Smoothing an errant lace on the dress, the light-haired woman hesitated, her blue eyes cold. “I am Deonna, head mistress for the Citadel,” she said. Grabbing an ornate metal comb from the bedside tray, the woman pointed toward a plush chair placed in front of a gilded vanity. “As a rule, I have staff to take care of our guests; my duties are to the Citadel and the Great Lord. You must be important indeed: the Great Lord himself requested I assist you with your evening attire.”
Crystalyn crossed the room to sit in the chair, which didn’t feel as soft as it looked. Facing the beautiful, gilded mirror, she gazed at her haggard reflection in silence as the woman prattled on about the many Great Lords she’d personally served. Her irritation showed with the deepening of her blue eyes, so dark as to be almost black, but the woman, Deonna, wouldn’t know.
A symbol with interlocked squares transposed in place of her auburn hair for a moment. She recalled it from the section “Aggression” in the black-lettered book, and it had a silencing feel to it. Perhaps she could use it to quiet the woman. Another flash of irritation raced through her, this time with herself. Deonna probably wasn’t as bloody snobby as she seemed. Was she becoming too dependent on her symbols? The thin, smooth face looking out at her from the mirror had no answers.
Do’brieni? Are you well? I sense unrest. Crystalyn was grateful for the surge of friendship that flowed into her mind, soothing her irritation. The Warden’s presence was good for her. She hoped he got as much out of it as she did. I am better now, my Do’brieni. You bring out the best in me. I don’t know how I’d do this without you. I can’t wait for you to meet my sister Jade. I do hope you two get along. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t, but it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her. There it was. The true source of her irritation, not Deonna at all, though she’d added to it. Jade might have changed. Had this harsh, violent world taken her loving nature?
It didn’t matter. They would work through it. Jade was alive. Somehow, her sister had survived, and that was all she wanted. Are you and Atoi coming to dinner with me, Do’brieni?
No, we have dined while you slept. There is no place for a Warden at a lord’s table. Please remain alert; though I perceive you have to take any path offered to find your sibling, this is the dominion of the greatest evil known. We are in the lair of the Great Lord. We cannot remain long.
Broth had been disappointed with her quick decision to come to the Dark Citadel. She felt it strongly. He did not hide it, nor did he focus on it. Wariness flitted in the link, something he hoped to instill in her, as it wove around his devotion and support. Crystalyn added warmth and love, mixed with a deep affection to the mix. Try not to worry over much, my Broth. I will be careful enough for both of us. We’ll get through this, I promise.
“You do have such beautiful hair, though we should do something about the color,” Deonna was saying. “The bright red within it is almost overcome by the drab brown.”
Deonna yanked the metal comb downward, tugging through the tangles. Crystalyn sat up straighter, bracing herself against the long strokes. It didn’t help much. “It’s my natural color,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Natural?” The woman raised a thick golden eyebrow. Plotting her path in advance, Deonna pulled the steel comb as gently as she could. It still felt like the stout woman was pounding through the snarls with a hammer. “Why haven’t you highlighted it? A tone enhancement would do wonders. I could order one of the red robes to cast it for you. Or perhaps you could do it yourself should you be a User of even small ability.” Deonna raised her other eyebrow to match the first.
So there it was. The woman was as transparent as an old holo image. “If you want to know something about me, simply ask. I may even be inclined to answer,” Crystalyn said, keeping her face smooth. Having her reflection in the mirror to look at made it easier. Blunt to the point of sarcastic, she’d never been good at holding things inside.
Deonna looked away for a moment. When she turned back, she kept her eyes downcast, ostensibly concentrating on Crystalyn’s tangles. The tugging lessened. “I am here to look after the Great Lord’s well-being. Becoming familiar with dining guests is a small, but important part of my duties. It is one I take very seriously,” she said quietly. Raising her head, she gazed into Crystalyn’s eyes, her light-blue eyes hardening she yanked the comb downward.
Pinpricks of pain tore through Crystalyn’s skull, snapping her head back. Gazing once again into the mirror, she met Deonna’s smug stare with a stony one of her own. “Do that again, and you will be dismissed from my service.” Her voice never cracked once, though her head throbbed with the grating pressure of a pulse engine out of discordance.
Deonna’s blue eyes widened. “I am truly sorry, my lady. Please, forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I will report myself to the Great Lord. He will no doubt have me flogged for which I am most deserving,” the matronly woman said, her face aghast.
Crystalyn felt some remorse. “For now, there will be no talk of reporting or flogging. See that it doesn’t happen again and I’ll overlook it, this once. Let’s just concentrate on the task at hand, shall we?”
“My lady is too kind,” Deonna replied in a small voice, lowering her eyes. A flash of haughtiness flitted briefly across Deonna’s smooth face. With difficulty, Crystalyn kept a sigh bottled inside. Perhaps Broth was right about this place.
Tonight was going to be a high-anxiety evening if the preparations were any indication. Where had she dropped her pack? It was high time for her meds.
EMPTY GRAYNESS
Lowering her head slightly, Jade was grateful for the robe’s deep hood. Staunch the Flow tavern was booming with patrons loud with drink for such an early evening hour. Caven had expected as much, he’d planned their entrance when most would be socializing with known acquaintances early on. Later, after the imbibing was in full fruition, the hardy ones, heavy with drink, would circulate around the tavern intruding upon conversations. Some would inevitably accost latecomers demanding to know things best kept private.
Jade still harbored doubts Camoe’s portly brother was the right one to get her and Burl where they needed to go, but so far no one had questioned them, and the robes he provided blended with the crowd. Apparently the monks of Brown Recluse proper liked their drink, no one gazed overly long at Caven’s two acolytes standing at ease at the end of the bar while he ordered another round.
Burl nonetheless was a cause for concern. He remained in the exact position she’d put him in upon their arrival. His back to the wall behind her, head tilted toward the floor, hood pulled forward to hide his telltale eyes. Jade worried about his lack of motion. If Caven delayed too long broaching the subject of speaking with the tavern owner, someone may notice one of his acolytes failed to draw breath.
“Another round, Monk?” the nondescript man behind the bar inquired as he swiped the counter in front of Caven with a stained rag. Of average height and build, the man’s only outstanding feature was his scraggly black goatee.
“Certainly,” Caven said, sliding his tankard closer to the man with his fingertip. “Keep them coming. Set one up for Craight as well. Oh, and let him know I’d like a word in private at his leisure,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Reaching for the tankard, the bartender hesitated, frowning. “Is he expecting you monk? What is it he would want with your kind?”
Caven sneered. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be private, now would it?”
Jade cringed inside. If there was going to be trouble, it would be now.
“Replenish my ale, get one for Craight, and deliver my message as I asked,” Caven said, his voice a low growl. Leaning forward, he gazed hard into the man’s eyes as he slid his hand toward the man, palm down. “This should cover it, with the remainder staying with you for your…gracious effort,” he added, inching the coin forward with his fingertips.
The man’s eyes narrowed, his frown deepened. For a long moment, he stared at Caven. Finally, he dropped his
eyes to the table. The coin vanished with a flash of gold. Pouring the tankard to the brim from a dented pitcher he produced from somewhere behind the bar, he sloshed it in front of Caven. Filling another tankard less full, the nondescript man regarded the three of them briefly before vanishing through a door into the back.
Caven leaned back on his stool, taking a small sip, looking around surreptitiously.
Jade followed his example, glancing around quickly, not letting her eyes linger in one place too long. Staunch the Flow Inn and Tavern—as the sign posted out front read—worked a thriving business. Townspeople lined the bar sitting on plain-backed, high stools or standing and leaning on it with their elbows and arms. The wood chairs and tables taking up most of the remaining space on both sides of a narrow aisle sustained a fair amount of patrons involved in conversation.
A pitcher similar to the barkeep’s, occupied the center space on every table but two; those supported three castle-like miniature structures, which several people stood around tossing implements similar to dice. Jade would’ve liked a closer look at them, but glances her direction had already grown frequent from different places throughout the room. One in particular seemed to have taken an interest in her; a scowling, broad-faced man in silver-black armor sitting at the bar’s end glared boldly her direction. Certain that he’d now made eye contact with her, the scowl deepened, bordering on rage.
“Don’t trade looks with him, Jade,” Caven said in an undertone barely loud enough for her to hear. “It will only encourage his kind to start something.”
Jade locked eyes with Caven. “Why does he hate me so much? I’ve never done anything to him, have I?”
Raising the tankard, he downed a decent swig of light amber ale. “They hate anyone they suspect is a User,” Caven said, his tone somber.
“But, I’m not a User!”
Caven glanced around, a yawn breaking up his slack face. His blue eyes slid past her without lingering. “Are you sure about that? When you look at me what is it you see? I mean, really look at me,” he said quietly. “But keep your head down.”
Jade slowed the tempest rotating around the portly monk. Three images of a younger and older Caven abounded within the rotation, but not for long. An indistinguishable shape, slightly lighter than the gray vortex spinning around Caven, floated behind the images, consuming them one-by-one, until it alone remained. Drifting inside the vortex for another full rotation, the shape slowly blended with the now empty grayness surrounding Caven.
Shocked, Jade let the vortex go. Then, with some trepidation, she tried again, concentrating on Caven with all her will. The monk’s aura obediently slowed, but there was nothing to view, only the impenetrable gray. Jade dropped the viewing feeling as if she’d brushed against frost cold enough to burn. She was cold inside. What did it all mean? One minute the viewing was there the next it was gone, which brought to mind an urgent question. What swallowed them? The coldness inside deepened. Not for the first time she wished Camoe had come along so she could ask him. He would have an answer. Even if he were uncertain, he’d have some sort of practical opinion on the matter.
Jade sighed. Wishing was irrelevant most of the time, so it was now. Camoe would’ve been in immediate danger had he accompanied them here. She wouldn’t want him to get hurt or worse, simply because she wanted his advice.
Caven was regarding her, a question shining in his blue eyes. Jade didn’t know what to say. She’d never had an image slip away before, not in such a manner. What could she tell him? That he had no images now?
Thankfully, the barkeep appeared from the back motioning for them to follow, sparing her the need to reveal the viewing. The stool creaked loudly in protest as Caven lifted his bulk from it. Swaying slightly, he scooped up his tankard, drained it, and then waddled after the barkeep.
Towing Burl by the hand, Jade followed, trying to shake the feeling things didn’t bode well for them.
CAUSE OF STRIFE
The fetching, dark-haired, Darwin arrived to escort Crystalyn not long after Deonna left. The prim, older woman had obviously informed Darwin that the common girl was ready. However, the woman might infuriate her she was admirably efficient.
“I hope you had a refreshing nap, and I trust the headmistress wasn’t too insensitive with waking you,” Darwin said, one fine eyebrow raised. It was almost as if he’d heard her thoughts. Without waiting for a reply, he stepped into the hall, pausing and offering his arm. Crystalyn slid her arm in his delighted with the strength inherent in his muscles. “She can be brusque, but she likes her duties here and does them…well enough. You are so beautiful in your blue dress,” he added, changing the subject smoothly.
“Oh! Thank you for saying so,” Crystalyn said lamely. He looked so glamorous in his black chain mail. “Where is your black robe?”
Darwin laughed easily, a divine sound in her ears. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh with delight, but she hoped not the last. “I wear many outfits, for I have many duties, my lady. After our meal, I must inspect the state of my regiments. It is a duty I neglect at times, though Lord Charn forever reminds me of it. All soldiers invited to the Great Lord’s table are required to follow his example. You will see much armor tonight.”
Crystalyn wondered how many functions Darwin served within the Dark Citadel. “Why don’t you like it? Is it simply because it is a duty?”
Darwin’s brown eyes swept over her, sending an involuntary thrill through her. She had to be on her guard here: she was in the lair of the enemy after all according to…some she’d met on this world, such as her Do’brieni. “I see you do not have a military background, which endears you to me. I detest anything designed to make a man efficient at destroying another man. Life should never be taken for granted.”
Crystalyn let his assumption pass without comment. Having her dad as head of security had forced many hours of tactical studies upon her and her sister. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t you want your men to fight well and live? Aren’t you a captain or something? Isn’t it your duty to train them?”
Darwin flashed a brief smile. “I am a general with many captains under me. I simply meant I would like to end this war without having to destroy half the lives of the people and creatures living on Astura.”
“Then why don’t you throw down your weapons and walk away? Wars are messy things, anyway. No one really wins,” Crystalyn said as they entered an unfamiliar intersection. Guided by his gentle pressure on her arm, she turned down a narrower but opulent passage. Bright banners hung on the walls above stone shelving displaying silver wrought figurines and dining ware. Black, white, and red tiled flooring brightened the polished gray stone. A warm feeling raced through her as their hips brushed together.
Darwin laughed, gazing at her with his dark eyes. “That’s what I always say, but we’ve been so oppressed here in Virun so long, no one knows much beyond soldiering.”
Crystalyn halted, pulling her escort to a standstill by his elbow. “You call yourselves oppressed, but the White Lands claim to be on the defensive against the Dark Citadel’s aggression.”
Darwin’s merry features vanished. His smooth face took on a serious cast. “I have heard they promote fear and distrust of the Dark Citadel. Some in The White Lands no doubt believe it,” he said, his brown eyes earnest. “I can’t say I blame them. There have been some…tyrants, in our history, and in the White Lands’ as well. We used to be one people, living together in harmony when this world was young and devoid of some of the darker dangers, before some Users learned how to become so powerful.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that you were all a family in the past; it’s one of the things both sides agree upon. It sounds like you’re having trouble accepting it though,” Crystalyn said, following his strong but tender guidance. Plush carpets and gilded rugs lined the hallway, growing quite intricate the farther they strolled. Crystalyn would have liked to spend some leisure time perusing them—they certainly deserved an
extended look—but it was hard to keep her eyes away from Darwin too long. What’s come over me? She was starting to act like Jade, mooning over every handsome boy who happened by.
“I do not accept it,” Darwin said with his quiet baritone. They strode up to a bronzed door guarded by guards in dark armor, holding the now-familiar spears and swords. “Our world need not be in constant strife.”
The faceless guards nodded at her host as they passed. Their helms depicted the heads of spiderbees with chilling, alien detail. Crystalyn shuddered, moving past a half step ahead of her guide. Recalling her near-death experience with the hive, she wasn’t about to linger.
The room beyond the doorway curtailed a great stone and glass table that gave up space in the big room only when necessary to the mob of well-dressed people standing behind plush chairs. Servants moved quietly in the background of the table’s startlingly clear glass.
Lord Charn stood tall, dark, and powerful, standing at ease at the table’s gleaming onyx head. A large head it was, too, Crystalyn took in the sinuous body, the illusionary delicacy of the fine membrane wings, and four powerful legs of a magnificent black dragon holding up the glass. Lord Charn gestured for her to take the seat next to him.
Darwin pulled the chair out for her, sliding it forward to stop at the most comfortable spot for her reach, before claiming the seat on her right side. Lord Charn settled in next to her. “You may all be seated,” he said, his voice carrying the table’s great length with alacrity and volume, yet he didn’t seem loud to her.
The men and women wearing the elegant clothes sat nearly in unison. No one sat to the left of Lord Charn for there was no chair, only a glaring vacant space. Servants appeared as soon as the last person was seated, watched over by Deonna’s appraising gaze from where she’d stationed herself at the far end of the table.
Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) Page 42