Juna stopped and stared for a second. “Is he talking about us?”
“His name is Malachi,” Siban said. “I used to think he was a crazy old monk, but after everything that’s happened—”
He let the rest of the statement hang in the air.
“Let’s get settled first,” Rhys said, starting forward again. “I think it would be a good idea to have a talk with Malachi later.”
“Agreed,” Gregory said.
“Angels!” Malachi’s eyes widened, his hands folding in prayer against his chin. “Do not forsake us.”
“He said the exact same thing to me when I first arrived.” Ravyn gave a little shudder. “It’s very disconcerting.”
“I’ll say,” Meran mumbled. She placed her hand against Gregory’s back and pushed him forward. “Let’s not linger.”
Something about the man’s intensity tugged at Rell. Though at first glance he appeared to be just another doomsayer preaching at the city gates, what he said struck a chord in her. She let her Tell ghost over him and touched the familiar taint of darkness. She refocused on the course before her but the monk continued to plague her mind.
He’d definitely been touched by the Bane somehow, but he didn’t possess the thick presence like Siban and she had experienced. Perhaps his faith kept him protected. She glanced back one more time. He still followed their progress, his hands remaining pressed against his chin in prayer.
Thoughts of the monk slipped away and were replaced by the bustle and life within the heart of the city. Shops crowded together on the narrow streets, their wooden signs hanging above the door, announcing their wares or services. People loitered in doorways, some brave enough to ask for money. Several cowered away from the group and rushed back inside the dark shelter of the rooms beyond the doorway. Woman leaned out of windows above the shops, waving and propositioning men passing by. Some were successful. Those who were not, stooped to exposing themselves, hoping to lure the men upstairs.
Fall had already touched Alba. Small fires burned next to many of the vendors whose stalls were set up in the city’s center. Perhaps it was the exhilaration of their trip and the excitement of arriving at Alba Haven, but Rell was not cold.
Their course circled to the right, consistently climbing in a spiral. The narrow crammed streets of the marketplace gave way to homes. Modest at first, the dwellings grew in grandeur. None were as elegant as Jacob Le Daun’s manor, but did speak of wealth. About two-thirds of the way up, the buildings took on a rundown feel. Again, people lounged in the doorways of what looked like abandoned buildings.
Eventually Rhys stopped before a massive gate. He lifted the iron knocker and pounded, the sound echoing against the buildings surrounding them. They waited.
Siban leaned toward Rell. “I used to man the door. Nobody had to wait this long.”
Rhys turned his head, smirking. “Would you like your old position back?”
Siban was quiet for a second, as if contemplating Rhys’s offer, and then sighed. “No, it appears I have been ruined for sedentary duty.”
“We all have, I think,” Luc said. “Pity.”
The grinding of a bolt drawing back dragged against the inside of the gate door. A chain clattered and the moaning protest of the iron hinges groaned when the long door began to inch open. Rhys waited until there was enough room to pass and then proceeded inside.
Rell stepped into another world. A cobbled path led off in different directions. Arches framed the walkways with simple but beautiful stonework. To her surprise, women carried folded blankets and baskets of fruit down one of the walkways. A man, who looked like a solider, led a horse toward what were probably the stables.
From behind the now-closed gate, a man appeared. “Lord Blackwell. We were not expecting you.”
“Geoffrey.” Rhys grasped the man’s forearm. “We didn’t have time to send a messenger ahead.”
Rell noticed that he didn’t add that he hoped they weren’t inconvenienced. From what Siban had told her, Rhys was the lord of Alba Haven and the people who lived within its walls were under his care and protection.
“I’m sure Nattie will be quite happy to see you.” A smile played at the man’s mouth. He turned to Ravyn. “Lady Ravyn, it is good to see you again.” He squinted, his eyes drifting to her Tell tattoo. “It appears much has happened since you left us.” His gaze scanned the group. “I can’t wait to hear the tale.”
She patted his arm. “And what a tale it is.”
“Take one of the other men and go to the city gates. There’s an old monk preaching the end of the world. Bring him here,” Rhys said. “If he’s unwilling to come with you, tell him the angels wish to see him.”
The man’s eyebrows rose in question. “Angels, my lord?”
“He’ll know what you’re talking about.” Rhys turned and headed toward the largest arch. “And after that I need a message sent to The Dragon’s Head Inn. Tell them we’ll be arriving tomorrow night.”
“Very good, my lord. I’ll take care of it.” Geoffrey called from behind him. “By the way, is it?”
Rhys stopped and looked back at him. “Is it what?”
“The end of the world?” The man’s tone held no hint of mirth.
“Let’s pray not.” In silence, Rhys led the group through the main arch and into the bailey.
Meran’s steps slowed. “Either I have gone round the bend, or I’m seeing spirits.”
Rell stared in the direction Meran pointed. “I don’t see anything.”
“I see them as well,” Ravyn said. “Alba Haven is full of ghosts. You’ll get used to it. I believe that’s part of being an oracle.”
“I’m fairly certain I will never get used to it.” Juna skirted the edge of the walk, as if putting as much room between her and the unseen spirits. “Ever.”
Two black doors loomed ahead of them. Shiny brass bands embellished the dark wood and glinted in the sun. Gripping the handles, Rhys pushed the doors open and strode in. The breath hitched in Rell’s throat as she tried to take in the expansive and magnificent foyer. Above her the ceiling soared, arching like the sky. A beautiful mural spread across the ceiling, the painting a detailed depiction of the night sky.
“Ah, it’s good to be home.” Siban inhaled. “It feels like it’s been forever.”
Never, in all the hours they’d spent together in the Shadow World, had he spoken of Alba Haven’s beauty, only of missing his home and the delicious meals. It was hard to place Siban in these surroundings. She’d only known him in the dank caverns or Le Daun’s manor. Suddenly she realized how little she truly knew about Siban’s life. Only that his family had been killed and his sister now sat in silence, cloistered in a distant abbey. A few nights ago he’d spoken of a lullaby his mother used to sing. But that was as much as he’d shared. He knew everything of her, but she knew nothing of his life beyond being a Bringer.
“Rhys!” The woman’s shout caused the entire group to turn toward a door at their left. “Thank the Sainted Ones, you made it back safely.”
A tall thin, extremely beautiful woman closed the distance between them. Her gray hair was plaited into a long braid and swung when she walked toward them.
“Nattie.” Rhys met her halfway across the foyer. Instead of hugging him, she gripped his biceps and held him at arm’s length and looked him over from head to toe. He didn’t resist. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Nattie.”
“As are you.” After a minute, she pulled him to her and squeezed. “We haven’t heard anything since Siban left.” She released him, but didn’t lower her hands. “Is everything all right?”
“For now, yes.” He shook his head. “There is much to tell.”