Free Lady Of Regret (Book 2) by James A. West Page A

neck for the man who never sought you out—”
    Nesaea cut her off with a brisk shake of her head. “I swore an oath to myself, and it remains unfulfilled. Besides, as I believed he was killed, my father doubtless believed I was dead, along with my mother.”
    She was not so sure about that. If Sytheus had returned to their razed home, he would have found Nesaea was not among the dead. Raids around Alhaz were not common, but when they occurred, those taken usually ended up in Giliron. She had loved her father deeply, but even as a girl she had known he was more coward than warrior. She had never hated him for it, but until the day she escaped Giliron on her own, she had looked for his coming.
    “Forgive me for saying,” Fira said, interrupting Nesaea’s thoughts, “but I do not like what you intend.”
    “It will not be easy,” Nesaea agreed, knowing Fira would dislike what came next. “I need you to guard the entrance.”
    “I should join you!”
    “Not this time,” Nesaea said.
    “And if someone happens along, say a few of Lord Arthard’s men?”
    “First and foremost, stay out of sight.” Nesaea pointed out the vault she planned to enter, easily large enough to conceal a woman and two horses. “If you are seen, do what you must to dissuade them from investigating too carefully.”
    The challenge brightened Fira’s eyes, put a fetching dimple in one cheek. “Don’t fret over that.”
    Nesaea heeled her mount and led Fira down the grassy slope, passed through the stone gate letting into the graveyard, and wended through the prickly brush to the burial vault. Its façade, all of snowy marble and heavily engraved, resembled a miniature palace, more than a resting place for old bones.
    Lynira had assured her the structure served as the entrance to a secret passage that traveled under the river. Looking across the sluggish green breadth of the Idoril, imagining some secret way under it, all damp and dark, Nesaea had second thoughts about making the journey. I have to try , she thought, dismounting.
    After they secured their horses, Nesaea parted the brush at the back of the vault, revealing a small iron door. Retrieving her lock picks, she set to work opening the door. After several tries, she heard a series of soft snicks. She carefully twisted the picks, retracting the bolt.
    Nesaea tucked away her tools, then cautiously pushed the door inward on groaning hinges. The smell of dust and damp washed over her.
    “Sure you want me to stay behind?” Fira asked, looking past Nesaea into the waiting darkness.
    “No,” Nesaea admitted, drawing the Eye of Nami-Ja from its leather pouch. “But it’s better for you to guard my escape, than to allow someone to bar my way.”
    Fira glanced round the graveyard, then to the top of the hill they had descended. “Very well,” she said reluctantly.
    “Just keep your head down,” Nesaea said with more confidence than she felt. “And make sure you close the door after me. If you have to hide, I don’t want anyone to think grave robbers are about.”
    She entered the mausoleum before Fira could give a reason not to. The glowing orb lit the way down a set of narrow stone steps. Behind her, the door shut with a low boom, severing the daylight.

Chapter 11
     
     
     
    At the bottom of the steps, Nesaea found dust coating everything except an iron sepulcher centered in the small chamber. It looked to have been swept clean, and shone dull gray. Nesaea ran her hand over its cool, pitted surface, seeking the head of a graven lion. There were many, but according to Lynira, the one she sought should be loose.
    She had circled the sepulcher twice before her fingers chanced upon the right lion. She gave it a wiggle, then pushed hard. A low clunk sounded, followed by a grinding noise. The lid began to clank and shudder open.
    Nesaea held the Eye of Nami-Ja high, and drew her belt knife, the little girl she had once been certain some walking horror was about to creep out. Nothing