Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3)

by Melissa McPhail

  Franco could barely think for the pounding in his head. He desperately wanted to crawl into a dark corner and drown himself in wine.

  Yes, dissipation is ever the coward’s retreat. Go on then. Hide your head in the sand—as though the crimes etched into your flesh won’t be visible if only you close your eyes.

  Franco pinched his brow. He felt woefully ill-suited to a spy’s artful and devious craft. Espionage didn’t suit him.

  No, craven despair fits you so much better.

  Carian meanwhile saluted Devangshu with his goblet. “Rethynnea is the least of my accomplishments, mate. But I’ve heard of you, as well. My pal Kardashian had plenty to say of your work for the Grand Duchess of Kroth. Said he had quite a time getting to her jewels, thanks to you,” and he winked at this last.

  Devangshu’s eyes widened. “Kardashian.” He bent his head and asked low in Carian’s ear, “You know the thief well, do you?”

  Carian drew back to cast the man a guarded look. “Possibly.”

  Devangshu dropped his voice even lower. “I’ve heard word Kardashian is here tonight. You would recognize him? Even…put me in touch with him?”

  “Well, that depends.”

  Devangshu eyed him critically. “On?”

  Carian flashed a toothy grin. “On how much you’re offering for my introduction.” He clapped the Bemothi on the shoulder and aimed a look at Franco as he guided Devangshu away, saying, “Let’s you and I have another drink and discuss the terms of our accord.”

  As Franco watched them go, he silently cursed the Vestals, the Malorin’athgul Rinokh, and every Companion he could think of. Yet in truth, he knew if it hadn’t been for his own stupidity three centuries ago, he’d have been several lifetimes distant from Björn van Gelderan’s infernal game by now.

  Once the pirate’s tall head finally vanished into the crowd, Franco turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  Shade and darkness. Alshiba is here?

  Dread filled the air so thickly that he nearly choked on it. He’d understood and accepted some risk in coming to Niko’s fête, but he’d never imagined having to face off against the Alorin Seat herself. At the slightest provocation, Alshiba Torinin would drag him to Illume Belliel for interrogation—and it was now his word against the Third Vestal Seth Silverbow’s. He felt ill just contemplating the mush his brain would become when set as the battleground for a duel between Illume Belliel’s Questioners and the truthbindings set in place by the Fourth and Fifth Vestals.

  “Franco? Franco, it is you!”

  Franco halted and closed his eyes with a grimace. Fate was pulling no punches that night. In fact, Franco was coming to fear Fate quite had it in for him.

  The courtier’s role he’d played for so long came to his aid, fitting him like an old cloak worn thin but still conformed to his shape. Summoning a smile, he turned to greet the Healer Mian Gartelt, took her hand and made a little bow as he kissed it. “Mian, always a pleasure.”

  Mian’s cherubic face beamed. “We’ve been on the lookout for you all night.” She looped her arm through Franco’s and drew him toward the room of Companions he’d been so eager to avoid. “I must say, countless people are asking to meet you. You must tell us what happened at the Temple of the Vestals. Have you seen Raine D’Lacourte since the devastation? Does he live?” Mian ever thrived on bloody gossip, and her eyes were bright with the expectation of juicing Franco for all he was worth. She gave a little giggle. “Oh, it’s quite the topic of speculation!”

  “I really don’t know what I could add, Mian.”

  “But you were there! Everyone says so.”

  “I suppose everyone would know.”

  She gave him a chiding look and a little pout, which on a lovelier lady might’ve been provocative but on her chubby face merely appeared sullen. “You’re not going to be uninteresting and declare yourself truthbound, are you, Franco? You were so dreadfully honorable before the wars, but I thought you’d changed.”

  He arched a brow. “I can’t say honor has been foremost among my surviving attributes, Mian.”

  “That’s a relief.” She pushed a lock of hair from her blue eyes with absent annoyance. “Honorable men are ever so tedious.”

  Mian drew him further down the gallery, prattling gleefully about those of their Companions who’d recently been found a bloody ruin, fodder for a Tyriolicci’s blades. Franco barely kept his loathing in check, yet none of this showed in his face; how easily dissembling came to him now.

  The Fifth Vestal was right to condemn you on Tiern’aval. You deserve this fate.

  “Are you listening, Franco?” Mian tugged on his arm. “I said Niko is waving us over—look!” She made a beeline for the realm’s newest Vestal.

  Feeling like he tumbled ever deeper into an abyss, Franco steeled himself to meet their host.

  Niko’s handsome face lifted with a smile as they approached. “Ah, Franco—Franco!” Niko embraced him and then drew back to take him by both shoulders. “How honored I am by your presence here on this special night, my old friend.”

  Franco forced a smile. “Where else would I be?”

  Niko looked to Mian. “Thank you for unearthing this treasure, Mian, but will you excuse us a moment, my dear?”

  “Of course, Your Excellency.” Mian bobbed a curtsy and fastened Niko with a look of vapid adoration as she moved off.

  Niko took Franco by the arm—Franco was beginning to feel everyone’s favorite ragdoll, dragged by the arm hither and yon—and remarked in a low voice, “I detect your usual dry humor, my friend, but there are some—albeit a very few—who did refuse to attend my fête tonight. In their vanity, no doubt, they felt themselves more worthy of the Vestal ring and now use my elevation as a reason to bemoan and sulk like petulant children—oh, thank you.” He chose two goblets from a steward, offered one to Franco in exchange for the empty one in his hand, and sipped his own as he continued, “Such misbehavior cannot go unpunished, you will certainly agree.”

  A cold unease coiled in Franco’s stomach. And just how are you planning to affect such punishment?

  Niko started them walking down the gallery again, giving Franco the repulsive sensation of being on parade. He said low into Franco’s ear, “As I promised when you came to me so many moons ago, you will see changes now that I’m in power.” He smiled and nodded at someone in the crowd, but he kept Franco clutched firmly in his hold as he continued, “The realm has long withered from lack of strong leadership—and especially our strand. It’s a burden to be certain, bearing sole responsibility for restoring Balance in the land.”

  Franco managed a thin smile of encouragement while his stomach churned in violent somersaults of outrage.

  Niko sighed and affected a look of significant forbearance. “Tis a grave weight I’ve taken upon my humble shoulders.”

  “How noble of you to accept the Vestalship when it has so clearly been thrust upon you.” Really the man could not have been more vile.

  Incredible. You actually made that sound sincere.

  “I knew you would understand, Franco.” Niko wrapped his arm around Franco’s shoulder, still guiding them down the gallery. Everyone stared as they passed—some with curiosity, most with envy. “Since we were roommates together, you have ever understood me.”

  Better than you can imagine.

  “But I’ve been hearing distressing tales of you, my old friend. Of course I never believe such gossip.” He gave Franco a smile saturated with insincerity while his eyes speared Franco, probing for explanation. “As the Second Vestal, of course I must investigate such remarkable rumors, even when they involve old friends.” When Franco said nothing, Niko added, “Alshiba herself has come in the hopes of speaking with you, but perhaps things would go better for you if I might stand in support of your name. Of course, I would need to know the truth of things.”

  Franco eyed him remotely. “A magnanimous offer, Niko, but I couldn’t bear the thought.” Really, I couldn’t bear it.

/>   Niko took the comment as Franco expected he would. “How honorable you are, Franco. You never were one to foist responsibility on another’s shoulders. But don’t be so hasty to disregard my help. These are serious accusations leveled against you—sedition, betrayal, alliance with the Fallen One…”

  Franco snorted his feigned disbelief. “You think I would ally with Björn van Gelderan?”

  Niko’s tense expression softened somewhat. “No. No, of course I don’t. But Seth Silverbow…” He shook his head resolutely. “His fervor can be quite convincing. Perhaps if I had some sense of the story myself—”

  A hush spread through the gallery suddenly, and Franco followed the gazes of the other guests to see that Alshiba Torinin now stood in the distant archway surrounded by a host of white-cloaked soldiers. Paladin Knights from Illume Belliel. Franco swallowed in spite of himself.

  Niko gripped his arm tightly and dragged him beneath an archway leading to another gallery, pulling him out of the rush of guests now mobbing the Alorin Seat—and out of sight of Alshiba.

  “I must know, Franco,” Niko whispered, urgent and low. “Are you still with us?”

  Franco held his searching gaze. He thought of the oath binding him and murmured, “My loyalties have not changed in three hundred years, Niko.”

  Niko pressed his lips together and nodded. He motioned them on into the adjacent gallery and stopped in the shadow of a massive statue depicting the Hallovian god Laocht wrestling with a serpent. “I fear my responsibilities tonight must prevent me from hearing your side of the story now, Franco, but I’ll find you later to resume our talk. I want nothing more than to swap tales of our adventures in privacy and peace.” He paused, smiled. His expression seemed amazingly genuine. “I recall so fondly our evenings spent fireside while all the Sormitáge went about its business. It’s been too long since we shared confidences.” At this last, Niko gave him a meaningful smile. Franco stifled a shudder.

  Carian’s arrival spared him further of Niko’s particular intimacies. “There you are!” The islander ambled cheerfully up and turned his brown eyes between Franco and Niko expectantly.

  Franco was just about to make a reluctant introduction when Niko bowed his head in gracious acceptance of Carian’s esteem, as though the pirate’s declaration had been referring solely to him. “Always a pleasure to greet our island brethren.” He looked from Carian to Franco inquiringly. “Are you two…acquainted?”

  Franco muttered into his wine, “In a manner of speaking.”

  Carian barked a laugh. “Ha! Don’t let the Admiral fool you, Captain. Our history ranges far.”

  Franco glared at him while Niko smoothed his hair, looking perplexed. “Well…allow me to welcome you, my Jamaiian fellow in the Guild, and yet…” Niko settled Carian a look of fatherly reprimand so obviously contrived that Franco wondered if the man hadn’t spent some hours practicing it in the mirror. He placed a hand on Carian’s shoulder. “I must say, it ails me that so few of your fellows could make it here tonight. I understand the logistical difficulty when Jamaii hosts but a single node—and of course there’s your proclivity for traveling by ship. Now that I’m in power, we shall remedy this.”

  Franco couldn’t be sure if Niko was referring to Jamaii’s single node, the lack of support he received from the island’s natives, or their love of sailing.

  Carian spied a passing steward and spun awkwardly on one foot to snag a goblet from the tray with all the elegance of a spiraling spider monkey. He saluted Niko with the goblet as he resettled. “That’d sure be something to see, Cap’n.”

  “Ah well…you’ll notice a plethora of changes now that I’m in power, my pirate friend. No doubt you’ll want to test soon for your ring.”

  Carian snorted. “Why in Tiern’aval would I want to do that?”

  Niko’s smile dripped with condescension. He gripped Carian’s shoulder again. “Why, we cannot have untested men traveling the nodes! This lack of structure has directly contributed to the realm’s unbalanced state.” He looked to Franco as if expecting his unquestioning support of this assessment. “You will hear more of the many improvements I have planned at my Address tonight, but the first reform to be enacted is no secret.” He drew up tall to better convey the grandeur of his words. “Henceforth, no unringed Adept will be allowed to travel the nodes. Any Nodefinder wishing to do so will be required to test for his ring. Those who fail will—if accepted—train at one of the schools I shall be establishing…or I suppose at the Sormitáge,” he added as a resentful afterthought, his tone implying the Sormitáge perhaps held its Adepts to a questionable standard.

  Franco stared at him in horror. “However do you plan to manage this?”

  Niko gave him a sagacious look. “I understand your reaction, my old friend—such necessary restrictions will be difficult to enforce. But let me reassure you, we’ve put much thought into the implementation of our reform. Of course, you needn’t worry.” He smiled and clapped Franco on the shoulder, rousing his repugnance once more. “Have you not claimed two Sormitáge rings, even as I?”

  “Three,” Carian remarked into his wine.

  Franco shot him a warning glare, but the damage was done.

  “Three.” Niko affected a smile as his hand fell abruptly to his side. “Three?” His amiable veneer grew thin. “I did not remember it so.”

  “Bestowed upon him by the High Mage herself.” Carian saluted Franco with his goblet. “The Admiral’s got the rings and the certificate to prove it.”

  Franco seriously considered strangling him.

  With some effort, Niko contorted his face into an innocuous expression. “Well, well…” He took a long swallow of wine—too long—and looked Franco over again as he lowered the goblet. Then came the painful spreading of lips that passed for a smile, and not a tooth of it sincere. “Well, now is the time to wear your rings proudly, Franco. I do hope to see you at my Address?” He appeared suddenly desperate to be away.

  Franco managed an anemic smile. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

  Niko took his leave with haste.

  When the Vestal had moved out of earshot, Franco clutched Carian’s arm and hissed ferociously, “What in the thirteen hells was that?”

  “Easy, Admiral.” Carian’s brown eyes were following Niko through the crowd. “This ain’t my first pony show.”

  Franco cursed under his breath. His relationship with Niko depended on his ingratiating himself to the man, not showing himself a rival. “I’ll never gain his confidence now,” Franco snapped. “You might as well have announced our true allegiances as declare to Niko van Amstel that I have more Sormitáge rings than he does.”

  Carian shifted his gaze to Franco. “Forget Niko. We were never going to get anything out of that powdered nancy, and Devangshu knows all.”

  Franco blinked. “Vita?”

  The pirate gave him a telling look. “I’ve learned a few things you need to hear.”

  “I—” Franco blinked and drew back. “Already?”

  “You think the Great Master sent me along just for my stunningly handsome looks? Listen, you’re hung between the devil and the deep blue sea here, Admiral. Everybody’s got your name on their tongue, and plenty of ‘em know you by sight. Me on the other hand…” and he shrugged his eyebrows meaningfully.

  While Franco was pondering his point, Carian drained his goblet and pushed it off into Franco’s hand. “Me and Vita got something we need to do. Just keep out of sight, savvy, Admiral? I’ll find you after the, uh—” he cleared his throat significantly and grinned, “Vestal’s Address.” He ambled off.

  Franco gazed after the pirate, trying to determine whether he should thank him or garrote him. Eventually he decided a high dose of wine was in order before either eventuality could come to fruition, so he refreshed his goblet and made an effort to blend in with the crowd.

  Though Alshiba Torinin and her white knights were still in the other room, the hair remained raised on the back of his neck, and he con
stantly felt the itch of eyes upon him. Franco had no illusions: someone was bound to recognize him again soon. Fortune grace him it wouldn’t be the Alorin Seat.

  When faced with the threat of torturous interrogation, any man might’ve thought to flee. Niko’s portals offered a variety of paths toward escape, yet it never occurred to Franco to use them. For all he resented and loathed his oath to Björn van Gelderan, he was bound to it to the end of his days.

  Which will be fairly soon, from the look of things.

  A sudden tingling between his shoulder-blades drew Franco’s awareness, and he darted into the shadow of a statue a breath before Alshiba appeared in the gallery entrance. As the other guests broke into welcoming applause, Franco peered between the statue’s legs and studied the Alorin Seat. She appeared as he remembered: a tall woman, flaxen-haired, beautiful if a little too thin in that willowy Avataren way. She wore a white, high-collared gown, and her blue eyes surveyed the room with keen deliberation. As Franco watched, her Paladin Knights filed in at her side. A nod from their mistress, and they fanned out into the crowd.

  Catching his breath, Franco pulled back behind the statue and pressed his body close to the cold marble, heart racing. His eyes searched for some means of escape. A steward was just then passing, so Franco fell into step with him, shoulder to shoulder, hoping that from the back they seemed a pair. The steward cast him a curious eye, but Franco smiled broadly and nodded, and they turned together and headed beneath an arch into the servants’ passages.