Through the Veil

by Walker, Shiloh

  “You are certain your daughter still lives?”

  Char lifted his lashes and stared at Arnon. “Yes, Arnon. I am.” He smiled as he recalled the look on the Daisha’s face when he had sensed her across the Veil and sought her out. If the shrouded outworlder hadn’t appeared when he had, then Lenena would be here with him, where she belonged. Char could then have focused his time and energy on consolidating his power and protecting his child.

  Yet he had to admire the strength it had taken her to resist him as long as she had. If she hadn’t resisted so long, then the outworlder wouldn’t have arrived in time anyway. A strong-willed woman. It was going to be a hard task, finding a man who would match her strong will, not crush it. A thought occurred to him and he pushed up on his elbow, studying Arnon thoughtfully. “You are of high enough rank, Arnon. I sense the power inside you. Why have you never attempted to claim Warlord status?”

  A pale blond brow quirked. “I know where I am of the best service, my lord. It is not as a Warlord.”

  The answer pleased him. Char was careful not to let Arnon see just how it pleased him. Arnon was one of the few that he had complete faith in. The Sirvani was invaluable, and for so many reasons. Loyalty like his should be rewarded. He lowered himself back into the silks and pillows at his back and murmured, “You are of an age to claim yourself a woman. Has no female ever held your attention long enough?”

  Char knew the man had a body slave brought to his chambers on rare occasions. Very rare, and never the same woman twice. A good sign, in Char’s opinion, because it showed the man didn’t let thoughts of sex and women take over his mind. Men who had a slave in their beds every night were not always the most dependable, and not just because they were wearied from the fucking.

  The Sirvani remained silent for a time, as though he had to think about his response. “Like most Sirvani, I had expectations of the time when I’d find a female that caught my eye, that intrigued me, one that I could father a child on, a child who would carry on my bloodline.” Then he shrugged. “But the slaves that have been made available to me have never intrigued me. And I don’t care to spend time with a woman that bores me.”

  “A child off you and the right woman would be a child of great worth, Arnon. Your wisdom, coupled with the power I sense within you . . .” Char nodded slowly. Yes. Yes, this could work. He would have to see how his daughter reacted to the Sirvani. And there would be talk. Especially once he took his place as High Lord. Char could handle the talk—he had dealt with it most of his life and it didn’t faze him. But pairing his daughter, a Daisha, with a Sirvani, even a high-ranking, well-respected one like Arnon, would cause upset among the ruling houses.

  But if Arnon appealed to his daughter, Char would deal with the upset. The Daisha’s happiness was paramount, almost as important as mating her to a man of power and wisdom. More, Arnon didn’t have that streak of cruelty in him that was becoming so common among the Warlords. Arnon would treat the Daisha well. Perhaps she could even love him. Love could make it so much easier for her to accept her new life.

  “When I bring my daughter back, I will present you to her, Arnon,” he murmured.

  With his eyes closed, Char was unaware of the look that tightened the Sirvani’s face. Caught up in his own thoughts, pleased with the possibilities playing through his mind, he smiled. “Yes.” This could work. He opened his eyes and met Arnon’s steady, unwavering gaze. “It’s time.”

  Shoving to his feet, he fastened the toggles on his tunic and donned the leather harness that held his weapons. When he turned, Arnon stood behind him, holding out Char’s weapons. “You needn’t play the squire for me, Arnon.” He headed out of the tent, but just before he reached the thick, heavy fabric draped over the doorway, a whisper of magick slid through the air.

  It blew across Char’s skin like a cool wind, and he stopped in his tracks, turning to face the center of the tent. There was nothing there. His lids drooped and the power flowed through him, fluid and natural as water. The Veil shimmered into view, first a smoky, obscuring fog, deep shimmering blue, then it thinned out and the man on the other side shimmered into view.

  “Dais.” Char cocked a brow. “Not the best time, my friend. You should clear out. You are not in a safe place.”

  Dais grinned. Then he shifted to the side so Char could see behind him. It was Lenena. She lay on her back, her head turned to the side, eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell in a deep, slow rhythm, a little too slow.

  “What is wrong with her?” Char demanded, his voice dropping to a rough, warning growl.

  Offering a reassuring smile, Dais responded, “Nothing some rest won’t cure. I just gave her some kifer root.” He shifted back so that his body blocked Char’s view of his daughter. “I believe this woman is of importance to you?”

  Char’s gaze narrowed. “If she is harmed, at all, I will gut you. Slowly.”

  His grin faded and Dais lowered his head respectfully. His gaze remained on the ground as he said, “My lord, I am no fool. Once I knew what she was to you, I knew she had to be protected.” He paused briefly and then added, “Perhaps if I had known that you sought this particular woman, I could have brought her to you much sooner.”

  “You dare to question me, Dais?” Char asked, his voice soft and gentle. But the threat was clear.

  “No. No, of course not,” Dais responded quickly. “It is just that she has been in a very dangerous situation. I hate to think of your beloved child coming so close to death as often as she has. She has been out on the line, fighting with the resistance as though she were one of them. Any number of things could have happened to her.”

  Char snarled. “Do you think I am unaware of that?”

  “My lord.” Arnon stepped forward, discreetly calling the Warlord’s attention away from the spy and to himself. “I’m certain your servant is simply voicing his concern over the Daisha.”

  Char gave Arnon a lethal look. “I know when I am being questioned, Arnon. Do I look a fool to you?” He dismissed Arnon and focused on the shimmery fabric of the Veil. Drawing on the power in the earth beneath him, he funneled it into the Veil, reshaping it. The gate began to take form, seamless and perfect. “Ready yourself, Dais.”

  Dais glanced around, a derisive smirk on his face. “Oh, I’m quite ready. I’m ready for a life that doesn’t involve rising before dawn, barely scraping by . . .” His voice trailed off as he turned around to lift the drugged woman in his arms.

  Dais turned just in time to see Arnon step up behind as Char continued to erect the small, temporary gate.

  “My lord,” the Sirvani murmured. A warning whisperedthrough the air and Char tensed. But it was too late. The bloodied tip of a deadly torq-metal knife appeared through his chest. Stunned, Char lifted a hand to touch the blade, but his hand fell to his side, slack, before he could even lift it to his waist.

  Char tried to turn, ending up stumbling and falling to his knees. He could see the Veil flickering. Energy snapped through the air. Char could no longer direct it into the forming gate, and the gate fell. Right before Dais’s stunned face disappeared, Arnon said, “You’ll have to live like a primitive awhile longer, Dais.”

  Char fell, landing flat on his back. Pain arced through him. He screamed, but it ended with a wet, garbled sound. He tried to say his servant’s name. “Ar . . .”

  “I imagine you want to know why,” Arnon said calmly. He stood by the door with his hands linked behind his back, his face expressionless. So at odds with the fury that burned in his eyes. “Present me to your daughter, my lord?” Arnon repeated. “That was the last time you will ever see her.”

  Betrayal had a bitter taste, Char realized. Very bitter. He wanted to push the knife out—the icy pain seemed to burn through him. It hadn’t pierced his heart, but already the deadly metal was spilling poison into his veins. Char could feel it. His limbs were already cold and his hands were clumsy as he struggled to reach behind him for the hilt. “Why you, Arnon? Why you?”

  C
har had battled so many assassination attempts, and yet this caught him completely unaware. Before he died, he’d know why.

  A faint smile appeared on Arnon’s lips. He bowed his head, that deferential nod he’d given Char so many times, but now Char saw the mocking hatred hidden behind the mask of respect. “Why, my lord? Because of Neve. You see, there was one woman that intrigued me. Your mate. We loved each other.” Arnon moved closer and crouched by Char’s side, a bitter smile on his face. “It was laughable, an offworld woman truly loving a man of the enemy. Me, truly understanding that love. But there you have it. We loved each other. Then you got her with child. When the girl child was born, we knew you would never let Neve go. You’d force her to your bed time and again until she bore you more and more children. You’d force her to pleasure so that she was filled with shame and self-hatred for days.”

  The ice-cold of the torq-metal’s poison spread more, filling his lungs and making each ragged breath as painful as if Char breathed out slivered glass. He choked on each breath, struggled to get it out and take another. He had to keep breathing until he could get help. Help . . . A tiny seed of hope grew inside him. The body slave, she was still there, watching everything with wide, dumbfounded eyes. Char gave her a desperate look.

  The little seed of hope withered and died as she met his gaze and smiled. Hate blazed in her eyes. A ferocious, pleased smile, the first true smile he’d ever seen from her.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? Having a poison eating away at you inside?” Arnon murmured. He crouched down by Char’s side and studied him, a nasty smile on his face the entire time. “That is what I had to live with, every night you sent for Neve. But you were my poison, not a piece of metal. You’re lucky, that metal will end your suffering. My suffering has been going on for more than twenty years now. I loved Neve—would have died for her. But dying wasn’t going to save her. The only thing that would save her was getting her away from you. After she healed from childbirth, I knew what we had to do.”

  Understanding dawned slowly. Thinking was difficult, and Char still couldn’t believe that Arnon had betrayed him. “You stole Neve away.” He had spent years trying to discover who had helped his Tiris escape, but he had never imagined it had been Arnon. Never once had that occurred to him.

  Char had always believed that she had seduced one of the younger Warlords. One that had managed to open the gate long enough for them to escape. Arnon hadn’t that power then. Somebody had helped, then.

  “Yes. I stole her away. But I couldn’t go with her. If I did, you’d know that it was me who had betrayed you. As your sworn servant, you could find me easily enough through the blood bond I gave you when I entered into your service. I couldn’t risk it.” A smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “However, there was another whom I had a blood bond with. One whom you had no control over.”

  Char closed his eyes. The sense of betrayal was painful, though not quite as painful as the poison ripping through his system. “You were the one feeding them information about pending raids.” He started to cough, something thick, bitter and metallic bubbling up his throat. He choked on it and realized with horror that he was coughing up blood. “Taise was not wrong after all. We did have a traitor.”

  Arnon shrugged. “I had my loyalties, Char. You were not one of them. You merely thought you were.” He rose and nudged Char’s side with a booted foot. “You look as pathetic now as the High Lord must.”

  “Fuck you.” Another coughing fit seized him, and by the time he was able to breathe again, he knew death wasn’t far away. The lingering shadow of death he had sensed this morning had been his own. Arrogant fool, he thought bitterly. So certain of his men.

  “All this to keep her safe—you’ve killed her surely enough, Arnon. She is as good as dead now. She doesn’t understand her power, can’t control it. She’s vulnerable. Another Warlord—” Another fit of coughing overtook him and that icy darkness pushed ever closer. Desperate, Char fought it back, fought to think, to function. “Another Warlord will find her, Arnon. One that cares nothing for her.”

  Something flashed through Arnon’s eyes. For a man who had always been so unreadable, the Sirvani was certainly showing an excess of emotion now. Char wasn’t certain, but it looked like doubt, combined with anger.

  He couldn’t fight the poison inside him. Even now, the pervasive weakness made it all but impossible to even wipe the blood from his mouth. His voice faltering, weak, he rasped, “She’s dead now, boy . . . thanks to you.”

  The taste of defeat was even worse than the taste of betrayal, and if Char could have hurried his death along at that point, he would have gladly done so.

  Lenena wouldn’t evade capture. The wild, uncontrolled power inside her would call out to the Warlords and the Sirvani like a beacon. She would be captured or killed, but it all added up to the same anyway. She was the daughter of a Warlord. Even if she didn’t understand all that that entailed, Char did. She would kill herself before she’d submit to slavery.

  How is it possible? After all this time, after coming so close, he’d failed her. She would never be safe, never have a chance at happiness. Her last hope for safety had been him . . . and he’d failed.

  No. He couldn’t accept it. Even as death drew ever closer, he wouldn’t let himself admit it was over.

  The answer, when it came, was faint, offering a hope so small, so slim, he never would have grasped at it—if it wasn’t his last hope. Her last hope.

  Her brothers . . . With the last bit of energy he had inside him, he reached for them. Even as his body shut down and death edged nearer and nearer, he reached. He’d feared there might come a time when they would need to know of Lenena. He’d feared . . . but prepared.

  Those preparations just might save her.

  “Daisha . . . ” His words were so faint, so thick, he couldn’t even understand them. “Forgive me.”

  Breath rattled in and out of his lungs. Trying to focus on Arnon’s face, he realized he could no longer even see. The world was graying out on him, slowly deepening to black.

  And the cold, bleeding hells . . . He was so cold, icy cold, all over his body and deep inside his heart. His breathing grew more and more shallow and he could even hear his heartbeat beginning to falter.

  I failed . . . but perhaps they won’t.

  TWELVE

  “I never would have guessed it was you.”

  Dais cut off his tirade abruptly as the low, familiar voice interrupted. Slowly, he turned and watched as Morne ducked under the low-hanging doorway. The tall man’s eyes were dark against his skin and they glowed with the promise of death. “Morne, if you are here to check on your patient, she is still resting.”

  Morne glanced her way. “She doesn’t rest. She is unconscious. I am a healer, Dais. I know the difference. I smell the roots of the kifer weed so I imagine she had a bit of help getting unconscious.” A smile curled his lips, and Dais felt a ribbon of unease slide through him. “I wonder what Kalen will do to you when he learns that you have been spying for Anqar.”

  “Have you gone mad, Morne?” Dais asked, trying to keep his voice level. The spit in his mouth had dried up and his voice was just a bit shaky. Too shaky. The ribbon of unease grew into a bloody flood. “I’ve fought at Kalen’s side for as long as the boy has been fighting. I fought at his father’s side.”

  “Yes and spied on him as well. You’re a clever one, Dais. I’ll give you that. Whatever you received in compensation spying on these people, you kept it well hidden. You kept under the radar. I’ve seen you choke up at funerals and rage over the fallen body of a child. You’re possibly one of the most accomplished liars I’ve ever met,” Morne mused. He circled around the lodge, moving ever closer to Dais.

  Dais turned with him, keeping Morne in his line of vision. “Have you hit your head, Morne? You’re talking like a raving maniac.”

  A smile came and went on Morne’s face. “Do not waste your time lying to me. You were seen, Dais. You aren’t the only one living
a double life, you know.” His voice dropped to a low, almost hypnotic lull. “But your double life is killing people. Killing innocent people. People who share your blood. Your homeland. People who are simply struggling to live out their own lives without fearing raiders will steal away their daughters and sisters. You should have been out there shedding blood with them, and instead you have been stabbing them in the back.” Morne stopped his circling and moved toward Dais, so fast his movements seemed to blur. “I wonder how they will react when they learn you’ve been betraying them for longer than some of them have even been alive.”

  Sudden, gruesome images filled Dais’s head. He had a good idea of what their reaction would be. Bloody. Painful and merciless. It had always been a distant knowledge, what could happen if he was discovered, but he’d always had a quick escape plan. There would come a time when he could no longer continue his life as it had been for the past thirty-six years, and he had planned for it. But his escape route had been the Warlord. With Char dead and the High Lord on his deathbed, Dais’s choices were limited.

  Very limited. For the past hour, he had been working his way through those limited choices and discarding most of them. The only viable option was to get to the gate. Char was dead, and while Dais knew other Warlords, he doubted any of them knew of his connections to Anqar. His usefulnessto Char had been in part because few knew anything about him. Keeping it that way had seemed wise, and lucrative on Dais’s part, but now . . . now he wished he had at least a few other choices. Another Warlord he could call.

  “Heavy thoughts, Dais?” Morne whispered.

  Dais pulled back, getting a couple of feet between him and Morne. Angling his body so Morne couldn’t see, Dais touched the pulsar at his side. If he had to, he’d cut Morne down. He had to get away—if at all possible, he needed to take Lee with him. If she was valuable to one Warlord, daughter or no, she was likely valuable to another. At the moment, she was the only bargaining piece he had.