by Brent Weeks
“How many?” Kylar asked.
“Half.”
“You lose half?”
“The only thing worse than losing them is getting them back the wrong way. There is a woman named Eris Buel who has become the de facto leader of a large number of these women. They want to come back. They want to reject the Alitaeran Accords—maybe all of them—and they want to establish a men’s school here. At heart, though, they just want to be Sisters again. Our reports suggest that we may have more ex-magae here this spring than magae.”
“How many are you talking?” Kylar asked.
“Eight to ten thousand. While we have that many active Sisters, ours are spread out throughout the world. If these Chattel—ummm, these married Sisters—arrive and demand to be readmitted and form their own order, we won’t be able to deny them.”
“What happens if they do form an order?” Kylar asked.
“Most likely? They immediately hold a vote of no confidence and oust me and put their leader in my place. At best, Eris Buel is angry, naive, and dangerous.”
“You want Vi to kill her?”
“Light blind me, no!” Sister Istariel said. “We want Vi to replace her.”
“What?!” Vi asked.
“You’re more Talented than she is. You’re prettier, and you’re not as angry.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen Vi when she gets angry,” Kylar said.
“Neither have you!” she snapped.
“The point is,” Sister Ariel said, “Eris Buel doesn’t lead the Chattel yet. These women come from all over Midcyru. Most of them don’t know each other. They’ll look for a leader once they’re here. There’s more. Istariel, tell them about the Khalidorans.”
“Even though Khalidor doesn’t occupy much of its eastern lands, they are still our neighbors,” Istariel said. “After Garoth died, an unknown named Wanhope took the throne. We have reasons to doubt his rule will last. In the north, one of Garoth’s other sons, Moburu, has joined up with the barbarians in the Freeze. They’re rumored to have rediscovered how to raise armies of creatures that are less than human. Moburu is heading east either to fight or to join another group which we think has about fifty Vürdmeisters, led by a Lodricari named Neph Dada, at Black Barrow. The word is that he plans to raise a Titan.”
“What’s a Titan?”
“It’s a myth. We hope. But as the mistress of a floating island, I can only think of one compelling reason a Khalidoran army would need a giant.”
“You think they want to attack the Chantry?” Vi asked.
“I think they’re fools,” Istariel said. “But we only have a mercenary army of five hundred men and not a single battle maja. If the Khalidorans came through the pass with twenty thousand soldiers and a hundred Vürdmeisters, even without krul or a Titan, they could destroy us. Worse, the Lae’knaught plan to march north at the same time. While there’s a small and tempting prospect that our two enemies would converge and destroy each other before our eyes, if either attacked us first, even if we won, we would be so weakened that the other would annihilate us.”
“So you want to turn the ten thousand Chattel into an army so they can die saving women who reject them,” Kylar said.
There was an icy silence.
“I’m responsible for the lives of the women in my care, and the caretaker of the legacy of a thousand years of learning and freedom,” Istariel said. “So if it costs Vi’s life and her honor and your life and your freedom and my life and my reputation and a war with Alitaera to save them, I will gladly pay that and more. Kyle, you can destroy my plans and your wife simply by telling the first maja you see that you were ringed forcibly. I can’t stop you. But neither can I free you. In the centuries when these rings were Made, they were studied by magae greater than any now alive, and they found the bond unbreakable. You can ask anything for your silence, but you can’t ask the impossible. So what’s your price?”
“Tell me exactly what you’re buying,” Kylar said.
“In the coming weeks, I’ve arranged to have very ugly and very public debate with some of my key councilors about the Chattel. Ariel will be one of those who splits with me. I’m going to take a strong stance that the Chantry will never allow the Chattel to rejoin. A few days later, some of the threats to our safety I’ve just told you about will be leaked. I will send to Alitaera asking for protection as per the Accords. My request will be impossibly large, so that even if Alitaera sends soldiers, the small number will be taken as an insult. Vi will begin training whoever wishes to join her and Sister Ariel in the arts of war. I will ban this training, but no action will be taken against those who ‘defy’ me. If Vi plays her part appropriately, she’ll have a good chance to become the leader of these rebels. Come spring, Vi will negotiate with me on behalf of the Chattel. I will break down, the Chattel will be readmitted with certain conditions—mostly that they reside here for at least a year before they are given full voting privileges.”
“Which,” Ariel interjected, “will make sure that few of them actually do it. Most of these women have farms and shops and families to get back to.”
“Yes, thank you, Ariel,” Istariel said. “But those who truly wish to rejoin will be allowed to do so and still stay married. After we make it through the summer, we will renegotiate the Alitaeran Accords.”
“What’s to say you won’t sacrifice Vi to the Alitaerans then?” Kylar said.
“Whatever goodwill she’s built up with the Chattel will probably make her untouchable. If I betray her, it could be enough to make enough Chattel stick around to become full voting members and oust me. Regardless, the Alitaerans are next year’s problem.”
“So what’s my part?” Kylar asked.
“You share a house with your wife. I don’t care if you share a bed, but to all appearances, it must be a model marriage. You will spend enough social time together to maintain this fiction. Nothing elaborate, eat at an inn together once in a while, take walks, hold hands.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to be in the same room with her?” Kylar asked. “I’m in love with another woman, a woman I planned to marry. If I get aroused by a woman other than Vi, I nearly throw up. I can’t control my dreams. I feel what she feels. I—”
“We can’t fix it!” Istariel said. “Get rid of your old lover. Start sharing Vi’s bed. After a while, you might even like each other.”
“You cruel, cruel bitch,” the thought was Kylar’s, but it was Vi who spoke.
He was stunned, as were Ariel and Istariel.
“You want to pretend things are different, go ahead,” Istariel said. “You ringed him. Are you going to make thousands die so you can feel properly guilty? Kyle, are you going to make thousands die so you can punish me or Sister Ariel? Is that going to make it better? Because you’ll still be ringed next year, no matter what happens to the Chantry. Kyle, I’ll give you whatever you want. Vi, you’ll have more power and a better position than you could ever dream of. In time, you could become Speaker. It’s your choice. You two figure it out and tell Sister Ariel. I can never be seen with you. Should we ever meet, I expect you to act as if you dislike me intensely. I suspect that won’t be difficult.”
She opened the door, glanced both ways, and left. Sister Ariel said, “Elene will come to your new house in a few hours. The story will be that she’s your servant.”
“I haven’t said yes,” Kylar said.
Sister Ariel looked at him gently for a long moment, then opened the door and went out.
“So what do we do?” Vi asked.
This close to her, Kylar was picking up flashes of images directly from her mind. There was Elene, throwing a knife aside. Kylar saw himself, flashing a grin, his handsomeness exaggerated. He saw himself reaching to touch her face gently. He saw himself holding her. He saw himself in the throne room, fierce and wild, slashing into Garoth Ursuul’s head and saving Vi’s life. He saw himself looking at her with horror as he discovered the earring. He saw himself above her, chest
bare, muscles taut, his eyes locked on hers, pupils flaring. Then, again, horror and loathing.
Kylar looked at Vi, glad that she was wearing a shapeless sack of a white wool dress. But she was close enough that he could smell her. She wore no perfume. Perhaps her soap was lavender, but mostly, he smelled her, and she smelled incredible.
He saw Jarl go down in a sudden spray of blood and then he saw the shot from her perspective, her tears almost blinding her as she released the arrow. He felt her self-hatred, her guilt—and whether the compulsion had been magical or mundane, he forgave her.
It didn’t need words. She felt it directly. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Kylar cleared his throat, glanced at her breasts involuntarily, and blushed as she noticed. The image of holding her naked came back again, and he wasn’t sure which of them it came from. “Holy shit,” he said.
She glanced at the narrow pallet against the wall and quickly away, but the image couldn’t be hidden: Kylar on her, handsome, muscular, his touch setting her skin afire, her legs wrapping around his, pulling him to her, his weight anchoring her to something deep and real and better than she deserved. “Gods,” Vi said, “this takes foreplay to a new level.” He could feel the warmth rising in her body.
“No,” he said. “I’ve betrayed Elene in every way but that. Please, we can’t do that, not ever. All right?”
Her arousal was gone instantly, replaced with confusion and guilt. She stepped forward and reached out to him.
He recoiled. “I don’t think we should even, you know, touch.”
She averted her eyes, her feelings of rejection and unworthiness seeping through the air. He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t.
“Right,” she said quietly.
66
Sister Ariel stared at Kylar in a way that made it obvious she was using her Talent, trying to figure him out again. “Elene will be here any minute. Is everything to your satisfaction?” she asked.
He met her gaze. He wished he had the ka’kari to bring to his eyes, but Durzo had told him that for his disguise as a highly Talented man who had only tapped his latent Talent a few times in his life to hold, he couldn’t use either ka’kari or Talent at all. So Kylar had left the ka’kari covering Retribution in Durzo’s safe house. Of course, he could reform the disguise afterward, but it was always a question of whether he wanted to spend eight hours fixing the disguise for a momentary use of the Talent.
Kylar was starting to appreciate why Durzo had taught him so many mundane skills that had seemed like they were obsolete after he’d learned to tap his Talent.
“It’s fine,” he said. The Chantry had given him an enormous sum of money to purchase this small manse on the shores of the lake. He and Vi were moving in today, and the house had room for Elene and Durzo as well, though Uly would continue to live in the Chantry. For the most part, Kylar wouldn’t see Vi. She would rise early, go to the Chantry, and not return home until late. Later, when her “rebellion” began, she and the Sisters who accompanied her would train in the manse’s large walled yard. The manse, of course, had been selected for exactly that purpose.
“When did you learn this disguise?” Ariel asked. “It’s remarkable. I wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible.”
“Maybe you were just mistaken before.”
“Oh, I’ve made mistakes, Kyle, and you figure prominently in them, but I have a perfect memory.” She cleared her throat. “I want to apologize. Your predicament is more my fault than anyone’s. I didn’t know exactly what I was imposing on you, but I did manipulate Vi into doing it.”
“And would you do anything differently if you could do it again?” Kylar asked.
She paused. “No.”
“Then it’s not really an apology, is it?”
Sister Ariel turned and left, leaving Kylar rubbing his temples.
“Hi,” a voice said from the doorway.
Kylar looked up and saw Elene. She was smiling shyly. A thrill ran through him. He was frozen, taking her in. First he was surprised again at her beauty, the fine balance of her features, the glow of her skin. Then his eyes were drawn to the uncertainty of her smile, the wide and fragile hope in her eyes, waiting to see how he would react to her. Even when she was scared, she lightened a room. A huge lump rose in his throat. Before he could think more, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms.
She hugged him fiercely and didn’t let go. He held her tight and all the world was well. He smelled her hair, her skin, and that forgotten scent was the scent of home.
He didn’t know how long it lasted, but all too soon he came to himself.
Elene felt the change instantly. She pulled back and took his face in her hands. She stared him straight in the eye, and when he averted his gaze, she pulled him back. “Kylar, there’s something you have to know,” she said.
“Something I have to know?”
“Yes,” she said. “I know about everything, and I love you.” Her grip on his face relaxed, and she trailed her fingers down his cheeks. “I love you.”
“Elene,” Kylar said. He wondered what made her name sound different from all other names as it crossed his lips, “it’s more than just Vi.”
“Both things,” Elene said.
Kylar stopped. “Both things” as in the both things he was thinking about, or was she forgiving him for something else he didn’t even know he’d done? During their brief time as a happy family in Caernarvon, Kylar would have let it go, afraid of being hammered with something he hadn’t seen coming. Now, he shook his head. “Honey, this is too important not to put into words.”
Elene cocked her head fractionally, and he saw that she noticed the change in him, and respected him more for it. It was one of the things that made being with Elene so intense: she was so open, he knew immediately what she felt, and it was often overwhelming. “I know about the ringing. Vi and I have had a number of long and uncomfortable talks. I know that you sold your sword for those rings, and that one of them was supposed to be for me. I know about Jarl.” Tears came to her eyes but she blinked them away. “I know that you’ve shared some . . . intimate dreams with Vi because of the rings, and I know about the Chantry’s deal and why they want you to act like Vi’s husband. I don’t like it, but it’s the right thing to do. Some things have happened that have changed me, Kylar.” She grimaced. “Kyle now, I guess, but let me just call you Kylar for another hour. Is that all right?”
He nodded, that damn lump in his throat getting bigger. “I like it when you say my name.”
She smiled and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. She fanned herself. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”
“You’ll let yourself cry later?” he suggested.
She laughed suddenly, and it was better than music. “How do you know me so well?” She took a deep breath. “Kylar, in Caernarvon, I had some very firm ideas about what sort of man you were supposed to be. There is something in you that is fierce and wild and strong, and it fascinated me and frightened me. And when I got frightened, I tried to change you, and I didn’t listen to you, and I didn’t respect you the way you deserved, and I didn’t trust you.”
You had this crazy notion that I was going to take you to a far country and then leave you with nothing.
“So I cloaked my fears in some really righteous-sounding horseshit.”
Kylar’s eyebrows shot up. Elene, swearing?
She smirked, liking that she could shock him. But then her expression grew serious. “All of our fights about that stupid sword. . . . You couldn’t sell Retribution because you are Retribution. That girl in Caernarvon, that shopkeeper’s girl Capricia? You changed her life, and that was giving her what she deserved as much as it is when you kill bad men. The fact is, Kylar, I made my God look a lot like me instead of the other way around. I’m sorry. When I first found out that you’d sold that sword for me, I cried for myself, because I’d lost you. But later, I cried for you, because I’d told you that you weren’t good enough for me.
>
“Kylar, what you do scares me. I can understand it in my head, but it’s still hard to fit my heart around. It’s, well, it’s horrifying and terrifying for me.”
“It’s horrifying and terrifying for me, too.”
She looked him in the eye still. “When I was escaping from the slavers, there was a Khalidoran who was going to kill a boy. I killed him. I killed the guilty so the innocent might live, and that’s what you did with the queen, Kylar. I hope I never have to kill again, but I won’t think that I’m better than you because you have to.”
“What? Slavers? Wait, you got kidnapped?”
“There’s a story more important than that, Kylar. When you died, I had a dream. A very short man appeared to me. He was handsome, with amazing white hair and yellow eyes and burn scars.”
Kylar froze again. It could only be the Wolf.
“He told me what immortality costs. Every time you die, someone you love dies in your place. He told me that this time it’s me. He said that the most he could do was hold off my death until spring.”
“I didn’t know,” Kylar whispered.
“Kylar, I think the hardest thing for me in Caernarvon was that I realized you were important and I wasn’t. Now instead of envying you or fighting against you, I’ll fight with you. All the good you do for a lifetime will be possible because of me. I guess this is a kind of heroism that no one sees, but maybe that makes it better, not worse.”