Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) Read Free Page B

her spear above her, spraying droplets of blood. "I have
sworn to lead you to glory. The empire of Qaelin has fallen, and the
spoils are ours!"
    They
roared in triumph.
    Seven
other kingdoms of Timandra had marched into darkness with her host,
and they would squabble like hens for seeds. But Ishel swore to
herself: The choice cut
of Eloria will be ours. And revenge will be mine.
    "Linee
Solira," she whispered as her army roared below. "Camlin
Shepherd. Bailey Berin. Torin Greenmoat."
    The
names of the traitors. The names of those she would kill. As her
warriors brandished their trophies below—katanas, helmets, and
jewels seized in the war—Ishel imagined spearing her enemies and
smiled.

 
 
CHAPTER THREE:
THE LIBRARY

    Cam stood on the palace balcony,
gazed upon a city of black bricks and red banners, and felt loss and
fear claw inside him.
    The port city of Asharo, capital
of Ilar, spread across the hills and coast. Every building here—from
home to shop to silo—looked like a fortress. Battlements crowned
every roof, and soldiers stood upon them, clad in lacquered plates of
black steel, bows and spears in their hands. Braziers burned atop
dark towers. Troops marched in courtyards. Crenelled walls lined the
coast, and beyond them a hundred warships patrolled the sea, lanterns
bright. Everywhere he looked, Cam saw the banners of this southern
island empire—a red flame upon a black field.
    Unlike Qaelin—an empire of
philosophers, buskers, priests, and beggars—Ilar was a land of
steel, fire, and war.
    "And war is coming here,"
Cam whispered and shivered in the cold wind. "Ferius conquered
Qaelin, the largest empire of the night. Now he will sail to Ilar."
    Beside him, Linee whimpered. Cam
turned to look at her. When he had first met her, Linee had been a
queen of sunlight, a young woman clad in a gown and gems, a fairy
tale creature. Her gowns had torn in the long wars of the night. Her
jewels had been sold or lost. Here in the darkness she wore the
accoutrements of an Elorian noblewoman—a red silk dress embroidered
with black dragons, a golden sash around her waist, and a single ruby
upon her throat. Her blond hair, once a masterwork of curls and
braids, now hung straight to the sides, and her eyes, once bright and
joyous, held the shadows of haunting memories.
    "Maybe we should go home."
She lowered her head. "Look at this place, Camlin. A dark sky.
Elorians in black armor. A war between monks and the children of
night. This isn't our war." She looked at him, eyes pleading and
damp. "We can rent a boat; I still have some jewels to sell. We
can sail back home, Camlin. Home!" Her eyes lit up. "Do you
remember home? The blue skies, white clouds, and yellow sun. Trees
and grass and shrubs and flowers. The song of birds. The taste of
bread and fruit." She sighed. "We belong back there. This
isn't our war."
    Cam closed his eyes. He could
barely remember that home. He could barely remember the warmth of the
sun, the light of day, the blue of the sky and the green of forests.
    "I want to go home more
than anything." He hugged himself in the cold. "I don't
like the darkness or the cold of this place. I don't like eating
mushrooms, glowing fish, and whatever meat can be found in the dark.
And worst of all, I don't like this war—the constant fear of Ferius
arriving in this city. But Linee . . . Ferius now rules in Arden, our
old kingdom, and his monks are spreading to many lands in Timandra.
If we did return to sunlight, he would hunt us. He knows our names;
half the world must know our names by now. I never thought I'd be
famous." He laughed mirthlessly. "We're among the Five
Traitors, the Timandrians who fight for the demons of darkness. Well
. . ." That old chill gripped him, and he lowered his head.
"Four Traitors now."
    The memory of Hem, lying dead
and peaceful in the ruins of Yintao, returned to him like icy wind.
Cam closed his eyes, and he knew why the memories of home evaded him.
In all those buried