by JA Andrews
He had fifteen pages “translated” when Killien showed up.
Killien walked in with a slight smile on his face, and for the briefest moment, he looked like the friendly, interesting man Will had talked to so often.
The three guards took up their positions around the room. Killien walked over to the table and picked up a few pages, he raised an eyebrow at Will’s work and thumbed through the other pages, then looked around the room. When he saw the ring of ashes around the saso, his hands curled into fists, crushing the paper. He pressed his eyes shut, and loosened his hands, letting out a small laugh.
He set the papers down and sat in the chair across from Will. His voice was unnaturally light. “It doesn’t convince me of your friendship if you start destroying the work I want to see.”
Will’s chair felt hard beneath him and he tried not to shift his weight. Around him the guards were attentive, but relaxed and Killien leaned back in his chair like an old friend come to visit. “Sini saw your work this morning. None of us had realized the runes were stacked.”
Will’s hand tightened on the quill. She’d both spied for Killien, and left Will that note? “I hadn’t thought Sini was that sneaky.”
“The translation should move along quickly, now. I considered taking the book and doing it myself. Lukas and Sini could help. They’ve spent a good deal of time learning to read runes. Sini, in particular has a knack for them. She’s only been learning them for a short while, but she’s picking it up quickly. Still, we wouldn’t be as fast as you, Will.”
The book sat heavily between them. Will almost opened up toward the Torch, but he decided he didn’t want to have to face what the man was feeling.
“What do you want this book for, Killien? There isn’t enough death and fighting with normal means? You need to add in more?”
“There is too much death.” Killien tapped his finger on the book. “Which is why we need this. People respond to nothing but power. If the violence is going to end, it has to be crushed by something stronger.”
“This—” Will stabbed a finger at the book. “—is not the answer. It speaks of dark things, Killien—things worse than killing people. Are you going to do this to Roven? Suck the life out of them and trap it in a stone? What happened to wanting to unify them?”
“I’m not going to actually use it.” Killien’s face was so intense Will pulled back. “You don’t have to use such force against people, Will. What’s important”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“is the threat of power.”
For the first time since he’d been captured, Will actually looked at the man. There was no lightness, no fairness or interest in his face. The Torch’s eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his face strained. He looked driven, haggard. Angry. Like there was so much anger in him, it might rip him apart.
Something about Killien had come unhinged. Will searched the Torch’s face, as though he’d find the answer to why written across it.
“The threat of power doesn’t work,” Will said, “unless you’re willing—and able—to use it. If you had to hire someone to make heatstones for your clan, you can’t have anyone skillful enough to do this.”
Killien brushed off the words. “Your concern for my success is heartwarming. I’ll worry about what to do with the translation, you just focus on giving it to me. You’re off to an excellent start, and I think that’s worth celebrating.” He motioned to the guard in the doorway.
The guard moved and Ilsa walked in, carrying wine, some cups, and a plate of cheese.
Will’s hands clenched. Part of him wanted to open up toward her, but too much of him was terrified of what he’d feel. He forced his hands to relax and dragged his gaze back to Killien, funneling as much hatred as he could into it. “Last time you offered me wine, it didn’t go well.”
Killien laughed, and it sounded slightly crazed. “There’s nothing in this. I promise. He poured dark red wine into each cup and slid one close to Will. “To our…” He raised his glass and gave Will a complicated smile. “Partnership.”
Will left his cup sitting on the table. “That isn’t what this is.”
“Relationship, then.” Killien shrugged, taking a long drink of the wine. He stretched over, picked up Will’s cup, and took a sip.
“See? It’s just wine. Very good wine, actually. One of three bottles I bought from a Baylonian merchant last summer. Cost a fortune.”
Will thought about refusing, about tossing the wine at Killien’s face and hurling the bottle across the room. But the saso was cold and stale and his water had run out earlier. When he picked up the cup, Killien’s smile turned almost genuine.
“I have only shared this wine with one other person. And that was the stonesteep from the Sunn clan who was kind enough to tell me the location of Kachig the Bloodless’s book.”
Will lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip. It was delicious. Rich and simple and effortless.
“Best wine you’ve ever tasted?” Killien watched Will with a curiosity that was both eager and guarded.
Will set the cup down slowly. He stared at Killien’s face, wondering how he’d missed the ruthlessness there for so long. “It’s almost as good as what’s served at Queen Saren’s table.”
The flash of ire in Killien’s face was utterly satisfying.
The Torch took another drink, and when he set his cup down, his face was a mask, as cold and inhuman as the clay walls. Will’s gaze flicked to Ilsa where she waited against the wall, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her eyes fixed the the floor as always.
“I think Will’s done with the wine, Ilsa.” Killien’s eyes bored into Will.
She started slightly at his attention, then moved quickly across the room to gather his cup off the table.
“Thank you.” Killien’s voice was kind but his eyes never left Will’s face. “Ilsa’s served my wife for years, but only recently have I realized how valuable she is.”
Ilsa smiled, timid and pleased. Both parts of it gouged at Will’s heart. He opened up to her and her gratitude toward Killien bloomed in his chest, cutting into him like knives.
The Torch fixed Will with a smug look. “I keep finding more and more reasons to keep her near me.” A streak of viciousness from Killien cut into Will.
A shiver of unease wriggled through Ilsa’s pleasure and her hand tightened on the wine. A silence, taut and rigid, filled the room. Ilsa stood still, her breath shallow and quick, her apprehension growing the longer the silence stretched.
“I’ve done what you asked for.” Will kept his eyes fixed on Killien.
“You burned what I asked for,” Killien corrected him.
If Killien knew how to decode the runes, there was no point in keeping it from him any longer. Will’s hands tightened into fists. “I’ll write it out for you again. You’ll have what you want.”
“And you think you deserve a reward for doing such fine work?”
Will didn’t look at Ilsa. “I’m the only one you have anything against.”
Killien cocked his head to the side, he gave Will an easy smile that was stabbed in the back by the savagery in his eyes. “What exactly are you asking for?”
Will’s own anger drowned out Ilsa’s shrinking pleasure and Killien’s cruelty.
“Leave her out of it,” he whispered.
Ilsa glanced at them, her brow drawn in confusion.
“Ilsa,” Killien began, leaning back in his chair, “Will has developed a bit of a…fascination with you.”
Will felt a dart of fear worm its way through Ilsa’s emotions and she stiffened.
“No—” he started to deny it, turning to look her full in the face.
She shrank back away from him.
“Don’t speak, Will,” Killien interrupted. The guard behind Ilsa shifted closer to her, unsheathing his knife.
Will dragged his gaze back to Killien, fury and impotence threatening to explode out of him.
“It’s understandable,” Killien said, a glint of viciousness in his ey
es. “Ilsa is a lovely young woman, and you’ve been lonely a long time.”
“That’s not—”
Killien raised a hand sharply to stop him. The guard loomed grimly behind Ilsa, who held her arms close to her side. Will kept his eyes fixed on Killien’s face, he pressed his fists down into the table.
“I’m sorry, Ilsa.” Killien nodded to her. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Thank you for your help. You may return to your other duties.”
With the tiniest glance at Killien, filled with gratitude, she bowed to the Torch and hurried from the hut.
Will turned back to Killien, furious. The sound of Ilsa’s footsteps drew farther away, tearing a part of Will out with them. He slammed himself closed.
“You see, Will, you’re not the only one capable of making people like you.”
“If you hurt her,” Will said, his voice unsteady.
“I admit I had my doubts she was your sister. Obviously you do not.”
In blind fury Will cast out, found the vitalle of Killien and the guards, and snatched at it, not caring if it killed them. Not caring that the guards would kill him for it. Only caring that he had enough time to destroy Killien.
Nothing happened.
Drawing in the vitalle, was like grabbing smoke.
He stretched his hand out toward Killien. The man was a flaming beacon of energy, even the ring he’d taken from the traitor wrapped around his hand with a blaze of energy, but Will could move none of it.
Will grasped at it again. He’d never had vitalle be so elusive. “What did you do to me?”
The guard behind him grabbed his shoulder again, pulling him back in the chair. Each person in the room was a towering pillar of energy that Will could not touch.
“You don’t think I’d walk in here and put myself at the mercy of your powers, do you?” Killien asked. “If I were you, I’d stop trying to fight, Will. Every guard has orders concerning Ilsa if you try anything…unpleasant. At the moment she knows nothing about you beyond that you are a Keeper. She hasn’t suffered anything on your account. If you cooperate, she won’t have to.”
Will let his hand drop to the table, a coldness spreading through him and he felt more exposed than he ever had on the Sweep. Why couldn’t he touch the vitalle?
Killien considered Will for a moment. “How old were you when she was taken?”
Will almost didn’t answer, but he couldn’t see what it would matter. “Eleven.” Will pushed the word out between clenched teeth.
The Torch seemed to find that answer amusing. “And did you use your magic to try to save her?”
Will clenched his bandaged hands on the table, his anger burning like searing hot coals in his chest.
“Ah.” Killien nodded. “But it obviously didn’t work. And even though you were only eleven, you still blame yourself.”
Will stared at the man’s face, pouring all his impotent rage into the look.
“Ironic,” Killien said with a slight exhale of laughter.
The word caught Will off guard. “Why?” he demanded.
The Torch looked at Will with an odd expression. “Just think how different things would be today if they’d gone differently that night.” Killien heaved himself out of his chair.
“But you’re right about one thing. You have given me what I wanted. The beginnings of it anyway. And if you want Ilsa to stay as safe and happy as she currently is, you’ll continue your translations.
“Tonight,” he continued, “as a little celebration, I’m letting you out of the Grave. Not for good, of course, but for a short time. I have visitors from the Sunn Clan here. One of them is the Torch’s own nephew. For the first time in ten years, the Morrow will be invited to the enclave of Torches.”
Killien’s face split into a broad smile. “The Sweep is being reshaped. The smaller clans are banding together and things will change, beginning with this enclave.”
Knowing it was useless, Will still cast out and tried to grab at some of Killien’s vitalle. It slipped through his grasp. Will stared at the man who’d become a stranger.
“I need the storyteller from Gulfind to impress my guests tonight, Will. Of course Ilsa will be there. I wouldn’t want to deny you the pleasure of seeing her. You have a few hours to come up with a story.” He walked to the door and paused. “If I were you, I’d make it something spectacular.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Will went to the door. As Killien and the guards topped the path and disappeared, the flat blue sky settled back down like a glass lid, clear and empty.
A smooth shape glided over the edge of the rift and toward him, Talen’s white chest glinting against the sky. Will held his arm out and leaned his head away as the small bird flapped onto his shoulder. “You’re getting better at landing.”
A thin green shoot swung from Talen’s beak, its roots still entangled in a clod of earth.
“And that’s better than your usual offering of a mouse.” Will let out a long sigh. “Let’s take it to your nest.”
Will cast out toward the bird and found the coil of energy. Even when Talen rested, he was poised to burst into flight. Gently he took hold of the vitalle in the little hawk. There it was, solid, malleable. Will could have drawn it out, shifted it, anything.
Whatever Killien had done to keep him from manipulating energy, had ended. Will thought back over his time with Killien. Had he ever tried to use any vitalle near the Torch? Maybe one of Killien’s rings had the power to stop him, but he couldn’t think of a single time he’d tried. He’d read people’s emotions, but he’d never tried to move any energy.
Will opened up to Talen, searching for the bird’s emotions. But the hawk had only a slight sense of anticipation.
“It seems like I should find some sense of loyalty. Or companionship.” Will settled Talen on back of one of the chairs. “You’re free to leave this charming place, and yet every day you come back.”
He reached out slowly and ran the back of his finger down the front of Talen’s wing. “Things don’t seem to be going well. If you come back and I’m not here…” Talen’s heartbeat thrummed against Will’s finger. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of mice.”
He sat down in the other chair. “If you get a chance, will you keep your eye out for Rass?” He tried to push the idea of the little girl at the hawk. To resonate his desire to know where she was, but he could sense no change in the little bird. “I doubt anyone’s taking care of her.” Talen turned his golden eyes toward Will, then with a rush of air, winged out of the door, and out of sight.
Will stared at the empty door. “I didn’t think so.”
He dropped his head into his hands. It really didn’t feel like a night for storytelling. He needed something impressive, but easy enough he could tell in what was bound to be a stressful situation.
Sable would be a good choice. An orphan adopted into a traveling theater company, she’d grown famous and wealthy. But after the death of her friend, she’d become disgusted with it all, given her money to the poor, and lived as a simple peasant. Until the day she met the man who would be king.
Yes, Sable was long enough to feel epic, intriguing enough to keep his attention even with Killien and Ilsa there. And since it was older than Queensland, there’d be no way to trace it to the current country. Yes, Sable would do nicely.
The rest of the afternoon passed in excruciating slowness while Will translated runes for Killien. Talen didn’t return. Neither did Sora. Or Killien. Even Lukas's hateful glares would have relieved the boredom.
Eventually the shadows inched their way up the rift walls and the sky darkened to black, except for a reddish glow to the west. The wind tore across the Sweep, sending clouds racing past the earliest stars. To the west, the red in the sky brightened. Had they lit a bonfire? The glow stretched wider across the sky and a smudge of darkness covered the stars.
Not a bonfire. A grass fire. The smoke grew, piling up in malevolent shadows, glowing with a red-blackness. The guards s
till stood at the top of the rift. Will took a step toward them, wondering if they’d let him see the fire.
A small figure stepped out from the shadows next to Will. He froze, opening up and a burst of excitement exploded inside of him.
“Will!” a little voice whispered.
“Rass?”
She grabbed his hand. “Come. There’s a big fire near the other rift, you can sneak out.”
He almost laughed, but she sounded so serious. “The guards are still there.”
“Not that way. I have a rope. Hurry!” She tugged him.
He held back. “Wait, I need my bag.” He ran into the hut and grabbed it, tucking Kachig’s book in it too.
He let Rass pull him around the hut and press a rope into his hands. He gave it a hard tug, and it stayed firm. Gripping it sent a thousand tiny daggers of pain into his palms, but he set his foot on the cliff wall and started to climb. With each step his feet crumbled away part of the wall. The rope was strangely textured, more like a braid of smooth vines than normal cord. Almost like—
“This is grass!” he hissed down at Rass.
“Of course it is.”
It was unhealthy, that’s what it was. It was unhealthy for a people to have this much of a love for grass. And this little girl was the worst. “How’d you make this?”
“I used grass. Hurry up.”
They climbed above the height of the hut, and the guards stood clearly outlined against the reddening sky, focused by the fire. If they turned, Will and Rass would be clearly visible on the cliff.
Will pulled himself up, inch by crumbling clay inch. It took a lifetime to reach the top where the thin rope spread out into a wide net stretching up onto the Sweep. Will clawed his way over the edge and threw himself down. Wind laced with smoke and ash rolled past him and he covered his mouth with his arm.
A low line of rust-red flames spread across the ground to the west, like an army of fire demons dancing across the Sweep, the wind whipping them closer.