by Sarah Hawke
“I’m sorry, really, but this is important,” Rohen said, pulse still racing.
She glared at him for a moment before her expression suddenly softened. “I already learned most of what I needed, anyway. For all his bluster and obstinance, his mind was surprisingly easy to crack.”
Rohen’s lip twitched. “You can just…do that?”
Jess grinned. “Impressive, isn’t it? The Sanctori have always been charged with finding the truth, but we’ve never had the proper tools until now. Can you even begin to imagine what the Tel Bator will be able to accomplish once my father shares his gift with others?”
Yes, I can…and it’s fucking terrifying.
“He plans to restore the Templar first, of course,” Jess said. “That’s why he’s at Griffonwing now. He’s going to transform the Order into what it was always destined to be: not merely the servants of the Guardian, but true holy warriors—paladins who can channel the might of Escar to smite demons and Chol and anything else that stands in your way.”
She chuckled and placed her claws upon the Templar heraldry inscribed on his brigandine. “He wants you to be one of the first,” she said. “You’ll fly home in the morning, and by nightfall you will be reborn in the Guardian’s light. Isn’t it glorious?”
Rohen nodded slowly, still aghast at everything he had just witnessed. He had come here to the Spire assuming that the Lord Protector was a murderous traitor, but this…this was literally unbelievable. How in the bloody void had Kraythe obtained this power in the first place? How could it possibly be real? An actual Conduit to the Triumvirate…
It seemed impossible. It seemed unfathomable. Yet the power Jess wielded was undeniable. She wasn’t a sorceress, yet she could channel the Aether just like Delaryn and Sehris.
“I should have told you the good news right when you arrived,” Jess said, smiling and stepping in close to him. Despite her heels, she still had to stretch up on her tiptoes to get her lips close to his. “I was just so happy that you survived. You’ve always been my weakness…a delicious, deadly weakness…”
She kissed him deeply, passionately, as if the past few minutes had never happened. Rohen kissed her back, mostly to put her at ease. Her could already feel the excitement shuddering through her body. Despite the cacophony of the forge outside and the lingering stench of seared flesh in the air, she probably wouldn’t have complained in the slightest if he slammed her up against the wall and took her right here.
“Just think about what this will mean,” Jess breathed, pulling away just enough to speak. “Once my father shares his gift with you, the two of us will be linked by the gods themselves. We’ll be able to fight together, side by side, as we drag this blighted world into the light.”
“I look forward to it,” Rohen lied, forcing a smile. “But like I said…we really, really need to talk about what happened in the north.”
He saw the faintest flicker of disappointment in her eyes—she probably did want him to take her again right now—but then she finally sighed and sank back down on her heels.
“Father will want to know all the details,” Jess said. “I suppose now is as good a time as any.”
Rohen nodded and braced himself. It was now or never.
“It will take a while to explain,” he said. “And you’re not going to like it.”
Interlude
Jessara Kraythe’s arms and hands still tingled from the aftershock of the Aether coursing through her. The more she channeled its currents, the more difficult it became to willingly release her hold upon them. She had started to understand why so many sorcerers turned out the way they did—power corrupted everything, and the temptation to wield it was almost irresistible.
Thankfully, she wasn’t tainted like they were. Her intentions were noble, and the power she called upon was distilled by the righteousness of her father. Any Bound channelers he empowered could be cut off the instant they abused their privileges—it was what fundamentally separated them from sorcerers, who had no such constraints. There was a reason the Conduits of the ancient world had inevitably and repeatedly warred against the recklessness of the Avetharri Wyrm Lords.
Still, she couldn’t wait to share this glory with Rohen. Every time she thought about them fighting side by side, a ripple of delight shuddered through her body…
“Father will want to know all the details,” she said, clearing her throat and forcing herself to concentrate. “I suppose now is as good a time as any.”
Rohen nodded. “It will take a while to explain, and you’re not going to like it.”
Jessara took a step back from him and crossed her arms. As she slowly came down from her Aether-induced euphoria, the clatter of the forge was getting more annoying. She stepped over to the door and kicked it shut just to ensure they had some privacy.
I’d rather just take him back to my quarters. He’s only going to be here until morning, and there’s still so much I intend to do to him. But father does want to know what happened, and afterward I’ll still need to finish up with Korran…
“I already don’t like it,” Jessara said. “Rimewreath gone and Galavir dead…if the gods hadn’t blessed my father with this power, the war might already be over. Even the Faceless can’t hold off the horde forever.”
He studied her in silence for a long moment, his green elven eyes glimmering in thought. She had expected him to be downright giddy at this point—she had just told him that he would soon share her father’s divine gift! He should have been down on his knees thanking the gods…or at least tied down on her bed thanking her.
Then again, Rohen had always been something of a brooder. For some reason, it made him even more irresistible.
“Things are even worse than they seem,” he said after a moment. “Do you remember those dead sorcerers I mentioned? The ones I found on the road outside of Whitefeather Hold?”
Jessara nodded. “Yes, what about them?”
“I think they’re part of the reason the Chol attacked. The way they were killed, their proximity to the Hold, the fact that they weren’t supposed to be there…I think someone brought them there as bait.”
Jessara’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I know how crazy it sounds, believe me,” Rohen said. “But three Branded sorcerers would be a tempting target for any Chol stragglers. If someone wanted to get the monsters to the Hold, it would—”
“Why in the bloody void would anyone want to bring the Chol to Whitefeather Hold?”
“I’m not sure,” Rohen said in an odd tone, “but everyone knew that King Thedric and his new wife would be there—and that they would only have a token force of defenders with them.”
Jessara clicked her claws against her bicep. “What are you implying?”
“Just hear me out, all right?” He sighed and paced back and forth across the narrow room for a moment. “The dead sorcerers are only part of the puzzle. During the feast that night, King Thedric was given a special gift. It was a dagger—a wraithblade dagger, probably forged right here in the Galespire.”
“Only the Templar are permitted to wield such powerful weapons,” Jessara said. “The Lady Seeker never would have granted an exception, even for the king.”
“I know, and it gets even stranger: the blade was a fake.”
“A fake? Rohen, you aren’t making any—”
“I took the dagger with me when I escaped,” Rohen pressed. “At the time, I still assumed it was a real wraithblade. But later, when Sehris examined it at Rimewreath, she realized it had another purpose: it was generating an Aetheric echo far greater than its actual power—far greater than a real wraithblade, in fact. Sehris said that if she didn’t know better, she might have thought it was an Avetharri artifact of some kind, one powerful enough that she could sense its presence from a great distance.”
Jessara’s cheek twitched when she belatedly realized where he was leading her. “You’re saying the blade was a lure,” she whispered. “A lure for the Chol.”
Ro
hen nodded. “A lure placed right into the hands of the High King.”
She turned away and set her jaw as she worked through the implications. She could easily believe that a power-hungry duke or tharn would try to harm Thedric and his new queen—the Whitefeather bitch was widely reviled, and squabbles among noble families were unfortunately commonplace. But the idea that someone would use the bloody Chol as a weapon…it was inconceivable.
“The bulk of the horde was still too far away to sense it,” Rohen went on. “But if there were other Chol nearby—say, a throng of stragglers who had been drawn closer by a group of sorcerers…”
“Maiden’s mercy,” Jessara whispered, turning back to him. “That’s insane. Who in their right mind would try to use the Chol as assassins?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that,” Rohen said, his face even grimmer than usual. “Not all the nobles were in love with Thedric. Plenty of tharns resented him after the civil war. But none of them would have access to a group of Branded sorcerers or a wraithblade, even a fake one. Besides, if they were intent on assassinating him, they surely would have tried something more…conventional.”
“Even the tharns who hated Thedric still feared his influence,” Jessara mused. “He was quite popular with the common folk all across Darenthi.”
“True, but I also started thinking about who would benefit the most from his demise, given the circumstances. As difficult as it is to say, General Galavir was probably the second most popular man in Darenthi.”
Jessara’s cheek twitched again. “You think he was responsible?”
“All I know is that he conveniently took a griffon west right before the attack,” Rohen said. “Thedric was there specifically to help Galavir transition into the new Duke of Torisval, but the general skipped the feast in his own castle! I couldn’t even believe it at the time, but in retrospect…well, it looks even worse.”
She turned to the side, her eyes narrowing. “But Galavir was killed at Rimewreath.”
“I know, but he was as surprised as anyone by the size of the horde. If things had gone the way everyone expected, he would have crushed the Chol and been the hero who saved Darenthi—again.”
“You’re reaching. I had no love for Galavir, but he and Thedric fought the civil war together. The man was many things, but he was not a traitor.”
Rohen paused and drew in a long, deep breath. He almost looked…scared.
“There is something else you need to know,” he said gravely. “Since Galavir wasn’t at the feast, he wasn’t the one who gave Thedric the dagger as a gift.”
Jessara slowly shook her head. “Then who did?”
Rohen swallowed. “Your father.”
At first, she assumed she had misheard him…but then she looked into his eyes and saw only dread and sorrow. “What?”
“He gave Thedric the wraithblade, Jess,” Rohen whispered. “A few hours later, the Chol stormed the castle and killed everyone…except your father, who somehow escaped.”
Jessara backpedaled a step away from him, arms falling to her sides. “You can’t possibly believe that my father was responsible for this.”
“I don’t know what I believe right now,” Rohen said. “But we can’t afford to just ignore what happened. Something is going on here, Jess. The dead sorcerers, the fake wraithblade, the death of King Thedric…and now, inexplicably, your father is wielding a power that hasn’t been seen in Darenthi for thousands of years.”
“It’s not inexplicable—it is providence,” Jessara growled. “My father has been chosen by the gods to save this world!”
Rohen paused for another moment and seemed to collect himself. “How long has he had this gift?”
“Escar appeared to him in a vision while he was at Palegarde two months ago. He didn’t begin to realize his full potential for several weeks.”
“And then he shared his power with you.”
“That’s right,” Jessara said. “He knew we needed to be careful—he knew that despite their proclamations of faith and piety, many in the Tel Bator would be suspicious. He was planning to demonstrate his power at Rimewreath once the Pact Army confronted the horde, but then everything changed.”
“He never told anyone? Not even the Lord Vigilant or the Lady Seeker?”
She shook her head. “Father didn’t trust them. You know better than anyone that the corruption in the Tel Bator runs deep. Even the Sanctori aren’t immune. Father held out hope that they would eventually see the light, but I never shared his optimism. I warned him that the other Voices would see his power as a threat.”
“What does the Lord Vigilant think now?” Rohen asked.
Jessara scoffed. “Unfortunately, Lord Arinthal behaved just as foolishly as I expected. He didn’t accept my father’s gift even when he beheld it with his own eyes, and he stubbornly refused to initiate new Purges even when he learned about Thedric’s fate. He forced our hand.”
This time, Rohen was the one to take a step back. “Oh, gods…you killed him?”
“He didn’t give us a choice!” Jessara said. “The stubborn fool would have doomed all of Darenthi just to uphold a disastrous agreement signed by an idiot king. Can you believe that he would rather protect a handful of the most dangerous sorcerers in this spire than save the people of Tor’s Crossing?”
Rohen’s face drained of color as he slowly shook his head. “You murdered a lord of the Tel Bator…”
Her brows scrunched in annoyance. “I didn’t murder anyone. I am a Sanctori Inquisitrix—it is my sacred duty to root out and cleanse corruption wherever it tries to hide. The Lord Vigilant was a stubborn and prideful fool who had become far too comfortable with his power to listen to reason. Men like him are why Darenthi remains weak—men like him are why the gods reached out to my father.”
When he didn’t respond, still plainly reeling, Jessara stepped forward and placed her hand upon his brigandine.
“Don’t you understand?” she asked, voice rising. “After we have purged the wicked and empowered the righteous, nothing will be able to stop us! Not the Chol, not the Crell, not even the bloody Dragon of Highwind. You and I can help my father change the world in ways no one thought possible.”
“Jess, you need to listen to me,” Rohen said, squeezing her wrist. “I understand that you believe your father’s power is a gift, and I understand that you want to be loyal to him. But there is more going on here than you realize. Your father gave Thedric the lure—he’s the reason the Chol attacked Whitefeather Hold!”
She snarled and wrenched her hand from his grip. “What has gotten into you? My father is the only reason you are still alive! He offered you redemption when no one else would!”
“I know,” Rohen whispered, nodding. “That’s what makes this so difficult. But the evidence is all there, Jess. Your father and I were supposed to ride for Rimewreath together the morning after the king’s feast, but he wasn’t there when the Chol attacked. I checked his quarters—I checked most of the keep! He was gone before they arrived. No one could have fought their way out of there.”
“You did,” Jessara countered. “How do you explain that?”
“I…I got lucky,” Rohen stammered. “I spent a lot of time in that keep before the end of the war. I knew about the old Whitefeather crypts, and I was able to use them to escape. But there was—”
“You’re lying,” she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
“I’m telling you the truth! I only survived by escaping through the crypts.”
Jessara cocked her head as she examined his face. Was Father right to be suspicious all along? Is this why he wanted me to probe Rohen for answers?
“You’re hiding something from me,” she whispered. “Something very important.”
“Listen to me, Jess, please,” Rohen said, raising his hands plaintively. “I don’t want to believe this any more than you do—I didn’t believe it, not until the evidence was all laid out before me. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s another expla
nation! There’s only one way to find out. Let’s head to the aviary right now—let’s fly to Griffonwing and talk to your father about—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jessara said. “Not until you tell me what really happened that night.”
“Jess, I—”
Before he could even finish the sentence, she lifted her right arm and stretched out her fingers. The power of the gods readily flowed through her, and a brilliant sphere of golden light reappeared in her palm.
“If you won’t tell me what I want to know,” she growled, “then I will pry the truth from your mind!”
Rohen reached for the handle of his sword at his belt, but he was already too late. The light erupted from her palm and crashed over him. His limbs froze in place, his breath caught in his throat, and slowly but surely, his mind began to open to her.
“Kneel!” Jessara demanded.
Her command reverberated through the room like a hammer striking an anvil. He dropped to his knees in front of her despite his best efforts to resist.
“What really happened that night?” Jessara asked. “Show me!”
She saw a stream of images flash through his mind: the frozen courtyard of Whitefeather Hold before the feast, a hushed conversation with the dark elf artificer and her Keeper steward…and then, unbelievably, a private meeting with the Whitefeather bitch just outside the castle library. The wretched barbarian girl kissed and fondled him and then—
“You let her touch you?” Jessara snarled.
“J-Jess,” Rohen pleaded, barely able to breathe, let alone move. “Jess, you don’t—arg!”
He screamed in pain as she pushed deeper into his memories with ruthless force. Another flurry of images flashed in front of her: the feast in the keep, an awkward encounter with her father in the halls…and then another meeting with Delaryn inside the chapel.
“No…” Jessara gasped in horror. Her stomach twisted and her heart sank, and she almost severed the connection right there.
How could he betray me like this? He could he bring himself to make love to such a wretched, disgusting creature?