“I guess that means us,” Ravyn said.
The three sisters stood and formed a line in the center of the kitchen, waiting for the monk to arrive. When he saw them, his eyes widened and drifted to the ceiling. With folded hands, he inched toward them, and once he stood a foot away, he lowered to his knees and kissed each one of their boots.
Juna rolled her eyes, but Meran watched him with eyes of a woman who was used to her followers adoration. When he sat back on his feet, she bent and grasped his arm. “There’s no need for such formality within these walls, Brother.”
The monk struggled to his feet, his eyes never leaving her face. “I thought I’d not live to see the arrival of the angels.” He covered Meran’s hand with his. “You are here to save us.”
“Come, sit.” Ravyn indicated the bench at the table. “Have some ale. You must be thirsty.”
“Thank you, my lady. You’re generosity humbles me.” He took the goblet from her and downed the contents in one gulp, giving his lips a satisfying smack afterward. “Excellent, just excellent.”
Rell looked at Siban, raising her eyebrows in question. At the city gates Malachi had seemed irrational, but now the man appeared as sane as she was.
“Brother Malachi,” Rhys began, “we’re very interested in what you were saying by the gates.” He picked up the pitcher and refilled the good Brother’s goblet. “Can you explain your prophecy?”
“A legion to lead us.” He directed his cup at the women. “Three to triumph.”
“Yes, exactly,” Juna said, taking a seat. “What exactly do you mean by legion?”
“I am only the messenger, my lady. I do not labor to understand.” He took another long draw of the ale.
“Well—” She scowled. “That’s convenient.”
“However,” Malachi interjected, “I do know from where the prophecy comes.” He waved his hand at the ceiling. “One such as you painted the sky.”
“Could you elaborate a little bit, Brother.” Juna leaned forward and rested her palms on the table. “Who do you mean one such as us?”
The monk turned over his palms. Though there was no sun emblems tattooed on his palms, all gathered seemed to know what he was talking about.
“A Bringer painted the mural in Alba Haven?”
“Yes, to mark the beginning of the end. When the planets align, the scourge will bleed our land of blood and spirit.”
“If one wanted to take that literally,” Rell said, “it sounds like the Bane plan on turning a lot more people into minions.”
“The Bane! The scourge,” Malachi shouted.
Meran laid a gentle hand on the monk’s shoulder. “Do you know who painted the mural, Brother Malachi?”
“He who wrote the word. He who spread his protection.” Malachi took another drink and swallowed. “The scourge steals our souls and puts them in a pretty box so he can take them out to taunt and play with.”
“Do you mean the Demon King?” Siban asked.
“Yes, yes, vile, vile creature.”
“Is the pretty box you’re talking about the Abyss?” Juna asked.
The monk shook his head vigorously. “No, the pretty, cold box holds no sinners, only saviors.”
“The captured Bringers?” Luc asked the group instead of Malachi. “And the ice.
“Where is the pretty box, Brother?” Ravyn’s voice was gentle, but the compulsion she used brushed against Rell with surprising force.
“The box is cold and hidden.” He held out his glass for a refill. “None dare travel to find it.”
“Is it…” Siban paused, his gaze leveling on the monk. “In the Frost Lands.”
“Yes, where the snow never melts.” He brought the goblet to his mouth but didn’t drink. “But it’s dangerous there. Those who seek never return.”
“So Vile has, or is taking, the Bringers to the Frost Lands. We had figured that already.” Juna heaved a heavy sigh and thunked back against her chair. “What else can you tell us, Brother Malachi—anything that can help us?”
He stared into his drink for a few seconds and then lifted his head to look directly at her. Rell was struck by how intelligent and focused his gaze seemed, as if a veil had lifted and he was suddenly cognizant. “My Brothers guard the entrance to the Threshold. Be warned, they are not gentle of nature like me. Travel beyond the boundary city.” An instant later his eyes glazed over and he focused again on his ale and muttered into his cup, “The angels are here.”
“It’s almost as if he has brief periods of lucidity.” Meran turned away from the man. “As if something is blocking his memory.”
“Perhaps if we tried to heal him he would remember more,” Jade said.
“It’s worth a try, but we’ve had a long day, and we have an early start tomorrow morning.” Gregory turned to Rhys. “Would it be possible to lodge Brother Malachi here tonight? I think he might be a good addition to our party.”
“Of course.” Rhys watched the old man lay claim to the rest of his drink. “I think you’re right. He may still have information for us.”
“I’ll send somebody to ready a chamber for him.” Nattie set down her knife and bustled out of the kitchen.
“After dinner we should turn in early.” Gregory took a seat at the table. “We’ll need to be on the road by dawn.”
“Maybe we should go to bed right now.” Siban yawned unconvincingly. “I’m rather tired.”
“For the love of Saints,” Nattie said, walking back into the kitchen. “Let the poor girl eat before you work up her appetite again.”
Rell blushed, mortified at being the center of their attention.
“You’ll get used to it.” Ravyn said, taking Beacon from her. “Just be thankful Nattie hasn’t woken you up in the morning.” She leaned closer. “Lock your door if you have one.”
“The bigger the bolt the better,” Rhys added.
“Don’t listen to them, Rell. The whole lot of them are a bunch of liars.” When Nattie went back to peeling potatoes, Ravyn gave a conspiratorial shake of her head. “I saw that.”
Siban leaned toward her. “I hope you won’t be too tired after we eat.”
“Too tired for what,” she whispered.
A wicked smile spread across his lips. “Dessert.”
A warm flush crept up her neck. “I’m fairly certain that whatever dessert you have in mind I will not be too tired for.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
They departed Alba Haven at sunup. Rhys led the party on Sampson. The black horse appeared very happy to be outside of Alba Haven and reunited with his rider.
Most of the city’s inhabitants still slept, but a few shop owners were out, sweeping the filth of the previous day’s business away from their doorstep.
Rell yawned and rubbed her eyes. More than anything, Siban wished they were still in their bed under the tree, making love.
A loud braying erupted from Malachi’s donkey. Probably from having to pull the small wagon and its load of children, Delphina, and Malachi.
“My thoughts exactly, Penelope,” the monk said. “There’s a foul feel on the breeze this morning.”
“That’s last night’s ale coming back to greet you, Brother Malachi,” Luc said.
“Not so, my lord.” Malachi turned in his saddle. “I had but two mugs before dinner”
“But,” Luc continued, “how many did you have after we retired?”
The old man blustered what sounded like another denial, but he didn’t actually form the words.
Quiet conversation flowed between the riders as their course wound downward toward the city gates. For Siban, the feel of the morning was anything but foul. Though later they would journey on to the Frost Lands and no doubt danger, today they traveled toward Rell’s family and his and Rell’s wedding.