrows pinched together. There was something in her gaze, something he hadn't seen in a long time. Concern. She's frightened. She finally sees what lies ahead for us.
Then she smiled. “Were you following me today? I thought I felt your presence earlier when I went out.”
“No, I only just return-” He turned to her. “Where did this happen?”
“Just outside the citadel. I thought it might have been you following me. Balaam, what has you so upset?”
Balaam seized her by the arms. “Tell me exactly where. What time did this happen?”
“The gates! Right outside the gates! Stop, you're hurting me!”
It was him. It had to be. The scion has come to Erebus.
When his wife had given him all the details she could remember, few as they were, he released her, and she ran from the room. From the doorway, her servant girl watched with a cold stare before following her mistress. A door slammed.
Balaam ignored the sobs and condemnations echoing from his wife's chamber. This could be his redemption, but he had to act swiftly. First, he had to eliminate all other possibilities. There were few Shadowfolk dwelling in Erebus. He had to question them. He had to be sure. There would be no second chance.
He went to a window and pushed back the shade. The citadel below was black except for the torches of a sentry patrol on the lower ward. Where was the scion hiding? Where would he go? Balaam considered what he would do if their roles were reversed.
He looked to the darkened hallway that led to his wife's suite. Then he left.