Blood of Mystery Read Online Free

Impossible as it was to believe, it had been barely over a year since she encountered the preacher Brother Cy outside the burnt husk of the Beckett-Strange Home for Children. Barely a year since she came to Eldh.
    Came
back
to Eldh.
    Whether it’s fate or not that you’re here, Grace, this is where
you belong. You know it is. Just like you know you’re going to
find them, wherever they are.
    She would wait until the red star set beneath the line of the cliffs. Then she would step back inside, to wait for dawn and the others to rise, so they could begin their search anew.
    “You never did tell us where you went yesterday, Falken,” Melia was saying, as Grace stepped into the courtyard where they gathered for breakfast each morning. It was the ninth day of Sindath. Over a month they had been searching; over a month without any sign.
    Melia, clad in a silver-white shift, was filling cups from a pitcher of
margra
juice. She glanced at the bard. “I wasn’t even certain you were back.”
    “He came in late,” Beltan said. The blond knight cracked a great yawn. “And might I suggest, the next time you try sneaking across a tile floor, take your boots off first. Or get a pair of sandals, like everyone else in this city.”
    The knight was dressed in the fashion Tarrasian soldiers adopted when not on duty: sandals, a kilt that reached below the knees, and a loose white shirt.
    Falken winced, running his black-gloved hand through his hair. While he wore a long tunic and loose breeches in the Tarrasian fashion, he still hadn’t given up his northern-style boots. “Sorry about that. I suppose I was a bit tired myself. I was up in Tyrrinon all day yesterday.”
    “Tyrrinon?” Aryn said. “Where’s that?” The young baroness wore a flowing Tarrasian gown of soft azure that contrasted with her dark hair. She accepted a cup of juice from Melia.
    “It’s a village a few leagues west of Tarras, dear,” Melia said. “It’s up in the hills, and other than shepherds and their flocks there’s not much there.” She shot Falken a speculative look. “Except, of course, for the old monastery of Briel.”
    “Briel?” Beltan said around a mouthful of bread. “Who’s that?”
    Grace couldn’t help a smile. These days she could hardly keep food down for worry. However, in the year she had known him, no matter what was going on, Beltan’s ability to eat never waned. As far as she could tell, the appetite of Calavaner knights was a universal constant.
    “Briel is one of the minor gods of Tarras,” Falken said.
    Melia shot him a piercing look. “Please, Falken. That’s such a demeaning term. No god is
minor
.”
    “Then what term should I use?” the bard said with a scowl.
    Melia tapped her cheek. “How about penultimately glorious?”
    “How about I just keep talking?”
    Melia let out a pained sigh but said nothing more.
    “Briel is a minion of Faralas, the god of history,” the bard went on. “He’s known as the Keeper of Records, and it’s said he possesses a book in which he’s written down every significant event since the beginning of Tarrasian history. I heard some years ago there was a good library at his monastery in Tyrrinon.”
    “And was it still there?” Aryn said.
    “I’m afraid things were in something of a state of disrepair. It turns out there aren’t many monks left at the monastery. I suppose people aren’t really all that interested in history these days.”
    “Which only means they’re bound to repeat it,” Melia said.
    Beltan brushed bread crumbs from his sparse gold beard. “Falken, you still didn’t say what you were looking for in the Library of Briel. Was it something about gates?” A light glinted in his green eyes. “Something that might help us find—?”
    “No,” Grace said, the smile falling from her lips. “It was Mohg, Lord of Nightfall.”
    The others looked up, faces startled.
    “Good morning, dear,” Melia said, recovering first. “There’s hot
maddok
for