The need to take action settled in his stomach, almost painful. He was tired; he should just try to sleep. Everything would seem less upsetting come morning.
But the knowledge remained that even if he felt better then, he would still be no closer to understanding who he was. What his purpose was in all of this. He gritted his teeth as the frustration built in his chest, intense and hard.
The Shackle retracted, dropping noiselessly from his arm and onto the quilt.
Caeden stared at it, stunned, for a few moments. It had come off. He’d done it, though he had no idea how.
Then he felt a flash of panic. Karaliene would know. Wouldn’t she? The princess was most probably asleep at this hour; perhaps it would go unnoticed, at least for a time.
He waited in the darkness, frozen to the spot for several minutes, listening for the sound of soldiers rushing to his door. No one came. Gradually he relaxed, sitting up on the bed and staring at the Shackle. He could try putting it back on, but he had no idea when—if ever—he’d be able to take it off again.
And even if he was able to reactivate it, he doubted it would still be linked to Karaliene. This might be his only opportunity to act before his newest custodian realized something was amiss.
Heart pounding, he fumbled around in the darkness for his clothes. Once dressed he slipped out into the corridor, nerves taut as he strained for any sign of discovery.
The hallways were all but empty at this hour and he made quick time, soon locating an exit to the palace grounds that he thought would be unguarded. Holding his breath, he cracked the door open, waiting for a shout to indicate he’d been mistaken.
There was only silence, with the occasional snatch of city noise in the background. He slipped through and gently shut the door behind him.
The thick shrubbery and moonless night made staying out of sight relatively easy, much to his relief. He secreted himself behind some bushes, keeping his breathing calm and steady, straining for the sound of the next patrol. Once he thought he heard a noise behind him—the crunch of leaves underfoot, perhaps—but when he spun, there was no one there, and he put it down to his imagination.
Minutes passed, and finally the orange flame of a torch began bobbing toward him. He held his breath as two guards walked past his hiding spot, both looking alert but neither showing signs of having spotted anything unusual.
Then they were past. Forcing his legs to move, he dashed forward, staying low and ready to dive into cover at the first sign of another patrol. He arrived at the supply gate to find that it was much as he’d hoped, secured from the inside with a solid latch but not needing a key.
He opened it cautiously, then used a sliver of Essence—so small it would surely be undetectable—to hold the latch up, leaving the gate accessible from outside. By his estimate, the Essence wouldn’t decay for at least a few hours. To a casual glance from any passing patrols, though, nothing would seem amiss.
He slipped out into a side alley, unlit and without shops or buildings of any kind. He kept his pace steady as he walked toward the main street, trying not to run despite his instincts. If anyone saw him, he wanted to look as innocuous as possible.
At the end of the alleyway he stopped, mentally revisiting the route he needed to take as he peered cautiously around the corner. In the distance he could see the four men standing guard in front of the palace’s main gate, from their body language more bored than anything else. That was good. The last thing he needed was to be challenged by an overzealous sentry.
He waited for a few moments until he thought none were looking in his direction, then exited the alley and began walking away, keeping to the shadows where possible. He didn’t look back, and there were no shouts from behind him.
Caeden’s racing heartbeat slowed a little once the palace was lost to view, though he remained tense as he hurried along. Even at night the splendor of the Upper District was remarkable; the wide, sweeping streets were lined with enormous mansions set well back from the thoroughfare, each artfully lit up to display the impossibly detailed, seamless white stonework facades that stood as the enduring trademark of the Builders.
The wonder of the journey was marred, though, by the heavy sense of apprehension that lay draped over everything. Despite the late hour, several buildings still had windows illuminated, and he overheard more than one heated conversation emanating from the grounds of Ilin Illan’s wealthiest residents. He couldn’t make out the specifics of any of them, but the entire city just felt… uneasy.
He soon arrived at Havran Das’s shop. He considered the building for a few minutes; the street was well lit, so there was little chance of his breaking in unnoticed. However, there did appear to be an upper floor to the shop—it was possible Das lived here as well as traded.
Taking a deep breath, Caeden walked up to the door and rapped on it as loudly as he dared.
He stood in silence for what seemed like minutes; he was almost about to leave when the sound of a bolt being slid back echoed around the street, and the door opened a crack. A bespectacled, middle-aged man peered out at him.
“What do you want, lad?” he asked sharply. “Do you know what hour it is?”
Caeden gave a nervous cough. “I’m looking for Havran Das.”
The man stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. Evidently deciding Caeden did not pose much of a threat, he opened the door a little wider. “I am Havran Das,” he said, suspicion thick in his tone. “Who in fates are you?”
“My name is Caeden.” When the man still stared at him blankly, he added, “Alaris said you would be expecting me.”
Havran took an unconscious step back at the last part, his entire demeanor changing. He smiled, but for a moment Caeden saw a combination of fascination and fear in the merchant’s eyes.
“Of course. Of course,” Havran said, opening the door wide and gesturing for Caeden to enter. “Please. Come in.”
Caeden did as he was asked, and the other man shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt back into place. He held his candle high, providing enough light for Caeden to navigate between the shelves of bottles. Finally they came to the back of the shop, where Havran indicated he should take a seat at a long table. Caeden did so uncertainly, still not sure what to expect from this meeting.
“So,” said Havran as he sat opposite. “Alaris told me a little about your situation, but even he didn’t know much. He certainly didn’t tell me you would be in this body. Perhaps if—”
It was the slightest flicker of the eye, from Caeden’s face to over his shoulder. If Caeden’s senses had not already been so heightened from nervousness, he might not have noticed it at all.
As it was he reacted on instinct, spinning to the side and to his feet.
A blade cleaved the air where he had just been sitting, splintering the chair in two.
Caeden moved without thinking, elbowing his would-be attacker in the face. He heard the crunching sound of a nose breaking but didn’t pause, allowing his momentum to take him behind the armored man’s back. In one smooth motion he grabbed both sides of the assassin’s helmetless head and twisted it as hard as he could, downward and to the side.
The snap of the man’s neck was deafening in the silence of the shop.
Then Havran was scrambling backward away from Caeden, who felt a sudden rage burning in his stomach. He’d been set up, betrayed. Had anything Alaris told him been real? He started toward the cowering merchant, then picked him up by the shoulders with Essence-enhanced arms and slammed him against the wall.
“Why?” he hissed.
Havran cringed away, refusing to meet Caeden’s gaze. “Tal’kamar, wait! It’s not what you think!” he shrieked, plainly terrified.
A woman’s scream from outside cut through the quiet of the night.
Caeden hesitated for only a moment; then he released the merchant and was moving, heading for the door. He heard Havran dashing out of the room behind him, but another shriek came, this time clearly only just outside. He slamm
ed back the bolt and burst out of the shop, freezing as he took in the scene before him.
Fifty or so feet down the road a young woman was surrounded by five armored men, four of them watching as the other held her from behind, hand over her mouth. She was kicking and clearly trying to bite her attacker’s hand, but Caeden could see her struggles were already weakening.
For a moment the man’s hand slipped, and Caeden got a good look at the woman’s face. He paled as he recognized the fair skin, the delicate features.
It was Karaliene.
She’d felt him take off the Shackle and decided to follow him, almost certainly, but there was no time to worry about that now. He gritted his teeth, then took off at a dead run toward the group.
He was still thirty feet away when he was first noticed; the man who had seen him murmured a word of warning, and all five men were facing Caeden in an instant. His heart skipped a beat as each one of them drew a sword, their black armor barely visible in the gloom.
Though none of the men were wearing the distinctive helmets, Caeden had no doubt who they were. He kept running. He was not going to leave Karaliene to the Blind.
The man closest gave a wide, greedy smile when he realized Caeden was unarmed; he stood calmly in an attack stance, perfectly still, as Caeden rushed toward him. Just as Caeden came within range the man moved, catlike, far quicker than should have been possible. His sword snaked out, streaking toward Caeden’s neck.
Time slowed and Caeden let his instincts take over, just as he had against Aelric.
He slid beneath the arc of the sword, coming in under the man’s defenses. Then he twisted and kicked upward into the left knee of his opponent, intuitively knowing that his altered passage through time meant that the blow in reality would be delivered much faster, and therefore much harder. He winced as he felt the man’s ligaments snap, the knee bending sideways; a shout of surprised pain ripped from the soldier’s throat as he crumpled to the ground.
Caeden regained his footing smoothly, snatching the man’s sword from the air as it fell and then spinning forward, slashing his attacker’s throat in one fluid motion. Four.
The smiles of the dead man’s companions had vanished now. The one holding Karaliene hit her hard on the head, sending her slumping to the ground. Caeden watched her fall helplessly, hoping that the blow had not caused her any serious injury.
The four remaining soldiers moved as one toward him, fanning out, surrounding him so that he was no longer able to see them all at once. He knew he was still slowing time—Karaliene’s fall appeared to take several seconds—but these men were clearly less affected. A little sluggish compared to him, perhaps, but not as much as he would like. He couldn’t allow them to settle, to get any advantage.
He lunged forward, slipping gracefully between two whirring blades, one so close that he felt it brush a few strands of his hair. Caeden brought his own blade around in a vicious arc, the edge slicing into the exposed neck of the man to his left. His opponent began to fall without a sound; before the body could hit the ground Caeden snatched a dagger from its belt and spun, throwing it at one of the men who had moved behind him. It caught the unsuspecting soldier in the eye, blood fountaining through his fingers as he died clutching his face.
Three. Two. Their armor was well made—almost impenetrable to a normal weapon, he suspected—but these men had neglected to wear their helmets. Their laziness, or overconfidence, was going to kill them.
The two remaining soldiers faced him grimly, spacing themselves so that he would have to concentrate on one or the other. He’d vaguely hoped that they would run, having seen what had become of their comrades. But the expressions on their faces were intent, focused. As if his success so far had only intrigued them.
The one to his right feinted; when Caeden flinched toward him the one to his left came in hard and fast, stabbing with lethal accuracy. Caeden was faster, though. He moved forward, toward the thrust and slightly to the side, spinning so that the steel passed just by his ribs. He went down on one knee in the same motion, grabbing the man’s leg with his free hand and lifting.
Before his opponent hit the ground Caeden rolled toward the other soldier, anticipating the attack. Steel sparked as it hit the stone of the street where he had been a moment earlier. Caeden focused, then thrust upward at the second man, into the thin slit that allowed movement for the knee. He was rewarded with a scream of pain as his blade bit home.
He slid the blade back out before it could get caught, then rose, severing the man’s head from his shoulders as he tumbled forward.
One.
The soldier he had tripped was back on his feet, panting but still with an oddly intent look in his eye. There was no fear that Caeden could see. At first he thought that was strange, but then he considered what he must look like to his opponent. Calm. Composed. Focused.
Exactly the same.
Before he could think on it any further, the final soldier was upon him, raining down a fierce array of blows. Caeden blocked them all—not easily, but not feeling that he was likely to lose now, either. He allowed the soldier to exhaust his attack, then put several feet between them.
“Who are you?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Why are you here?”
The man stopped, blinking as if surprised by the question.
“We are here to stop you, Tal’kamar,” he eventually replied, his voice emotionless.
The soldier threw himself forward, but it was a tired thrust and Caeden sidestepped it with ease. He acted on instinct, bringing his sword up so that his opponent’s momentum carried him into it. The blade sliced across his face, biting deep but not delivering a killing blow.
The man growled, blood spurting down his cheek, then turned to face him again.
Caeden stretched out his hand without thinking.
A blinding torrent of power and light washed through him, exploding from his palm and slamming into the man’s chest. It should have vaporized the soldier where he stood, but much to Caeden’s astonishment he simply stood there, neither advancing nor retreating as his armor drank in the Essence, extinguishing it.
Caeden stopped, cursing as he realized that every Finder in the city would now be pointed at him. He had to end this, and quickly.
He swiveled, flicking his sword underhand at the other man. The blade caught the soldier square through the mouth, blood fountaining as the man stared at Caeden in horrified disbelief. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Caeden stood there for a few more moments in silence, breathing hard, surveying the scene. Bloodied bodies lay everywhere. In the distance he could hear the whistle of the city watch; the fight had taken only a minute, perhaps less, but someone must have heard the clash of steel. There was doubtless a legion of Administrators heading in his direction now, too. He had to move.
He knelt by Karaliene, emitting a sigh of relief when he saw she was breathing. He hoisted her onto his shoulder—mentally apologizing for the indignity—then hurried away as fast as he could, disappearing down a darkened side street just as the urgent whistles of the watch sounded as if they had made it onto the scene.
Havran Das—who hadn’t shown his face during the entire fight—would have to wait for another day.
Caeden suddenly discovered he was tired. Exhausted, in fact. The adrenaline was wearing off, and whatever he’d been doing to slow down time was no longer working. He had to think of what to do with Karaliene.
She knew, of course. She knew he’d slipped his Shackle, left the grounds—breaking the only two conditions she’d set for her hospitality. If he took her back to the palace, she would have him thrown in a dungeon as soon as she awoke. At the least.
Then he thought of what he’d done, how easily he’d killed those men. He shivered a little as the reality of it set in; it had been surreal at the time, almost as if he were watching himself do those things. He hadn’t taken pleasure in it, certainly—but it hadn’t upset him as he knew it should have, either.
He swallowe
d. Perhaps he belonged in a dungeon.
He thought furiously as he half walked, half jogged along the deserted streets. Was there even an alternative? He couldn’t prevent Karaliene from returning to the palace; one thing of which he was certain was that he wasn’t capable of kidnapping or killing her. He was relieved to discover that, though in his current situation it presented its own series of problems.
In the end he decided that there was nothing for it but to return to the palace and accept the consequences. Even though she had been unconscious for most of the fight, Karaliene would hopefully feel some sliver of gratitude toward him for saving her. The prospect seemed a slim one at this point, but he clung to it.
He made it back to the supply gate without any issues, relieved to find that it was still unlatched, despite the princess’s presumably having used it after him. He shut it properly behind him, then hid in the bushes until the patrol passed by again, covering Karaliene’s mouth for fear she would wake up and give him away. Heart pounding so loud he was worried he wouldn’t hear the guards coming, he made it back inside without incident.
The trip to Karaliene’s quarters was trickier. He already knew where to go thanks to Aelric’s thorough rundown of off-limits areas earlier that day—the problem was that there would be plenty of guards stationed along the hallways leading up to the royal chambers. Caeden found a safe corner and let Karaliene’s limp body rest against the wall, flexing his tired shoulder. She was heavier than she looked.
He stared at her for a moment. She looked strangely peaceful, her hair tousled but still shining in the dim light.
Then he shook himself. If anyone found him with her like this, it was unlikely he’d even last until the princess awoke to explain matters. He needed to get her back to her chambers.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. She must have slipped away from her bedroom without being noticed; none of the guards would have let her wander off alone in the middle of the night. And, therefore, she must have had a plan to get back in.
He carefully picked her up again, then found the nearest exit, moving around the outside of the palace until he was reasonably sure he was below Karaliene’s rooms. They were on the top floor, but Caeden remembered having seen a slender set of spiral stairs leading up to the balcony.
The Shadow of What Was Lost Page 53