These people, they make this city what it is.
A young woman cut off a Lyran slave carrying a sack, something heavy judging by the bulge in his muscles and the sweat on his brow. She offered no apology or even glanced his way as he scrambled to manage his load without bumping into her. Myriad such disrespects occurred every day and few took notice. It wasn’t even that no one cared. Some more privileged citizens treated them well enough, though even she had to admit that having this as the standard most of her life made her less aware.
Was it her time with Yiloch that made her so cognizant of them now? Did the Lyran prince notice the slaves or was he too enmeshed in his own goals to care? She’d wanted to ask him, but when the opportunity arose, such things had been far from her mind.
Very far.
The heat of remembered passion warmed her as their coupling played back in her head. Then a groan next to her made her cringe. Whatever they gave Jayce, it had much the same effect as too much alcohol. She hoped he wouldn’t get sick in the carriage.
Anxiety spread through her chest like a blossom of thorns the more he recovered. His fierce pride wouldn’t accept early retirement from the festivities easily and he wasn’t likely to accept blame for it either. There was only one other person around to lay blame on and she dreaded that fight.
“I don’t recall drinking this much.” He moaned.
“The Lyran wine Lord Eldrian brought did seem stronger than usual.” A desperate stretch that wasn’t likely to appease.
Jayce placed a hand on his head and grimaced.
He deserves this suffering for ever striking me.
The attempted justification held no weight. Their relationship had become an empty thing, a lifeless parody of love. Was that entirely his fault or was she partly responsible? With Yiloch fresh in her mind, guilt came easy, twisting in her gut, but the relationship had started crumbling long before she first saw the prince by the fountain.
Jayce stumbled upstairs at the residence, leaving her to dismiss the carriage driver. With an unshakable sense of walking to her ruin, she plodded upstairs after him.
The Divine willing, he would go sleep it off.
The front door stood open, the hungry maw of a beast waiting to devour her. Closing it soft behind her, she crept inside. Jayce was in the bedroom gazing out the window, muscles in his neck and jaw tight bands of iron tension. Warned by his brooding look, she turned in the doorway, intending to leave him alone, but he murmured something and she walked closer in an effort to hear him, every nerve firing warning.
“What was that?”
“Did you enjoy the dance?”
The question sounded innocent, but his hostile tone made her heart race. “It was fine.”
“And Lord Eldrian?” Jayce looked at her now, lips twisting in a bitter sneer. “Did you flirt with him after I was gone? He certainly seemed interested.”
She ignored the bait. “There’s no point in this, Jayce. We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.” She walked away, holding her breath. His footsteps followed and she stopped in the doorway when he put a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she said, “I—”
His fist struck her jaw, sending her staggering back. A flash of white blasted across her vision. In panic, she opened herself fully to her inner aspect and reeled with the shock of so much power. Jayce shoved her down. Her shoulder struck the corner of a small table. Skin tore against the edge, adding sharp pain to rising chaos.
“How could you let me make…” he kicked her side, “such a fool…” another kick, harder this time, “of myself?”
He kicked her again and the extraordinary pain of a rib cracking struck brutal clarity in her. He wasn’t going to stop, not now that he had crossed the threshold into frenzied violence. The slave owner popped into her head, clutching the arm she had injured. She could do the same or worse to Jayce. It would be easy hurt him. To take out her pain and anger on him. She could be just like him, only more dangerous.
Struggling to focus beyond pain, she reached into him with ascard and put him to sleep the way she would an unmanageable patient. He dropped like a rock and she winced, hoping Andrea wasn’t home downstairs to hear the thud.
Pain speared her side with every frantic gasp. She stayed on the floor, focusing her ability to heal the cracked rib, somehow keeping the presence of mind to mask her working. Tears poured from her eyes, both from pain and from the after effects of terror now that she had neutralized the threat.
She glared at Jayce where he lay, locked in forced slumber. He might have killed her if she hadn’t had the means to stop him.
And I could have killed him.
She finished healing her rib and rolled onto her hands and knees. When a wave of dizziness passed, she rose unsteady to her feet. Pressing a cloth over her injured shoulder to stop the bleeding, she stepped over Jayce and walked to the vanity. The mirror showed a dark bruise developing along her jaw. She could style her hair to hide it, so she ignored it for now, conserving energy. She dried her eyes then wrestled her way out of the ball gown and into one of the form fitting summer dresses Jayce hated. A few minutes spent brushing her hair did nothing to calm her. She went to where Jayce lay and stared at him, trembling with the urge to do worse than sedate him.
If what Serivar said were true, the Ascard Watchmen wouldn’t come calling, even if they sensed her masked working. If they did come, she was going to have a hard time explaining this.
What have I done?
A knock on the door made her jump. Light shining in the window showed that morning had come and gone. It was mid-afternoon. At some point, she had gone from standing over Jayce to sitting on the bed. She dragged her sedated fiancé into the bedroom and left him, shutting the door behind her. The knock came again, more insistent. She went to the door and took a few deep calming breaths to test the healed rib.
“Indigo?”
Andrea. Relief flooded her. Andrea she could handle. She steeled herself, opened the door, and smiled a welcome.
“Indigo. I thought you might not be home. I’m going to the palace to see Caplin. I hoped you would come with me.” She scanned the room. “Where’s Jayce?”
“He’s resting. He wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh.” Andrea put a foot over the threshold and leaned in, peering toward the bedroom. “Poor thing.”
Before she could get any foolish ideas in her head of visiting him, Indigo stepped forward, driving her back into the hall. “I was about to take a walk so he could have some peace and quiet. I’d be happy to join you instead.”
Andrea allowed Indigo to usher her down the stairs and out into the harsh sunlight. She brushed her hair forward when she climbed into the waiting carriage to be sure it hid the bruise. Settling into the middle of the seat, she leaned back, avoiding sunlight that crept into the dark interior. Andrea settled into the opposite seat and gave her a curious look, but said nothing.
Leaving Jayce unconscious in the residence was risky, but she couldn’t wake him yet, not until she had time to think. There was a lot to think about. That kind of rage was dangerous. Caplin could get the engagement terminated, but she still had to finish training at the academy. The idea of skulking around back streets to avoid Jayce didn’t appeal. Laws protecting women from such mistreatment were inadequate at best. Even with Caplin’s backing, Jayce wouldn’t suffer much for it, not as much as she would as his victim. The ending of their engagement would also put her future on shaky ground and the respect she would lose if people learned of the abuse would only make that worse. Serivar might even remove her from the King’s Order, a possibility with numerous unpleasant repercussions.
“Indigo, are you well?” Grooves of worry etched Andrea’s brow.
I don’t want to lie anymore. “Yes. I’m tired after last night.”
“The feast was marvelous and Lord Eldrian took quite a fancy to you.” Andrea winked.
“Who?” Indigo shook her head, finding it hard to keep up in her frazzled state.
<
br /> “The Lyran lord. The one you danced with at least three times. I’m amazed you could forget him so easily. You must be tired.”
Yes, tired and scared. Perhaps accompanying Andrea had been a mistake. In her current state, she might say something she shouldn’t.
She began picking at her fingernails. “You’re right. I couldn’t forget him so easily.”
Andrea brightened. “That’s more like it. He’ll be at the palace. He and Caplin have been sparring and Caplin invited me to watch. I thought you might enjoy watching too.”
Indigo sighed. Out of one mess and into another.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Adran woke Yiloch again before noon. Whatever the High Council planned to put before him, he was ready. He smiled now, sitting on the veranda with Adran and Cadmar, basking in the warmth of another beautiful day that held much promise.
Cadmar sat in the chair next to him. His substantial sword rested beside him, contradicting the ease with which he lounged there. The dark warrior had already adjusted to the relaxed setting despite his claim that such things didn’t suit him.
Yiloch rested a hand on the hilt of his own sword where it leaned against the chair. Like Cadmar, he couldn’t relax without a weapon in reach.
“You seem pleased.” Adran’s tone suggested that he didn’t share the mood.
“I was thinking about revenge.”
“Ah, good.” Adran took some bread from a tray of food brought up for them. “I feared you might be thinking about women again.”
Yiloch ignored the comment. “You should shave.”
Adran returned a scowl, though he did bring a hand up to feel the stubble of beard, that constant reminder of the impurity of his blood.
Ian staggered from his room then, a hand pressed to his forehead.
“Too much wine?” Yiloch couldn’t decide whether to be amused or irritated with the youth.
“No. I couldn’t sleep. That woman you had in your room…”
Yiloch scowled a warning.
Ian held up his hands as if to ward off attack and melted into an empty chair. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Her inner aspect is so strong. It was like having a cyclone in my head.”
Yiloch leaned forward. “Lady Indigo?”
“Yes. She was the one poking around at supper. The reason I shielded your inner aspect. She had masking in place. It took most the evening to figure out that all that power was from her. Couldn’t you feel it, my lord?”
“No, but not many people are as sensitive as you.” He rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the creator. “You say she’s strong. How strong?”
“Frighteningly.” Ian leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Adran was watching Ian with a pensive frown. Was he thinking the same thing? If Indigo was that strong and they were training her to do more than heal, she might make a valuable addition to his army. But he couldn’t specifically request her.
“Did you notice anyone else with that kind of strength?”
Ian shook his head. “The king had a low creator with him. The Healer’s Academy headmaster is an adept, but not as strong as Ferin. There were several healers and Ascard Watchmen and a few other adepts with specialized skills. Nothing else extraordinary.”
Caplin strode out to the veranda in his usual confident-bordering-on-arrogant manner, his arrival ending the conversation. “Prince Yiloch. Lord Adran.” He nodded to each of them. “The High Council is ready for you.”
Ian sank deeper into the chair as Yiloch and Adran stood. Caplin led them through the halls, his pace businesslike, but his smile affable as always.
“Would you care to spar after the meeting?” He cast a hopeful glance at Yiloch.
“I would.”
“Excellent. I invited Andrea to watch. It would have been awkward if you refused.”
Yiloch grinned. “I imagine so. You would have had to spar with yourself.”
Caplin laughed. “And I probably still would have lost.”
When they entered the council room, the High Council members stood. Caplin walked to his place, leaving Yiloch and Adran to the chairs left open for them. A servant waiting inside the door stepped out and shut them in to signal the start of the session. They sat at the king’s bidding and formal greetings went around the table, then King Jerrin cleared his throat and glowered at Lord Serivar before speaking.
“Prince Yiloch, Lord Serivar still has reservations about sending healers to assist your army,” he stated.
Yiloch met the king’s eyes. They’d argued the subject enough. Most of the men around the table, and the king in particular, wanted this alliance. Time had come to see how bad they wanted it. “I have reservations about removing import restrictions, your Majesty, but we must all make concessions.”
Several members muttered and shifted in their seats, but the king nodded. A price had been set. “The majority agrees that you should be granted healers with some caveats. Lord Serivar, I’m afraid you’ve been overruled.”
Serivar’s face pinched in displeasure, but he gave a curt nod.
“Very well, Prince Yiloch,” the king continued. “In addition to the ships offered, the High Council has agreed, almost unanimously…” he glanced at Serivar who appeared to be trying to glare holes through the table, “…to send fifty healers to accompany your force. Those healers come with five hundred Caithin soldiers whose primary purpose will be to safeguard them and see that their services are not misused. Those soldiers will be available to you in battle at the discretion of their captain, Lord Caplin, who has graciously offered to select and lead that troop.”
Yiloch inclined his head. “Your Majesty is most generous. This will allow for quick and decisive action.”
“That’s our expectation. Be aware that the council has given Lord Caplin the right to act independently in pulling our healers out if he feels they are at undue risk or their services are being abused in any way.”
“Naturally.” Yiloch struggled not to smile. Their chances of a swift victory had improved greatly.
The rest of the session went to writing the treaty and refining details of the assault on Yiroth. They worked out timing and location for the rendezvous between Yiloch’s army and Caplin’s force. Yiloch would arrange for supply wagons to meet the healers and soldiers when they arrived on Lyran shores. He agreed to leave Cadmar behind to guide them to the rendezvous. The Kudaness warrior knew that territory well and would get over any irritation at being committed without a say eventually.
After three hours of stressful and irritating nitpicking, they adjourned. Yiloch got almost everything he wanted from the arrangement. The sparring match with Caplin would help to burn off pent up energy. It would also be his last opportunity to build influence with the man before they met again at the rendezvous.
“Prince Yiloch, it feels like you got quite the deal in that bargain. Or maybe that’s my perception.” Caplin’s tone remained light despite the uneasy weight in his words.
“Time will tell,” Yiloch replied, noncommittal. Anger toward Emperor Rylan had given him even more of an advantage than he expected in negotiations. He would have to thank his father for that before he cut his head off.
“It’s unfortunate you’re leaving so soon. I’ve learned a great deal from sparring words and swords with you.”
“Is that why you volunteered to lead the troop?” Yiloch selected a sparring sword from the rack and Adran sauntered off to lean on a tree and watch.
Caplin wandered into the ring, set his chosen sword point down in the dirt and leaned on it. “I’m not sure, really. Part of it’s the wedding and wanting to get away from the city for a while, but I think it’s mostly curiosity and, if you’ll pardon the conceit, the feeling that I’m most qualified for the job.”
Yiloch stepped into the ring and positioned himself four feet in front of Caplin. “Since I’ve met few of your captains, I can’t disagree, and I doubt I would.”
A hint of p
leasure in the young lord’s smile as he moved into a fighting stance rewarded the comment. Consciously or not, Caplin had accepted him as a mentor, so his words held weight. Yiloch enjoyed the arrangement. He hadn’t worked with anyone like this since he mentored Leryc before his departure from Yiroth and he appreciated the practice.
They engaged. Despite his overconfident bearing, Caplin was aware of his limitations and eager to learn. He improved each time, adapting with admirable ease to the Lyran and Kudaness styles Yiloch brought to the ring.
They focused on each other, occupied in their preferred form of dance with such intensity that Yiloch almost didn’t notice the two women outside the ring. Bright sun shining off gold highlights in Indigo’s long dark hair, hanging loose to frame her face with soft waves, caught his eye. She was lovelier in her simple summer dress, standing in the sunshine, than she had been in her gown the night before and he burned to touch her.
He wrestled his attention back to the match. When he glanced up again a few moments later, Andrea stood alone. Indigo had walked around the ring and was talking with Adran. There was tension in her bearing that hadn’t been there the night before. It might be the dearth of wine to ease her nerves, but sorrow in her eyes and the willful set of her jaw spoke to something more complex.
Impatient, Yiloch slipped in a new move to disarm Caplin, sending his practice blade skittering to one side.
Andrea applauded. “Impressive!”
Smiling good-naturedly, Caplin walked to Andrea and leaned in to kiss her.
She stepped back with a grimace. “You’re all sweaty.”
He laughed. “It’s hot.” His expression turned serious and he glanced toward Yiloch. His eyes slipped past to Indigo and lingered there perhaps a moment longer than appropriate. “Excuse us a moment. I must speak with my fiancé alone.”
Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1) Page 20