Page 46 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

Humming softly, she unraveled a tea net with care, filled it, then tied it closed. He couldn’t help wondering how many tea nets she’d filled and steeped over the course of such a long, long life. “No number of fancy elixirs can help these tired bones,” she said. “My special tea is all I need.” She immersed the bulging net in hot water. It released a sweet scent—like flowers. “You look like you could use a cup yourself, child.”

He very nearly smiled. Child? No one had called him that in a while. Or perhaps ever.

At least not with affection. Didn’t he have parents? Someone must have raised him. He probed for memories, however faint. Coldness lurked, a sense of fear, where such details should have been.

He shook it off. He was here to gather information on much more recent events. “The head priestess won’t speak with the investigators. Why do you think that is?”

“The Hand of Sakkara curates ancient scripture related to the Goddess treasure.”

A double snap of pain caused him to flinch. He swallowed, pretending to study some art she’d hung on the walls.

“They are some of the oldest records of our civilization, some predating the war, the Schism itself, or painstakingly reproduced copies. A loss of even one page of the old books would be a loss for us all. Sister Sha’ah is one tough bird. She’s ninety-eight—still a youngster.” Chara’s lips curved as if she were amused by her own joke. “But she’s no novice. I know she did whatever she could to protect what has been entrusted to her.”

Entrusted to her…A warning ache began behind his temples, a sense that he was getting closer to something he needed to know.You used to know what secrets they protected on Issenda Crossroads. And whom.Knowledge of the information was locked inside him with the rest of his memories.

“Have you run out of questions already, Lieutenant Bolivarr, assistant security officer?”

He could help his quiet, weary laugh. “I will never run out.” Questions were his life. They coursed through his blood. Kept him up at night. Multiplying, piling up, one atop the other.

His gaze caught on a large book resting in the center of a table. He stepped closer. On its cover was the pattern he’d thought of nearly every waking moment and seen in his dreams. Pressure-pain in his head warned him to look away, but he resisted. “This is the same pattern as the design on the urn,” he said. And on his data-vis, his note board, and countless pieces of paper, as if reproducing the five marks would somehow reveal their secrets if he replicated the design to the point of obsession.

You’ve gone well beyond obsession, Bolivarr.It had taken over his life. It could cost him his girlfriend, too, unless he figured out how to make himself whole again for her.

Sister Chara carried two cups of tea to the table. “You are very observant. They are the same pattern, yes. In fact, it is written that an actual obelisk marks the entrance to the sanctum on Ara Ana.”

He shifted his gaze to her. “Written, you say? Written where?”

“Why, the Agran Sakkara, of course. The holy scriptures used in the worship of the goddesses.” She rested her hand on the thick book as if it were her flesh and blood. “This contains all four volumes. Mine since I was a young novice. Given to me by my mentor. She had it for all her life, and her mentor had it for all of hers before that. And on and on it goes. For too many years to count it has been read and loved. I am certain that it will answer all your questions.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t know about that, sister. I have a lot of them.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for answers. Sit down.” She settled into her chair like a bird getting comfortable in a nest for the night. It was obvious she welcomed his interest in the holy book.

Reverently, she opened the tome and paged through it. He bent forward, close enough to smell the musty age of the pages, to discern the many lines of tiny runes. Sakkaran. Sweat tingled on his brow as she recited a passage, translating the ancient language to the Queen’s Tongue: “An obelisk marks the entrance to the sanctum. It is locked to all but she who is pure and true.”

Pure and true.

Pain sliced through his skull, quick and brutal, like the crack of a whip against bare skin. He gnashed his teeth together, his stomach muscles locking up. So much for being able to breathe again.Hold it together, Bolivarr.“Pure and true?” He squeezed out the words.

“Pure and true meanspriestessin the old tongue—in Sakkaran,” she said. “It doesn’t translate to purity in the sexual sense—virginity, if you will—yet some priestesses today still take vows of celibacy, voluntarily.”

Bolivarr pointed at a familiar rune, one of several he’d drawn again and again. “What does this one translate to, sister?”

“Keeper.”

He jerked as if shocked by a bolt of electricity. “And this one…”

“It means key,” she said.

Freep me.He grabbed his head. Agony pierced his skull, pentagonal patterns coalescing behind his eyes then breaking up into five points of light. The lights transformed into stars, spinning away into the vastness of space. “Do no evil… Never bow to evil…”The chant droned on as fragmented scenes from what must surely be his past flitted behind his eyes. He glimpsed people, their faces obscured: a man with dark hair in a neat ponytail, and the brunette woman with the red earrings from his flashback.Who are they?They were important to him once. Were they still? How important? Fates, he wanted to know, and yet he didn’t.

When his vision finally cleared, a cup of steaming hot liquid sat on the table in front of him, the vapor tickling his nose. He sat hunched over the table, his weight on his elbows, his head in his hands. The pain had receded, but he felt as if he’d been taken to the brig and flogged. He’d hoped for seeping water. He’d gotten a tsunami. And still, his memories were locked down.

How long had he been… unavailable? He hadn’t suffered a seizure, thankfully. If he had, he would have woken on the floor, woozy and thick-tongued and surrounded by medics, and his chances of being on the away team would have gone straight to zero.

“I’m sorry… I…”Choose your words carefully.Sister Chara had declined a slot on the away team, citing her advanced age, but in her capacity as chief religious advisor, she had the power to pull him off the mission. He couldn’t risk her thinking him too sick to participate.

“Drink, child,” Sister Chara said gently. “The tea will grow cold.” She slid the cup of tea closer.

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