A smaller Asian man, young and handsome, shifted in his chair. “You say the past is not an issue. Yet in the same breath, you tell us the protections of the mirror are weakening. You ask us to believe your refusal to join us so long ago has nothing to do with what is happening now?”
The dark-haired woman spoke, her voice patrician and cold. “Just because a few may purport to believe a certain theory about the past, Delun, does not make it true. Alistair warned us our individual sacrifices would not be enough to enforce the protections. He was right. Should we believe he was the determining factor? That his power was stronger than all of ours combined?”
Solomon leaned back in his chair. His face looked carved from stone. “Once again, you defend the Archiver, Moira, and once again, I ask: Do not your own personal feelings color your perception of the truth?”
Moira’s pale cheeks colored and her jaw clenched. Her voice was clear when she spoke. “Do they not color yours?”
Solomon jerked from his seat, his hand pointing at the woman before him. “You presume to question—”
Max stepped forward, his hands spread out before him. He moved over to stand next to Alistair, his tone respectful. “The past was a tragedy, and, as the Guardians teach, something that cannot be undone. The future, however, has not yet been set in stone. If the presence in the black mirror can be stopped, then that is worth overcoming old prejudices.”
Moira nodded at the dark-skinned man and, with a last look at Alistair, walked back to her chair. Solomon was quiet. With a flare of his nostrils, he sat down heavily.
Delun spoke, his gaze sliding uneasily over Solomon. “Archiver, if you would tell us why you’ve come …?”
Alistair shifted. And by the tense set of his jaw, Gwen wondered if he would refuse to speak. But in a firm voice, he began. He spoke of the destruction of the mirrors, of the trap set out for Rafe, and of Gwen’s own experiences in the mausoleum with the knife. Alistair was careful not to make any mention of her nightmares.
When Alistair finished, Solomon spoke, his tone mocking. “How do we know it is not her presence in the Archives that has let this thing free?”
Alistair stepped forward ready to speak. Max put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he closed his mouth. At the same time, Rafe stepped in front of her, as if shielding her from view would protect her from the naked hatred on Solomon’s face. Gwen wondered what she had done to deserve such hate from a man she had just met.
It was Moira who spoke next. “The connection is clear for anyone to see.”
Gwen’s brow furrowed. What connection? She moved to step around Rafe, but he held her back with a gentle arm. She looked at him, and he shook his head, urging her to stay silent.
“The connection cannot be overcome, although the protections can still be strengthened. If we were to repeat the original ceremony—”
Solomon interrupted Alistair. “The one that left your wife dying at your feet?”
Gwen thought Alistair’s jaw would break. “Please.” His gaze didn’t waver from Solomon’s. “What happened before cannot happen again. The original process should work to strengthen what has been put in place. It was my wife’s sacrifice that created the prison. Such a thing should not be necessary to fix what has been weakened.” He looked at each of the council members. “Please, do not let the past repeat itself. We have all lost too much.”
Solomon smiled. “Apparently not all of us.” He looked at Gwen.
Rafe broke his silence, and his voice was filled with all the mocking derision that Solomon’s held. “Authority and I have never gotten along, but I’ve never seen a greater bunch of antiquated hypocrites as you bunch. You pretend to serve the time streams, to offer your lives to protect those who know no better. Yet your pettiness and spite prevent you from seeing the danger when it is right in front of your face.”
Solomon glared. “Careful, boy. You have no power here. We tolerate you because of Alistair. Do not delude yourself into believing our tolerance is boundless.”
Rafe laughed. “You think I’m afraid of you? You think you have so much power because you sit where you do? Alistair believed you would help him stop what is coming. Apparently, he was wrong.” He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen a weaker group—”
Solomon growled. “You will be quiet.”
“Or what? You hide in your little underground chamber pretending at a power that you no longer have. You preach doctrine that is incorrect, yet you refuse to see the truth of what is happening.”
“I said enough!”
Rafe shook his head. “Look around you. Your world is crumbling at your feet, and you refuse to help the one person who may know how to stop it. Pathetic.”
Solomon curled up a fist and slammed it into the arm of the chair he sat in. “Enough!” Gone were the smooth cultured tones. Instead, his words were harsh and guttural, colored with an ancient accent that brought a chill to Gwen’s skin.
Cassian stood, his lips curling in vicious glee. “May I remind you of what stands before us?”
Rafe smirked at the small form. “Pardon?”
“Not only has the Archiver performed a test without the sanctioning of the Council, an important artifact was stolen from us as well.”
Moira stood up, her face ashen. “We’ve discussed this and determined—”
Cassian spun on his feet, glaring at the tall woman. “You’ve determined nothing. The Council vested me with the power to serve as the physical embodiment of the protector of the time streams. I say these two represent a threat to all Guardians and should be stripped of their power.”
Max stepped forward, his face worried. “You do not have the authority to take the power from the Archiver. That must be discussed by the entire Council.”
Cassian smiled, and Gwen saw, with a shiver, that it mirrored the expression on Solomon’s face. “Maybe not, although I have the power to set such a thing in motion. And there is one here who is not an Archiver.” He turned to Solomon, looking no more than a trained dog begging for a treat. “Council leader, there is a man who stands before you who has betrayed the Guardians, whose presence is a danger to the time streams, and who must be stopped at all means.”
Solomon’s lips continued to curl. Moira stepped forward, her hand slashing through the air. “Are we going to let political agendas overcome what is happening here? Have you heard nothing of what Alistair said? The Archives are being destroyed, the protections—”
Solomon turned to her, his voice cold but civil. “That is enough, Lady Moira. Your concerns will be met at the next scheduled gathering.”
While it was difficult to know whose side he was on, Delun looked distressed. “Solomon, that is not for months.”
Solomon smiled politely. “As leader of this Council, this is my decision to make. We shall decide on what to do about the black mirror and our Archiver at the next meeting. And oh …” His eyes brightened as if he remembered something, “… arrest the other one.”
Cassian hopped down the stairs, face shining with triumph. “My pleasure.” He motioned for Jacob and Joshua.
“No!” Her voice cried out in the echoing room, and she rushed to stand in front of Rafe. The two monks stopped in front of her, looking at her with indifferent mirrored faces. Solomon’s face was white with anger, and below him, Cassian smirked with a glinting light in his eyes, waiting for her to make the step that would put her in a cell next to Rafe.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair stiffen and turn towards her, as if to warn her to be careful in her actions. She didn’t care about any of them. Her focus was on one person alone.
Turning her back on them all, she looked with wide eyes into Rafe’s face. “Rafe, you can’t.”
He cupped her face with one hand. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. You and Alistair will get everything straightened out.”
She choked against her panic. “Please.”
He made a soft humming noise to interrupt her, rubbin
g his thumb across her cheek before letting her go. “You’ve got to let me go now. It’s all right. I’ve been in worse cages than anything they can think up.”
She shook her head. The thought he would be in the hands of the Guardians filled her with a worry she couldn’t explain. And there were still too many things unsaid, too many things undone.
For once, she acted on what she wanted, not caring what anyone would think or how she would look. Grabbing him by the collar, she pulled his face towards hers. Her hands gripped his shirt, and when her lips met his, they were soft and gentle. The world ceased to exist, and it was the two of them. She touched her forehead to his, trying not to cry.
“Gwen.” His voice was a soft whisper, full of all the unvoiced promises they had never said.
With a breath more like a sob, she stepped away from him and squared her shoulders. “I’ll come back for you.”
His serious gaze held hers, before a smirk pulled at his lips. “I’m counting on it.”
He was the first to turn away, raising an eyebrow at the two guards that stood silent next to him. “Coming boys, or do I have to arrest myself?” Jacob and Joshua trailed after him.
“Well,” Solomon leaned back in his chair, face smug, “how touching. I think I might have shed a tear.”
Gwen’s face burned, but she didn’t answer him. There would be no point.
“Was there anything else you wanted, Alistair? I believe this meeting was very productive.”
Next to Solomon, Moira was white-faced and angry. Delun fidgeted in his seat. Yet neither of the council members chose to speak against Solomon.
Alistair bowed his head. “I won’t give up, Solomon.”
Solomon’s answering sneer was as cold as ice. “Oh, I should hope not, old friend.”
With his spine held straight, Alistair turned to leave. He whispered a few quiet words to Max before motioning for Gwen to follow him.
She hesitated but followed him from the room. What other choice do I have? The laughter of the invisible presence rang loud in her ears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE WALK OUT OF the underground chamber was quiet. With each step, Gwen fought the urge to go rushing back and find Rafe. He wasn’t safe in the hands of the Guardians. He should be with us.
When the elevator doors closed in front of them, Alistair’s shoulders sagged, and he braced himself against the metal doors.
“Alistair?”
He closed his eyes, and a shudder wracked his frame. “I am sorry, Gwen. I have failed you.”
“I don’t understand what happened with Rafe—with any of it.”
He sighed. “Solomon and I have a less than pleasant past. It was enough to prevent him from allowing the Council to help us.” The elevator pinged and slid opened.
They paused in the lobby, the gray cement walls looking more dismal than before. “What I did not tell you before is that, when the Council proposed their course of action, I was against it. My wife believed we had no other choice. She left when I was asleep. I arrived in time to see her sacrifice herself to make sure the protections would hold fast.” He blew out a shaky breath. “There are those on the Council who believe it was my reluctance that made her final step a necessity.” He gave her a sad smile. “There are times I agree with them.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Alistair. You were only trying to do what you thought best.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Gwen knew he didn’t believe her. “We should return home. Perhaps we can find another course of action that does not depend on the Guardians’ help for success.” His smile was a little stronger. “All hope is not lost yet. We can find a way.”
She didn’t know if she believed him, although she smiled back anyway. When his hand closed over her upper arm, she closed her eyes. And taking her compass, she brought them home.
They opened their eyes to chaos. The front office was ripped apart. Books lay torn and scattered. The furniture lay in shattered pieces on the floor. The door to the Archives was closed. Its dented and scratched appearance revealed the battle fought against it.
Alistair jumped towards the door, touching it as if he needed physical proof it was still standing.
“Alistair, what happened?” Gwen surveyed the damage around her, horrified at what she saw.
“The Archives will not open to anyone who does not belong there. Whoever did this was not able to get in. He walked around the room as if confused by the destruction around him. “I don’t understand what the motive would be for attacking this office. There’s no hidden power here—” His words were cut off when a small form darted from Gwen’s office, rushing at Alistair.
Alistair hissed when something dug into his side, and Gwen moved to rush forward.
Seymour’s eyes gleamed, and he licked his lips. Alistair must have shifted because Seymour dug the gun tighter into his side. “Careful, careful.”
Alistair’s calm gaze locked with hers. “Gwen.”
She reached for her compass, though every part of her felt like it would be betraying Alistair to leave.
Another shove of the gun, and Alistair hissed again. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little miss.”
“It won’t kill—” His words were cut off by a grunt of pain.
Seymour laughed, his glinting eyes staring hard into Gwen’s. “It won’t kill him; he’s right. However, it will make a lovely little mess in this office. You sure you can find help and get back here quick enough?”
Gwen’s hand tightened on her compass. She hesitated. After everything, she didn’t want to lose Alistair. What do I do? “Alistair?”
Seymour shoved him forward so he fell to his knees. This time the gun was pressed to his temple. “He tell you what happens when a traveler gets shot in the head? He may survive, but he won’t remember your pretty little face anymore.” His laugh slithered over her spine. “Too bad he isn’t as easy to kill as the other one. What was her name again?” With his free hand, he dug around in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh yes, Margaret.” With another sick laugh, he threw the paper at her feet.
It felt like ice water had been poured down her back. Gwen dropped her compass. “What did you say?” A ringing pierced her ears.
“Read it. Read it.” He laughed like an over-excited child.
“Gwen, don’t.”
She paid Alistair little mind as she bent down to pick up the crumpled piece of paper. As she unfolded it with shaking hands, she tried to understand what she read. I’m so happy to tell you … remission … getting better. Swallowing against the bile rising in her throat, she stared at Seymour. “What is this?”
“My master thought you needed a little more motivation to find where the Kronos blade was hidden. I knew your aunt’s death would be just the neat little trick.” He mock whispered into Alistair’s ear. “Too bad the old broad was getting better. Who knew? Thought maybe I was doing her a favor.”
Alistair’s face was gray, and Gwen watched with fascination as a muscle jumped in his jaw.
Her gaze focused on the gleaming silver of the gun, still pressed against Alistair’s temple. She couldn’t think about Maggie. Not now. Or I’ll fall apart.
Her eyes watered, and she bit her cheek. There was the taste of blood on her tongue, and she was calm enough to speak. “What do you want?”
Seymour shook his head, smiling gleefully. “It’s not what I want; it’s what my master wants.”
“What does Aeon—?”
He raised his free hand to his lips, shushing her like a child would playing a game. “No, no, that would be telling. It’s a surprise, isn’t it?” He tilted his head to his side, and then the playfulness was gone. “Come here.”
When she hesitated, he unlocked the safety with a click that echoed through the still room. “Don’t make me ask again.”
She met Alistair’s gaze. “I’m sorry.” Stepping toward Seymour, she straightened her shoulders as he reached towards her. When the edges of her vision
started to go black, she accepted it with a sob.
She was back in the labyrinth, although this one was different from the one in her test. Of all the possibilities that had run through her mind when Seymour had run his fingers across her forehead, she didn’t think she would open her eyes to the view in front of her.
Fear threatened to paralyze her. The stakes were too high. Alistair’s life was on the line, and it was too important to risk by delaying over unnamed fears. The maze in front of her was a dry and waterless thing. A hollow wind blew through the endless pathways, sounding like the cries of restless ghosts.
The echo of her footsteps bounced around her making it sound like her steps were being shadowed by invisible followers. There was the persistent feeling of being watched, and she paused before she went around each turn, peering around the wall to see if there was someone waiting for her on the other side.
The watching presence had the same feel as it did when she visited the underground chamber of the Guardians. Now it was overlaid with something else. Before it had been a sleepy, waiting thing; now it was filled with a restless, tense expectancy. It flavored the air around her, filling her up with a buzzing energy. All she wanted was to scream and release the tension.
Still, she continued her careful path through the maze. A part of her worried over the wisdom of such a strategy, but there was no other option. She could only see where it would take her.
The sound of a child’s laughter echoed down the path, and she swirled, facing emptiness all around her. Foolish as the thought may be, the space felt haunted—by restless memories and broken dreams. She shivered as another haunted blast of wind swirled by her feet. With it was the sound of dead leaves being blown over dry ground and the same hollow moaning, too low to make out words, although the emotion of desperation was clear enough.
She continued her slow deliberate pace, only to pause so abruptly she tripped over her own feet. A pair of wide green eyes peered at her from behind the corner. The boy was young, with dark hair that fell over his forehead and into his eyes. He had a sharp nose and a pointed chin. The severity that may have made his face look too old was countered by the wide mischievousness of his smile.
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