Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

you lie abed. Warm sunlight poured through the windows and set the whitewashed walls aglare. Damus squeezed his eyes shut, but to no avail.
    Damus rolled onto his back and cast his half-lidded gaze about the room. Besides the vigilantly ticking clock, an austere ceramic jug on a small shelf was the only ornament. The furnishings were equally sparse—just the bed, a full-length mirror in a wrought-iron frame, and a table with a ladderback chair. Lacking storage space, he’d draped his once fine coat over the chair and propped his rapier and bamboo flute against its arm.
    Damus lay wondering what in the Nine Circles an enlightened Gen such as he was doing in such a stultifying town. Ah yes. Our guides abandoned us. Their cowardice rankled him worse than the superstition that had thwarted his bid to reach Ostrith from Vale.
    At that moment Damus should have been mere days from Highwater. Instead, miles of desert lay between him and anywhere remotely promising. The likelihood of finding Guild artifacts in a backwater like Medvia approached zero. As for Guild prisoners, he’d do just as well searching back in Avalon.
    Queen and country call, Damus thought, and blood makes even sterner demands. The meticulous gears of his mind began turning, seeking a means of escape from his predicament. If we could reach a Guild House on foot, and if the gate still worked…
    “Damus!”
    Shaken from his reverie by the gruff invocation of his name, Damus reflexively jerked his head toward the doorway. He parted the silver hair that had whipped across his eyes and saw an imposing humanoid figure. Red-gold fur covered the canine head and burly arms. A cuirass and sturdy leather breeches concealed the rest of the short but otherwise human form.
    “Nahel,” Damus reproached his visitor, “didn't I tell you not to bother me unless it was important?”
    Nahel’s gravelly voice complemented his doglike muzzle. “Yeah, you did. But it's—”
    “Nothing you could say justifies invading my private quarters,” Damus interrupted. “I was contemplating the serenity of this fine afternoon until you shattered it.”
    “Sorry,” Nahel began again, “but the queen wanted me to—”
    “I know. Her Majesty charged you to guard her envoy on his errand. And God forbid we invite her displeasure. But would it vex you too sorely to knock?”
    Nahel frowned. His spade-shaped ears swept back against his head, and the full weight of his amber gaze fell upon Damus. “I did knock. First soft; then hard.”
    A recent memory broke into Damus’ racing train of thought. “Oh. That's right. I set a sleeping Mystery on myself when I retired last night.”
    Nahel’s frown hardened into a grimace.
    Damus met his companion's indignant stare, swept off his bed sheet, and sat up. “What? Sufficient rest is vital to my art. Inspiration often comes to me in dreams, and you know how raucous the late night crowd is. I may as well be sleeping in the bar!”
    Nahel sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I'll know better next time.”
    “No apology necessary. A little courtesy is all I ask.”
    “Can I tell you why I’m here?”
    Damus stood up and stretched. “If you must.”
    “You know,” Nahel snorted, “time was a Gen could pray his whole life and never get a visit from a malakh.”
    Damus clapped his furry friend's muscled shoulder. “I do appreciate your company, but it's natural that a sophisticate like me and a provincial such as yourself should sometimes be at odds.”
    “I know you're not used to life on the road,” said Nahel. “I’m not exactly at home in this Stratum either.”
    “It's been centuries since humans fraternized with your kind, let alone us Gen. Frankly, living in Avalon has detached us all from the Middle Stratum. Perhaps it’s best if you return home. Her Majesty may relax the travel ban if you ask nicely.”
    “I doubt she’d take the risk if I came back empty-handed.”
    Damus thought for a moment. “Agreed. Some word of her