Taeris stared at the boy for so long that Wirr actually reddened. “For a young man with such a healthy skepticism, you know a great deal about the Eternity War.”
Wirr scowled. “I read,” he said defensively. His scowl deepened as he saw Davian’s eyebrow raised in half-questioning amusement. “I do!”
Taeris smiled slightly. “In answer to your question—I don’t have proof of anything like that. I am trying to keep an open mind, though. I’ve seen some astounding things done with Essence; it’s unlikely, but if there is even the slightest chance Devaed could still be alive…” He sighed. “Put it this way—the dar’gaithin I saw, along with everything else going on with the Boundary, has certainly made me look at Alchesh a little more seriously.”
He turned to Davian and Caeden, seeing their blank expressions. “Alchesh was an Augur from the time of the Eternity War. The stories say he was so immensely powerful, he was driven mad by seeing too much of what was to come,” he explained. “After the Boundary was created, he foretold that it would one day fail, that Devaed and his armies would eventually be freed. People took it seriously for a long time. They manned forts, checked the Boundary regularly for any signs of attack.
“After a few centuries without so much as a sighting, though, a lot of people began to think that Alchesh’s foretelling must have been a result of his madness—that not even a powerful Gifted like Devaed could still be alive after so many years. The opinion became popular enough that the Old Religion eventually struck Alchesh’s visions from their canon and declared the Eternity War over. Soldiers were reassigned, and the Tols gradually stopped taking their readings. People forgot about the north as they focused on more immediate threats—the civil war in Narut, then the constant little skirmishes between Desriel and Andarra, Andarra and Nesk. After that there was the Great War with the Eastern Empire.”
He shrugged, turning his attention back to Wirr. “And maybe Alchesh really was mad—but it doesn’t change the fact that the Boundary failing right now is a problem. I can’t say anything for certain about Devaed, but I saw that dar’gaithin corpse, and we can tell from the stories that those are fearsome, malevolent, intelligent creatures. Should they break through in numbers, they’re going to attack regardless of whether they have any guiding force behind them.”
Wirr thought for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “You’re right,” he admitted. “If those creatures really do exist, then it almost doesn’t matter whether Devaed is alive—even by themselves, they’re worse than anything the Gil’shar could hit us with. If the Tols aren’t prepared, we’ll be massacred.” His shoulders slumped. “Which I suppose means you’re right about what we need to do next, too.”
“If you think of a better option, we will take it,” said Taeris seriously.
“What about your Travel Stones?” Davian shrugged as everyone turned to look at him. “Couldn’t we just send one across the border, then use the other to create a portal?”
Taeris shook his head. “Even if we found someone trustworthy to take one into Andarra, it wouldn’t work. Creating a portal uses a vast amount of Essence, which needs to be stored up in the stones before they will work. I keep them on me so they constantly feed from my Reserve, but any more than a trickle and I’d be setting off Finders… it took me two months to charge them, last time. We won’t be able to hide here for that long.”
“Then it’s Thrindar,” concluded Wirr unhappily. He looked across at Davian. “I can’t say as I like it, but he’s right. If we don’t get back to Tol Athian, find out what’s going on with the Boundary, we could be risking far worse than Desriel’s army.”
They walked in silence for a while. After a few minutes, Taeris dropped back beside Davian, tugging on his sleeve to indicate that he should slow down. Wirr was talking cheerfully to Caeden—about what Davian wasn’t sure, but the two of them were laughing. He smiled. Caeden had looked dazed, lost, ever since he’d woken, but Wirr was always the right person to put someone at ease.
Taeris glanced at the two boys up ahead, frowning. “You and Wirr need to be careful,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Davian followed his gaze. “Of Caeden?” he asked. “You think he’s hiding something?”
“Oh, I believe him well enough,” replied Taeris. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t murder those people, or that he isn’t complicit in what’s happened to you. For all you know, that box could have been meant to restore his memories, after which he may have been meant to kill you.” He sighed. “I’m not saying that’s what I think. But it is a possibility.”
Davian looked at Caeden again. Could this young man, laughing and joking with his friend, really be a killer?
“What do you think?” he asked.
Taeris didn’t reply for a few moments. “I think there are a handful of people in the world who could have translated what the sha’teth said to me,” he said quietly. “What that means… I don’t know. But if he turns out to be an enemy—well, you need to stay on your guard.”
Davian swallowed. “And if we discover he really is dangerous, when we restore his memories at the Tol?”
“Then at least we’ve chosen the battleground,” observed Taeris.
Without anything further he increased his pace again, quickly catching up to the other two. Davian soon joined them, but he kept mostly silent as they talked.
Taeris had given him much to think about.
Chapter 16
Asha leaned back in her chair and glanced around the library for what was probably the hundredth time that day, unable to concentrate on the work laid out in front of her.
It had been almost a week since the Sanctuary and there had been no sign of the Northwarden, nor any indication that the Shadraehin had followed through on his plan. She sighed, shuffling the pages in front of her. She still half expected everything to go horribly wrong when the head of Administration found out about her, but now she just wished it were done either way. The waiting, the uncertainty, was worse by far.
“The book’s that exciting, is it?”
She turned to see Tendric watching her with a mildly amused smile. She forced a smile back, hoping that the sudden twisting of her stomach wasn’t evident on her face. Tendric was Jin’s replacement; she didn’t know whether he was one of the Shadraehin’s people, but she suspected not. His dolorous outlook on life was much closer to Raden’s than those from the Sanctuary.
“I’m just tired,” she lied, hoping the man would leave her alone.
Instead Tendric took a seat opposite her. He looked around, then leaned forward a little, lowering his voice.
“I’ve been wanting to ask. Do you know where Jin went?”
Asha shook her head, unable to look him in the eye. “No idea.”
Tendric sighed, looking disappointed but nodding. “Raden said the last time he saw him was with you. I was hoping maybe he’d said something before he disappeared… I can’t say his is a job that I’d really hoped to be doing,” he admitted.
“He didn’t say anything,” Asha reiterated, just wanting the conversation to be over.
The curly-haired Shadow was apparently oblivious to her discomfort. “But he didn’t seem worried at all that day? Jumpy?” he pressed. “Haliden says he probably just got tired of things here and left, but Raden thinks something else happened to him. Like maybe he got on the wrong side of the crowd he was involved with… if you know what I mean.” He shook his head, clearly more interested in spreading gossip than in Asha’s opinion. “In which case he brought it on himself, I suppose.”
Asha knew she shouldn’t say anything, but it was too much.
“Fates, Tendric! I’m sure it had nothing to do with the Shadraehin,” she snapped, unable to keep the anger from her voice. “Jin was a good man, and Raden is a slimy little fool if he’s spreading lies like that.”
Tendric gaped at her a little, taken aback by the outburst.
“I… uh. Sorry,” he said after a moment, looking guilty. “You’re right. I�
��m sure Jin’s fine.”
Asha set her jaw, glancing at the Decay Clock. It wasn’t quite the end of the day, but it was close enough.
“I have to go,” she said, pushing back her chair and gesturing to the papers on her desk. “I’ll finish these up tomorrow.”
She walked off, leaving Tendric gaping after her.
Once she reached her room she closed the door behind her and collapsed on the bed, trying to shut out the image of Jin’s final moments. She stared up at the ceiling, the frustration and pain of the last few weeks welling up inside her, threatening to break free. She wasn’t sure how much more of being here at the Tol, like this, she could take. She emitted a long, deep sigh.
From the corner of her room, there came a polite cough.
“Ashalia, I presume?”
Asha leaped up again to see two men standing at the far end of the room, having apparently appeared from thin air. A man and a boy, she realized on closer inspection. The boy was near her age, short and thin, with a pallid complexion. A servant of some kind, she thought. The man, though…
A rich blue cloak. Tall, and though he looked older, his blond hair had not yet faded. He had a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes, as well as a little beard that on most people would have looked like an affectation, but instead gave him a dignified air.
“Who are you?” she asked shakily, though she already knew the answer.
“Duke Elocien Andras,” said the Northwarden. He held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I’m only here for information.”
Asha nodded, trying to gather her scattered thoughts; though she had been expecting this, she was still dazed—and not a little intimidated—that the head of Administration had actually come to see her. She glanced toward the door, which was still shut. “How did you get in here? Your Grace,” she added hurriedly.
“I will explain later.” Suddenly the duke frowned, turning to glance at his servant, who leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He faced Asha again, studying her for a long few seconds in silence.
“It seems this was a waste of time,” he said. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”
Asha gaped at him for a moment, confused. She hadn’t known what to expect from her meeting with the Northwarden, but summary dismissal hadn’t been one of the possibilities she’d considered.
“Please, don’t go,” she said quickly, desperation in her voice. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost this opportunity. “I want to help you find out what happened to my friends, if I can. I want to know who killed them, and why.”
The Northwarden turned, scowling, and looked about to make a retort when his eyes fell upon some of the loose pages on her desk. He closed his mouth, frowning, and stepped closer to examine them.
“You knew these people?”
Asha nodded. She’d been sketching some pictures of her friends at the school in her free time, something she’d wanted to do before their faces became too dim in her memory. There were plenty of images of Davian, and a few of Wirr and the others, too. She’d been told, some time ago, that she had a talent for drawing. It had helped her pass the time, and to deal with her grief.
Asha swallowed the lump in her throat that formed every time she thought of Davian. “They’re my friends, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The ones who died.”
The duke stared at her for a few moments, his expression softening.
“Tell me about them.” It was a request rather than a command.
Asha hesitated. A part of her didn’t want to share her memories of Davian and Wirr with this man. But it felt good to remember.
“Davian is sweet. A little too quiet, sometimes; he gets wrapped up in his problems and forgets he can share the burden. But he’s honest, and smart, and loyal.” She smiled as she talked about him. “Wirr is loud and brash. He’ll sometimes act before he thinks it through, but then is clever enough to fix whatever he did wrong before he gets in too much trouble. He’s funny and good at…” She gestured vaguely. “Well, he’s good at everything, truth be told. And he knows it. He’s not arrogant, mind you, but he’s more confident than anyone has a right to be. It drives the Elders mad, actually.” She felt her expression twist as she realized she had been talking about them in the present tense. “Drove them mad, I mean,” she amended softly.
She looked up, and was startled to see the Northwarden’s expression. He was leaning forward, giving her rapt attention. As soon as he registered her surprise his face became an impassive mask, but she was certain of what she had seen.
The duke didn’t say anything, and the long silence began to grow uncomfortable. Just as Asha was about to break it, the duke straightened, looking at his servant.
“You’re sure?”
The young man inclined his head, the slightest of motions. “Yes, Your Grace.”
The duke shook his head as if surprised at what he was about to do, then sighed, turning to Asha. “You want to help? You want to come to the palace, find out more about what’s going on?”
Asha nodded, barely daring to hope, though she didn’t understand what had changed the duke’s mind. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Then come with me. And call me Elocien, at least when we are not in public. ‘Your Grace’ becomes tiring after a while.” Elocien raised an eyebrow at his servant. “Time to knock on Nashrel’s door, I suppose.”
He smiled.
* * *
The duke paused outside the Council chamber door.
He turned to Asha. “Let me do the talking in here,” he said seriously. “I know how to handle the Council. Let them think you’re robbing them, then ask them for what you really want.” He waited until Asha nodded her assent, then turned to consider the door in front of him. “Now…”
A thunderous crash echoed through the Council chambers as Elocien kicked the door open as hard as he could.
The duke returned Asha’s shocked stare with a shrug. “Puts them off-balance.”
He strode inside, blue cloak flowing majestically behind, leaving Asha gaping after him.
“What is the meaning of this?” cried a startled voice, joined quickly by others. The shouts were silenced, however, as soon as Elocien entered the room.
Asha trailed after the Northwarden, his servant following her. Most of the Elders’ seats were full this time; another man in a blue cloak sat to the side of the Elders, and a younger Gifted sat next to him with a pen and paper, scribbling furiously. An official Council meeting, then, from all appearances.
Elder Eilinar paled as his eyes darted from Elocien to Asha, then back again. There was a deathly hush, even the sound of the Scrivener’s pen vanishing as the young man stared down at them in shock. The other Administrator looked equally stunned.
“Duke Andras,” choked out Nashrel, just as the silence became almost unbearable. “We were not told you were—”
“No. You weren’t.” The relatively friendly demeanor the duke had shown Asha had vanished. He glared up at the supervising Administrator and the Scrivener. “Out,” he growled.
The two men had disappeared before the Northwarden had time to turn back to Nashrel.
“Now, Elder Eilinar. Let us discuss why I am here.”
Nashrel looked around desperately, as if searching for an exit. “She had nothing to tell, Your Grace,” he said. “We didn’t want to bother—”
“You didn’t want to share,” said Elocien, cutting off Nashrel for the second time in a row. He gave an impatient sigh. “I try not to exercise the Fourth Tenet too much, Elder Eilinar, but sometimes you make me wonder why.”
There was silence from the gallery as Nashrel stared at the ground, chastised. Several of the other Council members looked equally abashed. “I apologize, Your Grace,” Nashrel eventually said stiffly. “She is the only one to survive an attack, and we wanted to keep her close, observe her so we could find out why. We were mistaken not to inform you, though.”
“Keep her close? You made her a Shadow and
put her to work,” growled Elocien. “If I hadn’t found her, she likely would have rotted in here.”
Nashrel coughed. “And if I may be so bold as to ask—how did you know about the girl?”
Elocien just stared at Nashrel until the other man looked away again.
The head of the Administrators let the silence drag for a few more seconds, then crossed his arms. “If you insist on acting like children, you will be treated like children. The girl will be coming with me.”
Nashrel’s face reddened. “Why? What possible use could you have for her?”
“That is my business,” the duke replied.
“I’m sorry, Northwarden, but you don’t have the right,” Nashrel spluttered. “You need the Council’s permission to take one of us from the Tol. To do otherwise would violate the Treaty!”
“A shame you decided to exempt her from the Treaty, then,” said Elocien, staring squarely at Nashrel. “She’s not Gifted any more, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“But you have no cause, no charge. You still cannot take her against her will.”
“She wants to go.”
Everyone’s gaze turned to Asha, who reddened under their stares. Nashrel looked at her in disbelief. “Is this true?” He leaned forward. “If you say you do not want to go, he cannot take you, child.”
Asha looked back at him steadily. “I want to go.”
There was a stunned silence in the chamber as Nashrel just stared at her, openmouthed.
The Elder recovered himself after a few seconds, giving Elocien a hesitant glance before looking away again in obvious frustration. “Take her, Northwarden, and you lose your best chance at finding him.”
The assertion meant nothing to Asha, but the room went very quiet, as if everyone was suddenly holding their breath. Elocien stepped forward, his composure threatening to crack for the first time.
“Was that a threat?”
Nashrel swallowed. “No, of course not, Your Grace,” he said hurriedly, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “I meant only that by observing the girl, we may learn something that could help. If you take her, we cannot do that.”
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