Page 13 of Shadow Queen
“It must be important if it brings the North Queen to my temple,” he said.
“You know who I am?”
“It’s also not very often I meet the subjects of my visions,” he told her.
“Your visions are why I’m here. I need to see them.”
He frowned. “You want me to tell you of them?”
“No, I want you to show me.”
He shifted back in surprise. “I do not conjure them in the air,” he said stiffly.
“But you’re a traveler, are you not?”
The briefest look of surprise flashed across his face. “How do you know such things?”
“You are, then.”
He didn’t answer; he only turned and started deeper into the temple. “Follow me,” he said over his shoulder. “The boy waits outside.”
Norah turned back to Cohen. “He’s agreed to see me,” she told him. He hadn’t seen the seer’s lips to read them. “But he asks that you stay outside.”
Cohen gave a reluctant nod, sheathing his sword.
“Thank you, friend,” she mouthed, then turned back to the seer.
Norah followed him through the pillared room, to a door, and down a narrow hall that opened into a smaller room. Lit candles stood in each corner, with sitting mats in the center.
“So, the North Queen returns,” he said. “How did you escape my sight for so many years? What power do you have?”
Norah shook her head. “I don’t have power. And I don’t know.”
His aged eyes narrowed.
“I tell you the truth. In fact, it’s part of the reason I’m here. My memories were taken from me, or locked away, rather. I was hoping you could help me get them back.”
She took a seat on one of the pillows in the center of the room and waited. He stood for a moment before he finally took his seat on the pillow across from her. He eyed her skeptically.
Norah still waited, resisting the want to urge him along.
The seer reached to a thin mat near his cushion and took a cup in his hand. Ink markings trailed his forearms to the rolled cuffs of his sleeves. These were different from the patterned markings the Shadowmen bore. Their dark bands with rune images in between looked more like a written language.
Norah leaned forward. Nemus, the Mercian traveler seer, had similar markings, but he had penned them on. The markings of this seer were permanent, like Mikael’s markings. The thought of Mikael brought a twinge to her stomach. He’d know now she was gone. Did he think she’d betrayed him? The pain in his eyes when he saw that she wanted to leave…
She couldn’t think about that right now, and she forced the hurt in her heart down, turning her attention back to the seer. “You’ve permanently inked the spells onto your skin?” she asked.
The seer pulled back. “Easier than drawing them on each time. And they’re not spells.”
“What are they?”
The seer pursed his lips.
She leaned back, giving him space as he poured wine into the cup. “What’s your name?” she asked.
He paused, and for a moment she thought he might not answer. “Bhasim,” he said finally. “But I’ve not been called that for a long time.”
The lord commander had said only those with Kharavian royal blood were permitted in the temple. Was Bhasim all alone? Besides his guards, was there no one else who spoke to him?
