Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

Prologue

The old woman was dead. From the pallor of her face and the stillness of her body, Matei knew it must be so.

He stood at the door of her prison cell, trying to unlock the door. The only sound was the keys rattling against the iron bars; he could not seem to fit the key into the lock, and even so, he could not look away from the woman's gray face to focus on the task. He could think of nothing but getting to Rhea.

"Let me."

Someone's cool hands covered Matei's; he clenched his fists, but gentle fingers coaxed the keys from his grasp. Matei's gaze traveled up the arms to the stranger's face, and he realized she was not a stranger at all. "Mhera. What if—"

"Shh." She unlocked the cell door. "We must get her upstairs, Matei, but first she must know you are alive. Come."

"She's dead," he said. "She must be dead."

"No, Matei. See? She breathes. She lives, but barely. Hurry now."

They were in the dungeon under the palace in the Karelin, the Imperial City of Penrua. Just last night, Matei and Mhera had languished there, awaiting their execution. Slumped in their dark, dank prison cells, they'd been certain of their futures: death had been their lot, the punishment for rebellion against the Crown.

Matei was not a man given to weeping, but he had wept in those wretched hours—more for the loss of what he had aimed to achieve than for fear of his own death. Now, seeing the saintly woman who'd taken a disowned bastard into her home and into her heart on the brink of death herself, Matei wondered where his tears were.

Mhera took his arm, drawing him into the cell. "Come."

"You need not be here," he said. "It's cold—"

"I'm here, Matei. You are not alone."

Matei knelt beside Rhea. Closer to her, he could hear the rattling of her breath in her chest. "Grandmother." She made a soft sound but did not open her eyes. He brushed her dirty hair back from her face; the chill of her skin was alarming. "Grandmother, I'm here. Do not be afraid."

Rhea whimpered. Her eyelids fluttered and Matei's heart fluttered, too, but the old woman seemed to be lost in a dream and she did not open her eyes. Perhaps it was for the best.

Mhera spoke in a whisper. "We must warm her and ask Aun to see to her. Let's take her to the palace. Can you—?"

Matei was already taking the frail body of his adoptive grandmother into his arms. He stood, cradling her like a babe; when he felt how light she was, his heart pounded, threatening him with panic. Rhea had always been so solid, so steady, so sure. It was as if half of her had already fled this world. One of her arms dangled, tightly wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.

First, Mhera took the dangling arm and gently placed it over Rhea's breast. Then, she went on before Matei, leading the way to the stairs. She still wore a tunic and pants stained with sweat, dirt and blood; in the dimness, she did not look at all like the woman she had been when Matei had met her in this very dungeon. At that time—a time that seemed so very long ago—Mhera had been a Starborn noblewoman and a cloistered Daughter of Zanara.

Then, bound to him by blood, she had been a prisoner. His prisoner.

Now, she was a different woman, and he was grateful to surrender to her leadership, desperate and grieving.

"Be careful," she said. "It's damp, and I haven't a light."

"Mhera."

She turned her head to look at him, solemn. "What is it?"

"Pray for her. Please."