by Linda Welch
I wandered over to a crevice not far from the cave mouth with the idea of slipping inside. It was another slot canyon, the bed not much wider than my body if I kept my arms tight to my sides, and it led upward.
Gia could come to me up there, if she wanted to.
I looked over my shoulder. Gryphon watched me.
“Gotta go do the necessary.”
He frowned. “Can you not use the facilities inside?”
“I wouldn’t go back in there if you paid me.”
I guess he bought it. He didn’t stop me when I slipped inside the canyon.
It was rough going, the incline became steeper, twisting this way and that, and pebbles and tiny stone chips rolled under my boots. The air felt like the inside of a furnace. After traipsing for five minutes, I knew I had to go back soon or someone would come looking for me.
The canyon abruptly opened out and I stood on a ledge, the mountain at my back, the valley spread before me. I wiped my face with my sleeve and ran my fingers through sweat-damp hair.
It was a dead end. The ledge appeared to continue between two mountain spurs, but a giant boulder stoppered the gap.
Gia stood on the boulder. She leapt to the ledge and came toward me.
I scowled. “Hello Mommy dearest.”
Then I was elsewhere. Gia let go of me, I fell on my butt and it hurt. Flustered, I grabbed for an anchor and clutched handfuls of moss.
Old aspen and pine towered above us. We were in a tiny, mossy, shaded glade through which a rivulet trickled over smooth white pebbles. Lovely place for a picnic but not one to land in on your backside. Gia leaned on a tall sapling.
“Sorry about that,” she said, not sounding so. She tapped one finger on the side of her head. “Gelpha super-duper hearing, remember? Do you want them to know I’m here?”
“Thanks for the warning before you whisked me off to Never-Never Land.”
Releasing the moss, I heaved to my feet and rubbed my backside. My voice soured with sarcasm. “So you didn’t know Cicero is also the Burning Man? Tsk tsk. You out and out lied, about everything.”
Her lips twitched. “You have never told a lie, Miss Banks?”
I’m no angel, I’ve lied. But they were little lies and hurt no one. I don’t understand how anyone can look you in the eyes and blatantly lie about something which majorly impacts your life.
“Not over something this important.” But I let it go; she wouldn’t debate ethics. I glanced around the glade. “Where the hell are we?”
“Where they cannot hear us.”
She pursed her lips, watching me speculatively. “Mommy dearest? I take it Cicero told you.”
Something in the region of my heart lurched. Although she had lied and connived to get me here, my gut told me she didn’t lie now. Those few words made Cicero’s disclosure immutable.
“You appear to be taking it well. Or are you? You are difficult to read at times, Miss Banks.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
She folded her arms, bent her head and studied her booted foot. “You are what you are.”
“Did you know since the beginning?”
“The day we met? Not immediately. You piqued my interest, so I watched you and discovered I was not the only one. I can put two and two together. Finding your connection to Cicero took a little longer.”
“But you could have told me a long time back,” I said through my teeth. “You planned this all along. You know what I am, what Cicero wanted from me, that I’d not go along with it. It’s why you were in Clarion and agreed to bring me here, why you took me to Dun Falmor so I’d see what kind of man my uncle is, what he’s capable of. It’s why you used the bike. You could have demoned us to Cicero in a flash, but you wanted an excuse to stop at the village. How long have you waited to bring the Seers down? You couldn’t do it yourself; who’d believe a Dark Cousin, a Mother, rather than their Seer?”
She maneuvered me right from the beginning. The package with her return address so I knew she was in Clarion, conveniently at hand to help me. The business card with her phone number. Give me a reason, Miss Banks … so I thought I had to talk her into it. Did the reason I gave surprise her?
“Something had to be done. The Seers manipulate the Gelpha, pitting House against House. Not only Cicero, every Seer in this land. But Cicero wanted more, to rule Bel-Athaer through the High Lord. You were perfect. I knew your sensibilities would not let you walk away once you knew the truth.”
“Did Chris know about this? He turned up on his bike at the right time.” I blinked. “You knew he listened outside your apartment. You went after him. Either you asked him to come along or he talked you into it.”
“Nobody talks me into anything, Miss Banks.”
“He whisked the assassins out the hostel before I could rip off one of those masks and see they looked like me. You didn’t want me to know before Cicero told me. I had to hear everything from him so there could be no mistake, no suggestion you influenced me.”
Another thing Gia’s good at is changing the subject. “You mean to fight the villagers?”
I shook my head. “Just make them think twice about coming up here till we can get everyone out, then we’ll zip off to the High House.”
“Don’t fail me.”
Was that a threat? “Or what?”
She got in my face and said softly, “Or I will be very disappointed.”
And I was back, head spinning, trying to keep my balance so I didn’t fall and bruise my already tender posterior.
I walked back to the cave, pondering what I meant to do when we got to the High House.
Gryphon was watching for me. I flashed him a smile.
Royal and Chris came from the cave supporting another, blanket-wrapped demon. Sadly, not wanting to spare the time to find their clothes - if Uncle had not destroyed them - they had also helped themselves to Cicero’s. Royal is broader than the Seer, so the white muslin shirt and sleek navy pants fit very snugly. Chris could be a buccaneer in a white silk shirt open to his navel, sleeves billowing at his wrists, shiny brown leather pants tucked into black, thigh-high leather boots.
The other demon wrestled free and rushed straight at me. I tensed, but relaxed when I recognized him. The next second, he threw himself on me. The short, slender demon draped over me, arms around my neck. He loosed a sob into my ear and shuddered.
I had forgotten Lawrence asked me - ordered me - to find Gorge. I patted his back, spat out a strand of long, bright golden hair. “Calm down, Gorge. You’re safe now.”
“Pull yourself together, old fellow,” Chris said.
Gorge shuddered again. “Awful. It was just awful, Tiff. I didn’t think I would get out alive.”
“I suppose Cicero kidnapped you because you’re close to Lawrence.” I eased Gorge’s arms from my neck. He was an acquaintance, not a bosom buddy. I don’t know why he hung all over me as if hugging a life preserver. “He thought you have too much influence.”
Gorge rolled his eyes as he tugged the blanket back around his shoulders. “As if. His little lordliness goes his own way and nothing I say makes a difference.” He suddenly dropped his blanket to knuckle my shirt. “Is he all right?”
Gorge resented Lawrence ordering him to Bel-Athaer, but he loved the boy, as Lawrence loved him.
“He’s fine, Gorge.” I opened his fists and pushed him away. Gorge, like Royal and Chris before they commandeered Cicero’s clothes, wore next to nothing. I tried not to focus on Gorge’s package. “Pick your blanket up. With your thin skin, you’ll get cold.”
Heat beat at me and I wished the breeze would return. I felt heavy all over.
Bound hand and foot, gagged and wrapped in his bed sheet, Cicero lay behind us. Royal had bandaged his foot and knee so he would not drip blood.
I felt a tiny pang. If only he was the uncle I wanted him to be.
Cicero’s black-clad warriors watched us from the valley bowl. Other villagers lingered near their homes. If they wer
en’t certain something bad happened to their Seer before, they were now, with Gelpha lined up outside the cavern, looking down on them.
Royal spread his arms.
I grinned at Chris. “Sorry, old chap. Maybe next time.”
Royal’s arms closed on me.
“Yes, another time, Sweetness,” Chris said as Royal demoned me away.
Did I imagine the bitter sting of regret in his voice?
CHAPTER TWENTY
“The Seer does not zoom in,” Royal said.
“He can’t, can he. What does he do, drive here?”
“He comes on foot, like everyone. I imagine someone drops him off.”
“What about when he masquerades as Orcus?”
“I don’t know. He appears in the House and summons who he wants to meet, then dismisses them. I hear the High House is riddled with hidden passages.”
“Or Cicero comes, and Orcus magically appears. I don’t imagine the Seer is followed if he wanders around. He goes to where he wants to receive whomever, lights up, and calls for them.”
“You could be right.”
“Why is it always so freaking hot here?” I pulled the cloak’s neck away from my skin.
Royal, Gryphon and I had discussed how we could get inside the High House without a fight. They eventually came around to my way of thinking. Naturally, Royal didn’t like my plan. He wanted to zip me back to Clarion, but I was adamant.
We made a procession as we walked along the lane to the High House. I led, and everyone else followed. Gryphon wore a special, lead-lined hooded cloak he took from Cicero’s apartment. He had used the cloak before. Cicero made him wear it when the Seer took him captive. He seemed to disappear when Cicero smuggled him to his lair and the cloak shielded him from other Gelpha. They did not sense their High Lord move among them on his way to Burch Mountain.
Cicero folded over one of Royal’s broad shoulders, an anonymous bundle that didn’t bother to twitch and groan anymore. He’d worn himself out.
I wore Cicero’s white cloak and kept my head down.
No Gelpha on the grass this time, but a few loitered at the entrance. Seeing them, Royal made a noise in his throat.
“Guess this is it, huh?” Nervous as all get-out, I tweaked up one side of my mouth in a pseudo smile. “Okay. Here goes.”
More demons stood in a knot at the open doors when we reached them. I kept my head down and strode at them, and they parted to let us through. No sound broke the thick silence in the huge reception hall. We walked to the staircase and no one tried to stop us. Even though Royal came behind me with a blanket-wrapped object over his shoulders. Even though a tall figure in an enveloping black cloak walked behind Royal, and behind him came nineteen demons, eighteen of them disheveled and one swaggering in his pirate outfit. Even though six of them were banished from the High House.
Eyes lowered, the demons fell back in short order. They mistook me for Cicero.
I went upstairs slowly, measuring my pace so I didn’t appear to be in a hurry, or fall over the edge of those goddamned steps. Lawrence had better be in the Council Chamber. I didn’t fancy traipsing all over the High House looking for him. And maybe the Seer should magically know the young High Lord’s whereabouts.
We came to the doors; I pushed them open and went in.
Lawrence and his councilors had been warned. Hair glittering in golden light cast by the multilayered chandelier, they waited stiffly in their formal wear: bright, perfectly tailored and bejeweled pants and waistcoats over shimmering shirts, with jeweled sandals or pumps. Even Gareth, who I was accustomed to seeing in sharply tailored suits, and once in jeans and sweater, wore a lavishly embroidered and jeweled, blue and teal waistcoat, the pattern of a peacock’s plumage, and loose navy satin pants. Lawrence, in pearly cream tights and a short burgundy-red jacket, feet in low, cream suede boots, stood in front of his chair, his advisors beside theirs. No plates and glasses on their little tables this time.
Gareth’s lids flickered a few times but his expression remained neutral. The others were not as controlled. They gaped at my entourage.
Lawrence’s eyes widened with delight and relief when he saw Gorge, but he held his position.
White-gray-haired Imeld nervously cleared her throat. “I don’t understand, Sire. Why do you bring the traitors before us?”
Darja came forward. “We were never traitors.”
A stocky demon all in black, mulberry hair in a hundred tiny braids, said, “Gareth, do you know what is going on?” His eyes seemed to flash red as he glared at Darja.
Gareth joined his hands at his waist. “I am sure the Seer will explain,” he replied smoothly.
I caught a pointed look from Royal from the corner of my eyes. Oh, shit. You’re on, Tiff.
I pushed the hood back.
Gareth’s eyes became slits. “What is this? Where is Cicero?”
The white cloak was not an ordinary piece of clothing. The material felt slick where it had been treated to provide a reflective surface. I pressed the button in my palm to activate the silent projector. Flames flickered to life and swept up me until I became a tower of flame.
I enjoyed the councilors’ expressions, they were so varied. Except Gareth, who continued to stare through half-open eyes.
A second later, “It’s a trick!”
“Where is the Seer?”
“How dare you!”
I cast my eyes down and saw my body inside the flames. Looking through them, my view was a little distorted. The demons saw a pillar of flickering blue/white fire.
I had one hell of a time getting the contraption properly wired. The projector looked peculiar on my lace-up winter boots; I threaded a shoelace through to keep it there. I couldn’t move my feet or let the robe’s hem flap over my boot. I’d blink on and off like Christmas lights.
I pressed the button. The flames died.
I don’t know who said what. I waited for someone to make the move I expected. I hoped Imeld would be the one, but a slim, blond demon came at me. Well, not at me. He tried to sidestep, but I reached out and zapped him in the chest.
I pressed the stun gun against him as his eyes rolled up and he twitched like a marionette. I never used a stun gun before and didn’t want to do him any permanent damage, so I let him go after five seconds. But five seconds is a long time to have electricity course through your body. He collapsed to his knees and kind of hung there, looking at the floor.
“Yes, it’s a trick,” I said. “A trick your Seers have been using I don’t know how long.” I pointed the stun gun at my boot. “The flames are a projection and this little tool gives you a nasty jolt.”
“Lies!” Imeld dramatically cried to the ceiling. “You use human technology but the Seers’ power is real.”
I didn’t raise my voice. “Bullshit. I’m Cicero’s niece, by your reckoning a full-blood Seer and I know he pulled the wool over your eyes; he showed me. Seers have no powers. They can speak to the dead; that’s where they get the information they pass off as some arcane foreseeing, if they can’t torture it from the living.”
The ex-councilors moved to bunch around me. “It is true, Imeld,” Darja said.
“Naturally you support her, we expect nothing less,” the stocky demon responded.
Royal bent to lay Cicero on the floor, from about three inches above. The Seer groaned as he made contact. Royal went on one knee and peeled back the sheet. As the Council watched, aghast, he ripped Cicero’s gag off.
He surveyed them with angry eyes. His tone sent shivers over my shoulders. “Here is your Seer. Ask him to raise the fire now.”
Cicero closed his eyes.
Royal stood. “He imprisoned me, as he did my friend,” he said as he canted his head at Chris. “He takes our people and tortures information from them. He took your loyal councilors and replaced them with his sycophants. He wants your Seat, My Lord.”
Lawrence walked from among his councilors until he faced me. “Cicero and Orcus are one and the s
ame?”
“Your advisors will confirm there have been two Seers at the High House since your great-great-grandsire’s time. But there was only one, posing as two,” Royal said.
Lawrence cast his gaze at Cicero. “He’s powerless?”
“Smoke and mirrors,” I said.
Imeld’s red satin pants billowed around her ankles as she closed the distance which separated us. “Do not listen to her, my Lord,” she said urgently.
A haunted look came into the boy’s eyes.
I whispered. “Trust me.”
His head came up. He eyed Imeld imperiously, then raised his voice. “The Seers misled us, they’re tricksters.”
She grabbed Lawrence’s wrist and spoke low. “You will tear Bel-Athaer apart. Your people love their Seers. They will hate you for this.”
Love their Seers? No, they feared them. I hissed, “Don’t you get it? Seers aren’t oracles, they are cold-blooded killers.”
Head down, Lawrence said softly, “Unhand me, Lady.”
It was as if the eight-year-old stepped back and the High Lord of all Bel-Athaer came forward. Again, I recalled the time Royal and I came here with Gia and Daven. Lawrence looked them up and down and said, “I have heard of the Dark Cousins. I thought them tales to scare young children.” He used the same tone: cool, unemotional, but with a knife-edge of power.
Imeld dropped his wrist and backed away without another word.
“Enough,” Gryphon said. Removing his cloak, the tall demon came forward. He stood before them, glimmering eyes piercing as an eagle’s. He bowed to Lawrence. “I bear witness. These creatures you call Seers are murderers and charlatans. They care nothing for your subjects, only for power and privilege. I know this because Cicero Bon Moragh held me against my will these past eight years.”
The councilors dropped. Their knees smacked the floor. A few groaned.
Only Gareth sank down gracefully and quizzically eyed Gryphon.
Lawrence met Gryphon’s eyes. He lifted his chin and looked along his hawk-like nose. “Who are you?”
Gryphon’s throat worked as he swallowed. He glanced at me. I nodded.