by Frank Morin
“Why?” Connor asked suspiciously, trying to read Mattias’s expression.
“There’s widespread doubt that they came to the table with real intent. I would have liked to look into their eyes and try to read their sincerity.”
Mattias didn’t bother asking Connor his opinion, so he shared it anyway. “They were serious for now, but that treaty won’t stop them when they change their mind. With the crazy weather we’re having, I’d be surprised if anyone had tried anything before spring anyway.”
“We’ll be ready for them if they do,” Mattias said confidently.
Connor didn’t share anything about the plans he and Kilian were making to foster a revolution among the Guardians in Obrion. Mattias didn’t need to know, and the two of them weren’t exactly close friends.
“With things so quiet around here, I imagine you’ll have to return to Edderitz to resume your other duties,” Connor said. He couldn’t wait for Mattias to travel hundreds of leagues from Verena. He wasn’t sure he kept his eagerness out of his voice.
“There’s no hurry,” Mattias assured him a bit smugly. “With my father’s health so poor, Crown Prince Theodor has agreed to allow me to stay down here for a while to help my sister with her duties.”
“That’s nice,” Connor managed.
Mattias’s smile faded and he gestured toward a nearby wooden door. “I have something to discuss with you.”
He led Connor inside. It was a simple meeting room, with little more than a long table and several chairs. Mattias drew back the drapes to allow some light into the room, then gestured to a seat. Connor took it and Mattias took one across from him.
“We both know why we’re both here,” Mattias said in a conversational but not quite friendly voice.
“Verena.”
“She’s receiving the best possible care. It’s just a matter of time before she wakes.” He spoke with the same forced assurance Connor used, the result of telling himself that fact over and over until he could not imagine any other outcome.
Connor wondered if Mattias was better at self-delusion than he. He desperately wished Verena would awaken, but as a commoner in Obrion, he had grown up with too many disappointments to not recognize that bad things happened.
All he said was, “Could be any time.”
Mattias leaned a little closer. “That’s my concern. When she awakens, she’s going to need peace and rest.”
“Then you should probably leave right now,” Connor said evenly.
Mattias did not smile. “What she does not need is a lot of confusion, heartache, and fighting.”
“Exactly. I’ll tell her you send your best.”
Mattias’s calm expression cracked, and for a moment he looked annoyed, but quickly regained control. “I like you Connor. I appreciate all you’ve done to help our country.”
Connor felt obligated to say, “Thank you. I appreciate the effort you took in helping train me in quartzite.”
“I honestly think we could be really good friends.”
“We probably could have been if you hadn’t started kissing Verena and trying to steal her away from me,” Connor pointed out, his voice turning harder, despite his best efforts to conceal his anger.
“What did you expect me to do? If you were in my position and had a chance to maybe win her back, wouldn’t you try?”
Connor wanted to shout, She’s with me! Back off. He hated to admit Mattias might have a point. “I know you care about her. I can’t imagine anyone who knows Verena not caring, but you had your chance and you let her go. Verena moved on, and I’m not going to allow you to confuse her.”
Connor was ready to fight Mattias right there, even though he only had basalt. No doubt Mattias had obsidian ready and Connor had seen him fight. He was one of the most skilled Allcarvers Connor had ever seen. He had leaped into battle against the entire pack of rampagers and actually survived for several seconds until Connor swept them away in a flood and killed most of them.
None of that mattered in that moment, though.
Mattias raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t bring you in here to fight. I brought you in here to offer a truce.”
Connor still preferred the idea of throwing Mattias out that big window, but the suggestion surprised him enough that he asked, “Truce?”
“We both love Verena. She knows it. We know it. We don’t need to fight about it because it’s not our decision. It’s hers.”
“She made the decision and chose me.”
“She did, but then you did some rather stupid things, Connor, and I believe there is now a question in her mind about the right course.”
“I think you’ve been listening to yourself in the mirror with your teeth glowing a little too often. There’s no question.”
A torrent of fear and guilt burst from where he usually kept it bottled up in his heart and he fought to keep his breathing even. He had acted the fool, had allowed Shona to manipulate him again, had lost focus. He and Verena had both made some bad choices, but his errors were so much worse. He longed for nothing more than a chance to tell her how sorry he felt.
Would he get that chance? Would she forgive him? Or would he see her awaken only to watch her return to Mattias? The thought filled him with dread and fury, and for a second the beast stirred in his heart.
No. He refused to let porphyry undermine his will. He could never risk tempting porphyry again. He had nearly killed his own family the last time. He’d never forgive himself if he ever hurt Verena.
“Then you should not be afraid to agree to the truce,” Mattias said, watching him closely. Connor wondered how much of his fears and worries Mattias could read.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I propose that we don’t argue, don’t fight, and don’t pressure her when she awakens. She needs time to recover. We’ll both be there to support her and to help her.” He leaned a little closer and added more intently, “We will leave her free to make her choice and we’ll both agree to accept that choice. Only a man lacking honor would make her life difficult with a lot of useless drama.”
“So you agree to not scream or whine or complain or throw a tantrum when she confirms that she’s with me?” Connor asked.
Mattias took a long, slow breath, his fingers clenching, as if he was rethinking the offer. After several seconds he said, “Yes. When you agreed to the same thing.”
Mattias waited, his gaze locked onto Connor’s. Connor really wished he had taken the opportunity to throw Mattias out that window earlier. Now it was too late.
If he refused to agree, Mattias would take that to mean that he was immature and that he did not care about Verena. No doubt he would explain it that way to Saskia and the two of them would do their best to bar Connor from Verena’s side.
That would guarantee when she woke up only Mattias would be there to comfort and help her. As much as Mattias claimed to want to accept her decision, Connor had no doubt that he would do everything in his power to sway her choice.
Unfortunately, Connor did not have the resources to counter all the good that Mattias was doing for her. She needed the Healers, the healthbeds, and the constant care that only the citadel with its thousands of servants and workers and Petralists could provide. He loved Verena too much to put her at risk.
So he nodded and said in a strong, clear voice. “I agree.”
11
Sometimes Crying Is the Best Medicine
Connor and Mattias parted without further comment, and Connor marched toward the citadel exit. He needed some open air. He should go visit Ivor. From what he’d heard, the prisoners were being treated well, especially the officers. He couldn’t imagine Ivor not maneuvering himself into the best possible position.
Hopefully his friend would be eager for something to do. He needed Ivor to help the Guardians fight for freedom. He might even be able to get Ivor released into his custody for that effort.
He reached the ground level and was crossing a wide a
trium where seven different hallways converged when a familiar voice called, “Connor, there you are!”
“Aifric?”
She jogged up to him, dressed in an ankle-length, fur-lined coat over her normal Healer whites. Her thick, brown hair bounced as she moved, and her deep, brown eyes twinkled with humor.
“How did you get to Altkalen?” Connor asked.
“I caught a ride in the daily windrider. I heard you came to visit Verena.”
“I did. Have you seen her yet?” Verena might be getting excellent care, but Connor trusted Aifric more than any other Healer.
She nodded. “The Healers here are very good.”
Connor hesitated, but couldn’t help asking, “Do you think she’ll wake up soon?”
Aifric squeezed his hand and gave him an encouraging smile. “I’d say chances are very good, but with mind injuries, there’s no telling how long we’ll have to wait.”
“We’ll wait however long it takes,” Connor promised, trying not to show his disappointment.
Aifric gestured toward one of the hallways to their left. “Have you had lunch yet?”
“No.” As soon as she asked the question, his stomach rumbled, as if it had been waiting for a chance to remind him that running all the way from the border might be fun, but it took enormous amounts of energy. Ivor would have to wait. “I’m starving.”
“Figured as much.” She led him through a wide tower, then down to a subterranean level. There, Aifric pushed through a pair of wide but otherwise unremarkable wooden double doors.
A wave of delicious scents seized Connor by the nose. He breathed deep the aromas of roasting pork, fresh-baked bread, and a mix of spices that almost rivaled the intense flavor of marble.
“What is this place?” he asked as they stepped into a tile-lined entry hall, with another door on the far side. Racks of diners’ coats hung to their left. Most looked like officers’ uniforms.
“This is one of the senior officers’ dining halls,” Aifric said, leading him toward the opposite door where a portly, middle-aged soldier stood at a tiny podium desk. As soon as she identified Connor, the man rushed to open the door for them.
“One of the perks of being famous is good food sometimes,” she told him as shed led him between tables and booths scattered around the long, low room. Plenty of space separated each of them to allow for private conversations. The floor was clad in hardwood, the walls draped in expensive tapestries, and soft lighting kept the room in perpetual near-twilight.
They selected a small booth near the back of the room, and a waiter soon brought them a huge meal of venison sauerbraten, smothered in a delicious sauce Hamish would love. It was spicy, but sweet, and seemed to magnify the natural flavors of the meat. Connor ate an extra plate for his friend.
Only after he finished his third helping did he wave off the relieved-looking waiter. “That was delicious.”
“I usually prefer eating in officers dining halls whenever possible,” Aifric said. Although she had only eaten a fraction as much as Connor, she looked satisfied. “The food is better, as is the eavesdropping.”
“Is that why we’re here?” Connor asked, wondering if she planned to switch to a different persona. He didn’t think she had any secret missions, but maybe he was about to find out.
“Not today.” Her features shifted slightly, the soft oval face of Aifric the Healer turning harder, more predatory, and her voice changed to a colder, deadlier tone.
Student Eighteen fixed her penetrating gaze on him. “The queen is back, Connor. We’ve never faced a danger so dire.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She twirled her knife through her fingers. “I can’t protect you from her. I don’t know if anyone can, but I can make sure you’re as well prepared as possible for when we do face her.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, although he was starting to wonder what Varvakis was like up in the frozen north in winter. He was tempted to go find out.
“You’ve discovered mirage, Connor.”
“And you decided you don’t need to kill me,” he reminded her.
She smiled, but it was a cold, humorless smile. “You’re our best chance for defeating her. Stop worrying about that.”
He breathed a little easier, but having an Assassin as his personal Healer tended to make it hard to not worry sometimes.
“Mirage is an ability that has not been used since the Tallan Wars.”
“Kilian could do it.”
“But he admitted he hasn’t. Yet you discovered it, even though you don’t understand how it works.”
“I’ve been practicing. It doesn’t make a lot of sense yet.”
“That’s because mirage plays tricks that the mind fills in.”
“Kilian said something like that too.” Connor leaned back in his chair to ease his over-full stomach. “The real trick is figuring out what people are going to see, how their minds will fill in those gaps.”
“The only way to do that is with chert.”
“That’s great,” Connor said sarcastically. “I don’t have chert.”
“I do.” She drew from the pocket of her Healer coat a small piece of gray stone.
With great excitement, Connor took it and fingered its sharp edges. “It looks like flint.”
“It’s related. The two are often mistaken for each other. If you strike chert with steel, it’ll spark just like flint. Our deposit is the only known power-grade variant.”
“So how does it work?” Connor asked, rubbing a finger over the hard, gray stone.
“Chert is sedimentary, so affinity is established like sandstone or limestone.”
Great. He’d just gotten limestone to stop moping about how it was the last affinity stone he’d established affinity with. He wasn’t sure it would be thrilled that it wasn’t the new kid any more, or if it would start moping again, thinking he’d abandoned it for a fancy new stone.
Only one way to find out.
Connor glanced around the dining hall. There were other diners, but it was far from full. The main rush probably wouldn’t begin for an hour or so. “Do you think this is the best place to try this?”
Student Eighteen nodded. “While people are eating, they’re usually relaxed, not on their guard, and often their thoughts wander. It’s a perfect time to read their emotions, and even tweak them if needed.”
“I don’t plan to tweak anyone.” Making a connection with the stone would be plenty. He focused on it, willing the connection to materialize.
Nothing happened.
Limestone had taken more effort than other stones. He wasn’t sure if that was because of how many affinities he’d already established. He was Blood of the Tallan, and that supposedly meant he could use every power stone, but was there a limit? Would he have to sever affinity with another stone in order to link to chert?
Was that even possible? Which would he choose? He couldn’t imagine losing any of his powers, even though he’d only acquired most of them recently. He’d grown up suppressing his curse, but in the last year he’d come to depend up on it. Without his affinity powers, he’d have died many times.
So he needed to make chert work.
“Don’t get angry at it,” Student Eighteen said softly, leaning closer, an amused expression on her face. “It can take a little time.”
“How did you know . . .?”
She chuckled. “As if I’d teach you to use chert and not tap it myself.”
“So you can sense my feelings?”
“If I need to. You’re not exactly subtle.”
“I can be,” he muttered.
She only smiled wider.
Connor closed his eyes and focused, again rubbing the stone. He tried to relax, tried to open himself to the connection, but he wasn’t sure what it would feel like. He didn’t expect a rush of warm strength like sandstone, or a burst of light like limestone.
What, then?
A slow minute passed as he concentrated, ready for any
manifestation. He was trying so hard to pick up some kind of sense from the stone that at first he completely dismissed the soft whispers that began sounding in his ears. Then he realized, they weren’t sounding in his ears, but in his mind.
Connor sat up straighter, focusing on those distant whispers, little more than suggestions of soft conversation, beyond the limits of his hearing. That’s when he noticed flickers of temperature against his skin.
The feeling was odd, as if someone was sliding invisible pieces of crystal against his skin. Some were hot, at least one icy cold, but most fell into a narrower range between warm and cool.
He frowned. “I think I’ve got something. It’s like whispers in my mind, but also hot and cold touches on my skin.”
Student Eighteen gave him an approving nod. “That’s chert.”
“Chert is kind of weird.”
“So are people.”
“Good point.”
“Those whispers aren’t words. You won’t understand them until you ascend again.”
“Weird,” Connor repeated.
“But useful, nonetheless. Those whispers hint at the mental state of the person you are sensing. The flickers of heat and cold on your skin are another clue. The two work together to help you understand your target.”
“I’m not targeting anyone.”
She indicated the room around them. “You’re not focusing chert, so its effects spread out all around. You’re feeling the emotional states of everyone in the room. As you focus on a particular individual, those whispers and feeling on your skin will sharpen.”
“I thought it would be more useful,” Connor said, frowning down at the little gray stone. “It’s pretty vague.”
“Try focusing. Firing an arrow into the sky isn’t very useful either, but an aimed shot is deadly.”
Connor glanced around and selected a larger table with six officers chatting around it. Most of them looked content after their meal and conversed in friendly tones. The whispers in his mind seemed calm and uninteresting, while the flickers of temperature were stuck right in the lukewarm zone.
One fellow proved more interesting. He seemed to be carrying most of the conversation. He was laughing and talking loudly, gesturing with his hands, cracking jokes, and looking like he was enjoying himself.