Blood of Mystery by Mark Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

sixteenth Ephesian died well over a century ago.”
    Some of Beltan’s exuberance gave way to confusion. “What are you talking about, Melia? Even I know Travis couldn’t have written something in a book that’s been lost behind a shelf for more than a hundred years.”
    “No,” Melia murmured. “No, I don’t suppose he could have.”
    More conversation and cups of
maddok
ensued. However, at the end of it all, they were no closer to unraveling either mystery. They could only guess why Tira’s star had vanished—and could only hope both the child goddess and the Stone of Fire were still somehow safe.
    “Maybe the star will rise again tomorrow,” Aryn said, but even the young baroness seemed unconvinced by the hopeful-ness of those words.
    Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. Outside the windows, the moon and stars had vanished, replaced by flat blue light. Aryn was nodding in her chair, and Falken wrapped his faded cloak around her shoulders.
    “Come, Your Highness,” he murmured, rousing her with a gentle shake. “It’s long past time for bed.”
    Grace pushed a half-finished cup of
maddok
away. Her nerves buzzed like wires. Exhausted as she was, there would be no sleep for her.
    Melia glanced at Beltan. “I know you’re no longer officially my knight protector, dear. But would you mind helping a weary former goddess up the stairs?”
    Beltan nodded and moved to her. However, his green eyes were haunted, and Grace knew of whom he was thinking.
    She pushed herself up from the table. “I think I’ll go see if the milk has been delivered yet.”
    Grace had found it amusing when she discovered that, just like on Earth in a bygone era, clay jugs of milk and cream were delivered to the villa’s doorstep each morning. She knew the servants would be tired from having to stay up so late serving
maddok
; if the milk had arrived, she could take it to the larder in the kitchen and save them some work.
    As Melia and Beltan followed Falken and Aryn to the stairs, Grace headed for the front door of the villa. She pushed back the iron latch and opened the door, letting in the moist grayness of morning. She looked down. Something indeed lay on the doorstep, only it wasn’t a jug of milk. It was a man in a brown robe.
    “Beltan!” she called out on instinct.
    In moments the knight was there. “What is it, Grace?”
    She knelt beside the figure that slumped facedown on the stone step. Beltan let out an oath, then knelt beside her. Grace was dimly aware of the others standing in the open doorway, but she focused on the man before her.
    His brown robe was rent in several places, and the fabric was damp with blood, but he was breathing. She pressed two fingers to his wrist. His pulse was weak but even. All of her senses told her his injuries were not critical. But he was cold, suffering from exposure.
    And how is that possible, Grace? It barely got down to room
temperature during the night. A naked baby could have slept
outside and been fine.
    That thought could wait until she was sure the patient was out of danger. She started to turn him over so she could check for more wounds.
    “Beltan, help me.”
    With strong, gentle hands, he turned the man over while she held his head steady. The front of his robe wasn’t torn; whatever had caused the injuries had come at him from behind. A heavy cowl concealed his face. Grace pushed it back.
    For the third time since the sun last set, shock coursed through her. He was a young man, mid-twenties at the most, his eyes shut. His face was broad, with a flat, crooked nose and thick, rubbery lips. However, despite its homeliness, there was a peace about his visage that was compelling.
    “By Vathris, I recognize him!” Beltan said, and by the gasps of the others they did as well.
    But how can it be, Grace? He helped you save Travis from
being burned by the Runespeakers at the Gray Tower. Only then
he vanished, and you never saw him again.
    Until now.
    Grace brushed damp hair