Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [8]
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a heart-shaped locket. It was made of cheap metal, probably brass, that had been burnished to look like gold. Most of the finish had rubbed off long ago, and the original chain was long gone. Larajin had replaced it with a short circle of red embroidery thread, just wide enough to slip over her hand. Shed paid only a few pennies for the trinket, which shed found in a peddler's stall in the market. Its value to her, however, was immeasurable-not because of the locket itself but because of what it held.
Larajin lifted the locket to her nose. From within came a faint, floral scent, as fresh as the day she'd placed the petal inside the heart. She knew that if she opened the locket, the petal would still be a bright red, flecked with gold.
The flower from which it had come-known as Sune's Kisses to humans, and Hanali's Heart to the elves-was sacred to both goddesses. Drawing its scent into her lungs, Larajin released it in the form of a whispered prayer.
"Sune and Hanali Celanil, hear my plea and shield me from my enemies. Cloak me with your breath, and make my footsteps as light as a lover's whispers."
The locket in her hand grew warm. From inside her clenched fingers came a faint red glow: the sign of magic at work. Thankful that her prayers had been answered- by Sune, it would seem, since the floral scent that accompanied Hanali Celanil's blessing was absent-Larajin slipped the string of the locket around her wrist.
She squared her shoulders and opened the door, trusting in the goddess to protect her. Even so, her heart was pounding in her throat as she descended the front steps that led to the street.
The air had a thick quality to it. A mist that glittered as though it were flecked with droplets of gold formed whorls and eddies in the street, obscuring the tallhouses on either side. Across the street, the guard stepped out of the doorway and squinted. He raised a hand, prodding
the air ahead of him like a blind man, and took a hesitant step into the swirling fog.
"Hey, lads, look sharp!" he called out. "Something's up."
Larajin smiled. She could see him, but he, it seemed, could not see her. Gathering up her gown so it wouldn't rustle, she crept up Sarn Street on tiptoe, barely daring to breathe. Cloaked in the magical fog, she was all but invisible to the guard who was bounding up the front steps of Stormweather Towers, tripping in his haste to block the door. She was likewise unseen by the guard at the corner, and a third, who had been approaching down the cross street, only to be confronted by a cloud of golden mist. The latter drew his sword, and used it like a cane to probe the air ahead-a cane with a deadly point. He cocked his head as Larajin's boots made a faint scuffing sound on the cobblestones, and he turned in her direction.
Larajin froze, watching with wide eyes as he moved toward her. If she kept utterly still, he might pass by her, allowing her to slip away. He came closer, sword probing, until he was within a pace of where she stood, then he walked by, continuing up the street toward the corner.
Then, like a man suddenly remembering something, he stopped. Larajin heard him sniff.
Too late, she realized that Thazienne's gown was thick with perfume. In another instant, the guard would find her. Larajin did the only thing she could think of-she turned quickly in place and began walking toward Sarn Street, then deliberately blundered into the guard.
"Hey there!" he exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder. He leaned closer, and peered at her face through the swirling fog. "Who are you, woman?"
Remembering whom she was impersonating, Larajin squared her shoulders and gave the man a haughty glare.
"W-woman?" she sputtered. "That's 'Mistress,' if you please."
As she spoke, she glanced out of the corner of her eye.
The other guards