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Eyes back on the Servant, he studied him. Fadon would certainly not be disappointed if they just headed straight home to Goth Mor Helle. He had no desire to be among the Basilica’s righteous flock, especially the one in front of him, whose presence he had grown tired of since he’d met him on the riverbank in Providence.
“Perhaps it doesn’t make a difference either way,” Fadon granted him. “But you seem very against going to the place you serve, Demos. I want to know why.”
“I cannot tell you that. But I can tell you that my instincts say to go to the Mor. That is all I can offer you. For Sierra’s sake.”
Fadon’s quick mind worked. In vain, he tried once again to capture the Servant’s scent, but as before, he came up with nothing but a hint of forest, as if the man were made of air. The only substance he had to work with was what he had already deduced about Demos: that he’d known about the Omega in Sierra, that his interest lay with the Ongahri, and that he hadn’t been the one to start the Fealty’s wheels in motion. Demos had already proved his honor by seeing to Sierra’s safety and her return. He’d also proved to be obstinate; therefore, any information to be garnered from the Servant would be a futile effort.
If he wanted to know more, Fadon would have to hear it from his queen, no matter how curious he was.
“Then I will abide by your instinct,” he replied.
Demos’ shoulders lowered a hair in relief. “Can you have your man ride ahead? I’d like to send him off with a message.”
Did Fadon trust Demos enough to be alone with him? Leaving the omega with only himself to guard?
Fadon grunted. If he couldn’t protect her, then he shouldn’t be worthy of the title of Captain, he thought dryly. Even though Demos was of the same build as Fadon, he had no doubt he could take on the Servant with little effort. The Owl’s strength came from its followers’ minds, not from physical prowess.
“I can. As soon as you think she’s ready, we will leave.”
After a short explanation provided to Sierra—one that was painted lightly by Fadon, lest she worry—they set off. Arik galloped ahead, entrusted with Demos’ note to the queen, and they parted after the first break.
They made camp shortly before nightfall. Sierra had fallen asleep while Demos hunted for their dinner. Fadon woke her up when the meat was ready to eat. The three ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and an hour later they were lying in their bedrolls, with only Sierra truly sleeping.
Fadon knew Demos was awake—neither trusting the other, no doubt, Fadon thought.
Hours later, Demos whispered to the Ongahri captain, “Sleep. No harm will come to her, I swear it.”
So Fadon did, but not for the Servant’s sake. For Sierra’s. He’d need a clear head for tomorrow’s ride.
Chapter 28
Sierra
There it stood, mighty and fierce, harsh in its bold design against a backdrop of snow and white granite from below and an opalescent blue sky above. Goth Mor Helle. The whole of it not only included the extensive manse but also its high, dove-gray brick walls that bordered the perimeter, displaying tall turrets at its corners.
Like a coiled snake, the path we rode on ended at a massive black iron gate set in by a tall arch of marbled rock. Torches danced in the oncoming twilight every few yards or so, creating an ominous feel, as if warning prospective trespassers to beware of what lurked inside.
Behind the gate and further back stood the residence of the Ongahri.
There had to be at least seven floors, I thought, my eyes lifting to its roof surrounded by battlements. I felt my brow break out in sweat, whether from excitement at finally seeing the place for the first time in person, or fear of what was to come.
I felt Demos’ arm around me tighten, then release, as if he sensed my apprehension. I absently patted his arm, my lips parted in awe.
The gates opened. Fadon was in the lead, sitting tall in his saddle. Demos led Argenis to a trot, and I got my first look at the courtyard.
Torchlight shone all around the space, revealing the Ongahri who had come to welcome us. I gasped at their numbers. There had to have been more than a hundred people, their faces a bruised-blue tint in the fading light of day.
Fadon dismounted and handed the reins off to someone nearby. Demos touched my shoulder.
“Are you ready, my lady?” he whispered.
Not one bit, I wanted to say aloud, but I nodded instead, afraid my voice would come out as a croak.
While traveling to the mountain, Fadon had given me some of my things from Providence that he had brought with him. It was the same day he’d told me what had happened to my watcher. That had been two days ago now. The pain was still fresh, and I waited for the time where I’d be alone to process it, to grieve her loss.
I thought of Lucinda now as I glanced down at my gown, one of many she had packed for me that last week in Providence, one that I’d worn last winter. A blushing pink, full-skirted, with a smooth bodice. Though it was wrinkled from being in Fadon’s bags, the material was thick enough to not matter. I had changed into it hours ago and was surprised it still fit, though snug at the breasts, which had filled out considerably over the past few weeks.
Some leftover snow had served for a hasty wash of my face and hands, which days of travel had dirtied. I was sure my hair had seen better days, but I had given it a thorough brushing, braiding it long and pinning it up in a coronet. I wore a pair of lady’s suede boots, one of my favorite pairs my watcher had also packed.
