The Shadowbearer (An Aegis of the Gods Book)

Chapter 7

Cold autumn air whipping at his face, his mount’s hooves beating thunder onto the flagstones, Stefan rode hard for home. Yet, the chill wasn’t what sent shivers through his body, and his speed wasn’t what spurred on his racing heart as he dashed past mostly empty side streets in Benez’s Upper City. Concern for his wife was the cause. Another time and place he would not have believed King Nerian could have meant Thania harm, but the look in the man’s eyes, his voice and his apparent insanity sent doubts whirling through the Knight Commander’s mind. Nerian’s mention of his distrust for the Tribunal and their Matii, his revelation of mandatory service, coupled with the fact Thania once served as a High Ashishin only added to Stefan’s trepidation.

This was supposed to be a time of enjoyment for him and his men. Music feathered through the air. All across the city, the people celebrated. Even here, along the avenue with its expansive villas, nobles dressed in layered silks and satins hurried on their way to join those cavorting on the King’s Road or to the ball at the Royal Palace. Some paused to cheer him on. At any other time, Stefan would have stopped to enjoy the festivities, the foods, the dancing. His expression soured with the thought of revelry.

He whipped his reins and dug his heels harder into his horse’s sides. Head down, neck outstretched the animal bounded forward. The world became a blur as he raced up the avenue, his anxiety growing the closer he came to home. When the square columns, the manicured gardens, and the roof of his villa appeared over a rise, he willed himself to go faster. Heart aflutter, the last vestiges of the daylight dipping below the horizon and Denestia’s twin moons casting long shadows around him, Stefan reached the premises.

Down the small incline he went and through the gates, ignoring the servants who waited there to take his mount. He did not stop whipping his reins until he reached the stairs before the wide, mahogany doors. Not waiting for the attendants to take his mount, he leaped off its back and ran up the stairs.

“Thania,” Stefan yelled. “Thania!” He threw the doors open and entered.

A long lamp–lit hallway stretched before him. Dressed in the blue of the Dorn house and bowing profusely, his serving men and women greeted him.

“Thania!”

“Good to see you, Lord Dorn. It is—”

“Perta,” Stefan grabbed the steward by his shoulders. “Where’s my wife? Is she well?”

“Why yes, my lord.” The balding man’s forehead wrinkled. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Stefan expelled a long breath and smiled, a gloved hand gripping his chest as a tightness he had not noticed before eased. “King Nerian, he,” Stefan began. “Never mind. Where is she?”

“I’m not sure, my lord.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“M–My lord, M–Master D–Dorn, sir.” Perta grimaced. He pointed to where Stefan’s other hand still held his shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” Stefan said, releasing his hold. He shed his gloves and tossed them to one of the attendants.

Perta rubbed at the spot, taking slow breaths. “It’s fine, my lord. What I meant was I’m not sure where she is in the house. It’s been a lot of commotion since your arrival was announced.”

Stefan nodded. He rounded on the other servants lining the hall. “Do any of you know where she is?”

A chorus of murmured ‘No, my lord’ spread throughout the foyer. One servant stepped forward. Stefan didn’t recognize the diminutive woman.

Head down, she said, “Lady Dorn went to her rooms to prepare for your arrival, sir.”

Relief swept through him for the second time in a few moments. “Thank you. What’s your name?”