“Love is worth fighting for. Love is worth more than some meaningless title!”
“It is not possible,” he says, his voice a broken husk of the strong, deep melody I know so well.
“Of course it is. You can declare our love. This has happened before. Others have given up the right in order to marry. Please, Talan, we can be together.”
“It is for love that I cannot. I swore, long ago, that I would find her.”
The words strike me like a blow straight to my heart. I totter backwards, his hands falling from my lifeless grasp. I end up on the bed, tears in my eyes, a void opening inside me.
“Who is she?” I ask woodenly. The words come more from reflex than any genuine curiosity.
“It is not another woman, Te’ial,” he says sadly. “It is Aea.”
“What?” The word echoes in the silence. “Your sister? The half-breed Cursed?!”
“Do not call her that again in my presence,” he growls, anger returning the deepness to his voice. “She is my sister, wholly, and no half-breed.”
“But why? After what she has done?” I can’t bring myself to apologize.
The very thought of her causes me to recoil inside. The curse, the taint. None had been found in our nation for generations beyond counting. When the girl was discovered, wielding the evil in its rarest and ugliest of forms, the elders had argued about whether to put her to death immediately. But Talan had argued for her, argued for leniency. All the way up until the real tragedy.
“I must save her,” he says, the words childlike in their hope. “She is Cursed, but we can cure her. We can make her sane again. I just have to find her and convince her to come back with us. Why do you think I wish to be Seer? For the title? For the power?”
His face twists into a rictus of derision, as if the very thought of something so selfish disgusts him. Of course, the thought does disgust him. He is a man of honor. Yet how can he not see that trying to save this Cursed is dishonorable? That becoming Seer to fight for a Cursed spits on the very title? But I cannot say that to him. I love him too much.
“With the power of the Seer, the ability to See, I will be able to find Aea. I can save her. I must save her,” he finishes in a whisper, the words trodden over like a well-worn path, the litany a torch sustaining him in darkness. “She is the only family I have.”
“You could have me,” I say, knowing even as I say the words that my love for him, no matter how strong or how true, will not compete with this obsession. I cannot love him enough for both of us.
His eyes close. With a shuddering sigh, he turns. Facing the door, back rigid and tense, the words come out almost inaudibly over the creak of the ship.
“I am sorry, Te’ial. I cannot.”
Then he is truly gone.
The power of her emotion is raw and intoxicating. I take the yearning she feels, the desire for Talan, and fan that flame. The feel of him, the intense and overriding need… fire rises in her eyes, her own emotion working towards my ends. I turn it, subtly. She can’t have Talan. She can’t even be close to him. But that doesn’t satisfy that overwhelming desire. Perhaps there is an outlet that would serve. Even if it won’t fill the empty hole inside her, at least it might allow her to forget…
I smile inwardly as she begins to look at me hungrily, desperately. She leans forward, eyes never leaving mine. She makes a low sound in her throat. I reach up and caress her cheek, face a mask of sorrow and understanding. She leans forward, and our lips brush, just the slightest of motions, the most gentle of caresses. She trembles, the leather straps covering her chest straining under her labored breathing.
“I am sorry,” I say in a whisper, my breath against her lips. “I wish I could do something to help, to ease that burden.”
Her hand twists into the dark curls at the nape of my neck and draws me forward, her mouth mashing against mine with a primal need. I let her take control, losing myself in the feel of her, the strength of her hands, the power in her arms. I bring my arms up around her, pulling Te’ial close.
I try to break from her when the door rattles against the opposite wall, but she has me in a tight embrace. A pair of massive hands, dark against the tan of my shirt, fix that problem for me. I fly through the air, slamming against the bulkhead with bone crunching force. My teeth rattle. All thoughts Te’ial disappear in a jumble of confused shock.
My eyes focus on Talan’s face, twisted like some abomination from the wastes of the desert. I reach desperately for my power, grasping at every ounce of focus. Just as the symbol of my strength begins to glow, Talan’s eyes flicker down, widening further. Shit.
I dive into his mind, frantic, wrecking all I can in a desperate attempt to confuse him. For a moment, I manage to deflect his attention, but an overriding wall of hatred and disgust rises up and thrusts me out of his mind. His giant fist slams into my gut like a horse’s kick square in the lungs. My breath and focus leave me in a weak gasp of air. I heave up a thin stream of bile. He lets me slump to the floor, all thoughts of resistance fled. I try to hold on to the tiniest portion of my power, tapping into their minds so I can understand the conversation when they switch back into their native tongue.
“Talan, by the Depths, I don’t know what came over me,” Te’ial says, distantly, sobs in her voice.
“I do,” his voice rumbles like distant thunder in a cloudless sky. “He is Cursed.”
“What?” she says dumbly. “Cursed?”
“I saw the mark as he tried to use it on me. He was in my head. I could feel him there. I still can,” he says, growling. I tense weakly on the ground, trying to curl further into a ball.
“He was in your head?” Te’ial asks, more a confirmation than a question. “Ah. Damn my weakness to the forgotten Depths! How could I have let this happen? I thought it was you; I wanted it to be you!”
“There is no fault of yours,” Talan says, his voice moving to be directly over me. “Only this piece of filth. We should kill him now, and let Eo back into the world, for it can only be him.”
“Wait. Better the fin you can see, than the shark below.”
“He cannot be allowed to recover. He almost had my mind. Only my anger saved me.”
“Then don’t let him.”
I look up weakly. Talan crouches down onto his haunches. I try to reach out, to speak, to apologize, I don’t know. He slaps my hand away like a parent scolding a disrespectful child. His fist comes down, a mountain of judgment I cannot avoid.
Chapter 9
Kettle
The Twenty-Third Day of Spring
In the Year 5222, Council Reckoning
I stride through the entrance of the Imperial Bank confidently. The flowing skirts of my station swirl about my legs, and my heels click against the polished marble floor loudly. The sound goes largely unnoticed in the bustling business of the bank on a warm day in Spring. I ignore the men stationed on either side of the entrance, and they ignore me, as is their duty. The front of the bank is comprised of a single expansive room of ornate marble, gold plating, and tasteful frescoes depicting legendary figures from history. A wall of golden bars separates the desks of the tellers and their charges from the stairwell leading to the offices above and the vaults below.
I pause when I hear a rattle of coins, glancing behind me with a withering stare.
“Forgive me, bi’ental,” Timo says smoothly, ducking his head. “I misstepped.”
Inwardly, I smile, marveling at how confident and cultured his voice is, but outwardly I shake my head and move on, loose hair brushing the tops of my shoulders. Timo follows with the massive bag of coin in his hands, even his considerable strength straining under the load. With clothes cut to accentuate his broad frame and highlight the strength of his shoulders and hair smoothed back, his bold features border on handsome. His time in the theater serves him well.
Rina returns from a break at her desk, just as planned. I haven’t laid eyes on her in over two years, but time seems to have been kind to her. She’
s lived the cushy life of a respected bank teller for so long that the hard lines of a thief are difficult to discern through her uniform. I glance back at Timo and give an imperious jerk of my head, the dark waves of my hair swaying. He dutifully brings the bag forward to Rina’s desk.
“What can I do for you, my lady?” Rina says, her face scrunched into the typical disinterested smile of all bankers everywhere.
Wordlessly, I gesture to Timo. He raises the bag and begins pouring its contents out on the desk. Starsilver and gold mix in a shocking waterfall of wealth, the unending rattle temporarily drowning out the rest of the sounds in the bank. Several coins fall to the ground, plinking and rolling on the marble. When the sound dies, so do all others. I refuse to look around, knowing every single person in the bank is frozen in shock. I simply stare at Rina, quirking one eyebrow upward.
“The Seers would like to store some of this metal with you,” I say, heightening my accent until my speech is difficult to understand. My dress, made of the finest silk is so pure a white that it glows in contrast with my darker skin. “We have seen Jon Gordyn is a man to be trusted.”
Rina does a fantastic job looking shocked, and in all reality she probably is. While we couldn’t muster the necessary weight in starsilver alone (turns out, even all of our assets pooled aren’t worth a bag full of starsilver), the amount of money mounded on the table is quite honestly the more than I ever imagined would be in one place. As a joke, Corna and I had filled a bathtub with the coins. It was horribly uncomfortable, but we still threw the coins up in the air like water and laughed the night away.
“My lady, allow me to speak with my superiors,” she manages to squeeze out, her voice barely above a croak.
She raises her hand and two men walk over, their muscles practically bulging out of their uniforms. They stand on either end of the desk as Rina walks hurriedly through a gate of golden bars and disappears behind a set of double doors. The business of the bank hesitantly restarts, but I can still feel eyes all over us. Cocking my hip to the side, I paint an expression of utter boredom on my face.
“At’lo, pick up the metal you dropped,” I say absently, eyes fixed ahead on the doors.
Timo obediently scrambles about, plucking coins off the ground. I clasp my hands before me to hide their tremble, steadfastly ignoring the bead of sweat working its way down the back of my neck. Too much time is passing. Rina has been gone too long. My stomach tenses, and the shadow under my dress rustles in anticipation. I resist the urge to glance up at the window set in the wall high above us. Gordyn might be watching.
The door finally swings open, a man in a tailored suit walking forward calmly with Rina in tow. He’s old, his hair thinning at the top, his gut sticking forward a hair too far for practicality. He is most definitely not Jon Gordyn. Rina gives me a subtle nod, and I relax. A bit. We’re still in the thick of it, but we’ve passed the first test. The man approaches us, smiling and offering his hand. I allow him to take my fingers and kiss my knuckles.
“My lady, there is much we would discuss with you. Keagan Atlan, at your service,” he begins, bowing and opening his hand towards the golden bars. We follow him as he leads through the gate. “The Imperial Bank has long desired commerce with the Isle of Seers. Your wisdom and wealth have been legend for time immemorial, though I can see now they were not exaggerated. May I ask who I have the honor of welcoming?”
“Aea Po’lial, sister to Talan Po’lial, soon to be first of his name to become Seer of the Isle,” I respond, raising my chin.
He halts as his eyes widen, surprise and sudden avarice quickly veiled behind a cold calculation. Yes, Mister Atlan. I’m not just some fool with money. I matter in the Isles. His smile becomes more genuine, even as it also grows into something less savory. He bows deeper this time, holding out his arm for me to latch onto. I put my hand in the crook of his elbow and he leads me deeper into the bank.
He blathers on in a stream of pleasantries, seemingly unconcerned when I don’t respond aside from an occasional platitude. We stroll into the golden cage and through the inlaid double doors, passing the office of minor officials and heading for a stairway at the back of the bank. After winding our way up two flights of stairs, we arrive at a sturdy and luxurious wooden door. I resist the urge to smile when we pass the first door on the right. I just pick out Corna’s voice, smooth and sultry, speaking to another official behind a closed door.
Rina informed us of the protocol for sudden and unexpected meetings: Eldin Pentol, the most senior of the bank’s executives and a serious, unrelentingly professional man, takes the first. His only significant weakness lies in his obsession with young and endearing women. Corna is perfect to play our first mysterious investor. She’s supposed to be a woman fresh to Donir after inheriting a vast sum from her merchant father and mother, both tragically lost to pirates as they sailed south to inspect their holdings at the edge of the Broken Isles. Being a young girl unexpectedly in charge of a large sum of money, she decided to cash out everything she could and run to the city to start a new life. If only some amazing, smart and, gasp, handsome man could help her with the details?
The second unexpected meeting would be held by his underling, Keagan Atlan. He’s ten years younger, but the third most powerful man at the Imperial Bank. He also envies Pentol his senior status. He is always seeking the next big windfall that might finally allow him to overcome his mentor. The bait we dangle in front of him is particularly juicy and enticing. Though the Seers maintain a facade of simplicity and what outsiders consider barbarism inside our borders, the People want for nothing. Our ships, our trade, and our warriors are coveted the world over.
Their ships, I guess. I’m no longer a part of the People.
Atlan ushers us into the second meeting room. A table of the richest mahogany dominates the center, surrounded by ornately carved lanterns whose shimmer sets the beautiful wood to glowing. Eight armchairs wrapped in supple leather are arrayed around the table. The ceiling is a polished marble, the corners shining so cleanly I can see my reflection in them. A rug of the softest weave and intricate embroidery bedecks the floor in a rich red. It’s a room to embarrass other rooms.
I take a seat at the head of the table, crossing my legs and placing my hands before me. Timo stands at my beck, his broad chest moving with his breath, calm and slow. Timo’s serenity helps me to remain still and stoic. His solid presence is a rock in a storm. Atlan seats himself next to me, a bit closer than decorum normally allows. Definitely eager.
“My lady Aea,” he begins, his smile near predatory. “Your nation has been one of the most successful shipping industries the world has ever known. Your goods are met in every nation with the highest praise for quality—”
“Your words are as waves on a beach,” I cut in, waving my hand in front of his face. “I have heard them a thousand times. They are pleasing, but familiar. I am here for that which is unfamiliar.”
“Right,” he begins again. “The wealth your man laid upon poor Rina’s table was a fabulous sum, no doubt, but is it all that you plan to invest with us? Or perhaps is the Seer herself—”
“This metal is a gift to Jon Gordyn,” I cut in again, smiling inwardly as his eyes flash in annoyance. “We have no use for such paltry amounts.”
“A very generous gift, I’m sure, though most bring objects of value or art—”
“We know the giving of gifts. Jon Gordyn cares most for shining metal. He will accept our gift. We know he will be grateful.”
Atlan sits back. His hand twitches slightly, and his eyes betray a sudden fear. Legend has it that the Seer can see the future, can predict through her dreams many of the certainties of the world. The People know that the Seer can indeed see the future, though her sight is limited to snippets and fragments. Regardless, those snippets have shaped the very fabric of the Seer society as the long line of Seers have guided the People towards a prosperous future. Before I left, however, the old Seer began speaking insanity. Of the world ending, and the
death of all. So much nonsense. Atlan, however, has no idea whether the Seer has seen this meeting or not. He is wary of making a mistake.
“Very well. What is it you seek with this gift? What is your desire with the Imperial Bank?” he asks, his tone more deferential.
“We wish to use more of this metal to buy land. The Seer believes our future lies as a part of this kingdom, with the People living on the mainland,” I declare, placing my fingers carefully on the tabletop. “Now, where is Jon Gordyn?”
“Let me assure you, I am fully able to negotiate on Mister Gordyn’s behalf—”
“We wish to purchase Itskalan.”
“The Bank has many holdings in Itskalan,” he says, struggling to control his temper as I refuse to let him finish a sentence. “We would be more than happy to show you a catalogue of possible purchases, large tracts—”
“You see the shallows, but nothing of the depths,” I say scornfully, wrinkling my nose at him in disgust. “We do not wish for a scale. We desire the fish.”
His mouth moves as if he’s chewing some particularly difficult piece of gristle, the words he desires to speak clearly held back by greed.
“You want,” he says, slowly, then hesitates. When I don’t cut him off, he continues. “To purchase… all of it? The former nation of Itskalan?”
“Yes.”
“What of the cities? The people? It is impossible.”
“Not for Jon Gordyn. The Seer is not wrong about him.”
“Not even Jon Gordyn has the power to—”
“Do be quiet, little man,” Timo cuts in, his words elegant and articulate. “Mistress Po’lial has made the desire of her People known. If you do not have the power, bring us the one who does.”
I regard Atlan blandly. He starts to speak once, twice, but stops himself each time, his mouth gaping like a fish.
“Very well,” he says finally. “Mister Gordyn is in a meeting, but I will bring your… proposition to him as soon as he is available.”
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 20