“Are you saying he’s more powerful on his native soil? Interesting.” Rowan appeared to digest that piece of information. “Perhaps I shall have to test that theory.”
They ate eventually, but Zara spent the whole evening feeling as though she were dodging arrows. The conversation was filled with hints and pokes and barbs and questions that were never quite asked. It was exhausting, and even when the hour grew late, Alexei did not appear. Was he really sulking as Silvay said? Or had he taken her hint? There was no way and no one to ask. Not without giving themselves away.
They couldn’t all sleep comfortably in the kitchen, so after dinner they set about distributing themselves for the night. Malichai, Zara guessed, would be sitting up for most of it, keeping a wary eye on their guests. Gulver volunteered to sleep in the scullery, which at least shared a wall with the largest fireplace and would not be unbearably cold. And Zara herself…
“I’m going for a walk,” she announced. “I need some time to think and none of you are invited.”
“I beg you to be careful,” Rowan said, his face a study in warmth and solicitude. “We all need you, Athven most of all, and it would be a great tragedy if you suffered an entirely preventable accident.”
“Stop insinuating and just say it,” Zara snapped. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” he responded carefully, “is that there is another member of your party who may feel they no longer have anything to lose by your demise. I understand that you may feel you owe him your life, but the desire for revenge makes opportunists of the best of men.” Sympathy oozed from every insincere word. “Perhaps he did not tell you, but according to Porfiry, your friend Alexei might have been considered the heir to all this, and thwarted ambition is a powerful incentive to violence. Especially given that Athven has already rejected him.”
Zara stared at him, feigning confusion to give her time to overcome a surge of rage. What exactly had Athven told the traitor prince? Zara would give every treasure she had ever found to pummel the treacherous avatar within an inch of her existence. But she couldn’t pummel a cat, and it would do none of them any favors to let Rowan know just how much she trusted Alexei.
So she throttled her rage and nodded. “I thank you for the warning, but I assure you, it is not necessary. Alexei has been quite open about who he is. He has been frustrating and high-handed, but has never posed any threat to me that Athven herself is not quite able to handle.”
“I realize that you are unfamiliar with the machinations of power, so perhaps it has not occurred to you,” Rowan said, his eyes not meeting hers, “but despite his disclaiming, he may have been considering the benefits of the forced bond he so loudly rejected.”
“A bond he could not possibly accomplish without Athven.” Zara waved her hand with a flippancy she did not feel. “He might be able to bond with me, I suppose. I don’t claim to have a strong understanding of how these Erathi marriage bonds work. But Athven would have to be involved in order for him to join my bond with her, and, as you say, she has already rejected him.”
“True enough.” Rowan appeared to subside.
Had he been looking for confirmation? Testing her to find out whether Athven had told him the truth? And if so, could he use his gift to tell when she was lying?
The thought chilled her. The sooner she left the kitchen the better for everyone. “Dinner was delicious, thank you, Malichai. I hope that you all enjoy the wine, but I’m off for a while. Don’t worry if I fall asleep somewhere else.”
“Sweet dreams,” Silvay said, with a significant look, and Zara nodded. “The same to you.”
She strode out of the kitchen. Wherever Alexei was, she doubted he wanted to be found, so she would respect his wishes no matter how much she longed to ask him what she should do. The only person she could talk to now was Athven. And pray the accursed cat had the decency to listen.
Zara watched and listened carefully to ensure she was not followed, then set her foot to the stairs at the bottom of the north tower.
The dream was bleak. Zara stood in the entry hall, but she wore her own clothes, and shivered in the wind. The door hung open, and there were gaps in the stones overhead. Moonlight shone through the cracks, illuminating dark stains on the floor.
Athven stood beside her, clothing torn, with bruises and abrasions on her face and arms.
“Very moving,” Zara said. “Is there a point to this display?”
“You needed to see,” the avatar told her in a hollow voice. “This is what will be if you do not listen to my warnings.”
“Are you now a seer as well?” Zara asked. “Can you know the future, or do you but guess out of the heart of your own fears? Worse, do you listen to the treacherous words of others?”
“I know the dangers of power,” Athven snapped harshly. “I know what men and women will do to crush those they view as a threat. And I know the subtle poison of hate and fear.”
“Who do you fear, Athven?”
“I fear you,” the avatar said bluntly. “I fear you will make a decision that could doom us all.”
“And how would I do that?” Zara asked her softly.
“By refusing to heed me. By acting for your own selfish reasons and denying my request. I might have bonded you without your consent once, but the son of Nar was correct when he said I cannot do so again. Our first bond will never be as strong as it should because your will did not aid in its making. I cannot risk such a weakness again. You must come to see that your objections will only sacrifice the needs of my people on the altar of your own selfishness!”
“I would say the same of you.” Zara lifted her chin and turned to face Athven. “Can you not see the dangers of allowing a man like Rowan into the heart of your power? Can you not hear his thirst for vengeance and conquest? He cares nothing for you or your people, only for what you can give him, and in your fear you risk losing the very things you hope to save.”
“Of course I know the dangers,” Athven snapped. “I am ancient and have seen many powers rise and fall. You are but a child compared to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I am wrong,” Zara insisted. “Tell me what you see in him. Give me a reason, any reason, to trust that you have judged this rightly.”
“The son of Nar is too broken, and there is no one else,” Athven said firmly, her anger abated. “I must have a strong guardian. It is in my nature. There are certain compulsions that I cannot ignore, placed there when I first began. You were able to keep me alive, true, but I weaken with my efforts to sustain that life. Without the Bright One, I could die, and hope for my people would die with me.”
“Can you see what Alexei is doing now?” Zara asked abruptly.
“I can feel him.” The avatar’s answer was cautious, and her eyes did not meet Zara’s.
“He found it, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“Will you try to stop him?”
“Why would I?” Athven snapped. “If he can mend the enchantment, I will have a means of protecting my lands once more.”
“Then if he can fix it, will you at least consider an alternative to Rowan Tremontaine? I have every reason to believe the Rose would not tolerate his presence.”
“If he is bonded to me, the Rose will have no choice.” Athven’s tone was iron. “I will have both a powerful guardian and the protection of an enchantment over my lands. Why would I give up either?”
“Because he would use and oppress your people!” Zara almost shouted.
“Between us, I believe we could prevent him.”
“You haven’t told him the truth, have you?” Zara asked bluntly. “He doesn’t know what will happen once we are bonded?”
“No.” The avatar whirled to face her. “And if you think to discourage him by informing him of those facts, remember that I will know. And that I do not forgive treachery!”
“What can you do to me?” Zara lifted her chin boldly. “You cannot kill me or you kill yourself.”
“Perhaps. But
in any case, it is clear that threats against your person would be ineffective.” Athven’s eyes were cold. “It would, however, be a simple matter to snuff out the lives of your companions, one by one, until I gained your attention.”
Zara had guessed it was possible—had almost counted on the threat when she laid her plans—but the declaration still stopped her breath for a moment. “You can do that?” she asked, letting her fear and disappointment color her words. They were genuine, and Athven could not mistake them.
“Of course I can. I feel the threads of every life that crosses my threshold. It is no complex matter to remove one or two.”
“And if I agree to this… If I do as you ask, they will be safe? You will allow them to leave unharmed?”
“I will have no further need of them,” Athven conceded, “so yes, they would be permitted to leave if they chose. Eventually, my walls must be filled once more, but that can wait until my guardians are more prepared to form their own court.”
“Then you leave me no choice.” Zara bent her head. “I will consider your words. Only give me till the end of the three days.”
“And do not think that you can rid yourself of my chosen one merely by telling him of the Rose.” Athven had thought of everything. “He must not know until it is fully restored and he is securely bound to me.”
“If you believe him to be so fickle, I can only wonder why you would choose to trust him.”
“I do not trust him, child. Never think it. I trust no one. But I do understand him, and in that I believe we can find agreement.”
“Very well.” Zara let her shoulders slump and her eyes fall. “I will do according to your wishes. I only hope we do not both come to regret it.”
The dream faded, but Zara did not wake. She drifted, formless, through the dark castle, sensing the sleeping forms of her friends and enemies alike, until she saw a light.
She drifted closer, and suddenly found herself embodied again, in a low room filled with the glow of a gargantuan furnace. Alexei was bent over a table, muttering, with a chunk of stone in his hand. He looked up and around, until… could he see her?
“Zara?” No, he heard her. Sensed her. His good eye did not seem to rest where she felt herself to be standing.
“Yes?” She wasn’t sure her voice would make any sound in that place.
“You’re all right then.” There was no mistaking the relief in his voice. “Where are you? What is happening?”
“Isn’t this a dream?” she asked.
“Yes and no.” A weary smile crossed his lips. “You are asleep, but I am not. I suspect it is similar to the way you speak to Athven. A vision, of sorts.”
“Are you not intending to sleep?”
He pushed a filthy hand through his hair. “Not any time soon. Three days is not enough time, but it’s all that bastard has given me.”
“But you found it?”
“We did.” Hope lit a fire behind his gaze. “Thanks to you. And Wilder. I don’t know that it will make a difference, but I will not rest until I discover whether there is anything I can do to restore it.”
He lifted the stone into the air and Zara wrinkled her nose. “I expected… well, more,” she admitted.
“Most people do. I suspect Nar chose this stone for that very reason.” He set the piece next to two others on the table. “The enchantment is still alive, but it is faint, and I have not yet made sense of its structure. Restoring it may not be possible, but perhaps remaking it…” He shrugged.
“Do not injure yourself in the trying,” Zara admonished him. “There is no enchantment worth your life.”
“And yet I would give it,” he said simply, “many times over, to keep you from the fate Athven proposes.”
Could one blush when one had no face? Zara didn’t know but she certainly felt warmer. “I’m not certain there is anything you can do,” she said, unable to meet his eyes even when he could not see her. “Even if you restore it, Athven is determined on her course. I tried to tell her of Rowan’s greed and ambition, but she believes herself capable of controlling him. She either does not see or does not care how he will rage when he finds out that she intends to bind him here forever. He will not take kindly to realizing how badly he has been deceived.”
“And I would rejoice to see him so deceived, if you were not also caught in the coils of Athven’s snare,” Alexei announced, his frustration evident.
Desperate to steer the conversation away from a direction that could prove too revealing, Zara changed the subject. She would not risk Alexei finding out about Athven’s threats. “Are you supplied with food and water? Do any of the others know where you are?”
“No.” Alexei turned back to the table. “I brought some provisions, and there is a cistern here to provide water for the workshops. I thought it better if no one came looking for me. Better if Tremontaine has no idea what we plan, so that he has no opportunity to steal the Rose before I can finish, or hold you hostage against its completion.”
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Anything.” He turned back towards her voice, his face set and serious.
“No matter what happens, even if your attempts do not go as you hope, do not offer to trade him the Rose in exchange for his departure. I have spoken with him enough to know that you were right to be afraid of it falling into his hands. My safety is nothing next to the danger he poses, should he gain the power such an object represents.”
Alexei was silent.
“Please, Alexei, promise me. I do not know when I will have a chance to speak with you again, and I am begging you for your promise that you will keep it safe.”
Still, he remained stubbornly silent.
“Can you not see how vital this is?” Frustration rose and balled her hands into fists. “Why will you not agree?”
“I cannot,” he said at length, seeming almost surprised by his own admission. “Strange as it seems, I have weighed the risk and I cannot swear that your life and freedom are not of greater value.”
“To whom?” Zara snapped. “I have no family that has not already mourned me. How can one insignificant life matter more than the future of Erath? Than the plans of a madman to rule an entire continent?”
“They are just plans,” Alexei said softly. “There is more than one way to bring about an end to his delusions. And your life is of greater value to me.”
Zara swallowed whatever retort she had been about to make. She looked at his weary, familiar face, and saw something new… Something she could not identify, something beautiful and strange…
Zara took a single, gasping breath and her eyes opened on the north tower room. The blue coverlet was soft and familiar under her fingers, and the pattern of light through the diamond panes seemed like a friend.
Light. It was morning. She needed to return downstairs. But her dreams… She sat up and blinked hastily. Had they been dreams? Or visions? Athven she was sure of. That conversation had felt like every other time she had spoken to the avatar. But the other…
She crushed the coverlet beneath suddenly shaking fingers. Had it been real? Had Alexei said those things, or was that only the aimless wishing of her lonely heart for something that could never be?
But why would she even have dreamed such a declaration? She didn’t want him to have such feelings. Did she?
It was too much. She couldn’t even begin to decipher her emotions where Alexei was concerned. But she knew she would be haunted by the tired desperation in his eyes, and by the fires of hope sparked by the uneven lumps of crystal in his hands.
Rowan must never be allowed to touch them.
Alexei extricated himself from the complex paths of enchantment woven into the crystal and rubbed his eyes. He had not slept. There was no time for such weakness. But his head—and his eye—ached horribly and if he didn’t eat he would collapse. There was no time for that either.
The memory of Zara’s voice haunted him, and her plea kept turning over and over in his mind. She was planning so
mething. And as surely as he knew she was planning it, he knew it would be desperate and terrible.
He needed a desperate and terrible plan of his own. There were so many factors he could neither change nor control, beginning with the plots and machinations of the Andari traitor. Athven would do as she willed, and, like the humans who created her, was likely to respond to fear by protecting herself at any cost. He would need to be ready for that as well.
The only thing he could change lay in front of him in pieces, taunting him with tantalizing echoes of power, and with the memories of knowledge he had lost. His gift was as strong as it had ever been, perhaps stronger, but lack of use had left him unprepared for the delicacy of the task he had set himself. Even so, he suspected that had he practiced every moment since the day of his birth, he would still have lacked the skill to rebuild what had been lost. Nar, himself, perhaps, could have mended what he had made, but the complexity of the original work was likely beyond all but a master of equal talent.
Fixing it was out of the question. But altering it—adapting the existing pathways to suit a new purpose—might yet be within his grasp.
He cared but little now for the dream of restoring what had once been. At some point in the last few days, he had acknowledged that Erath would never again be what he remembered. It would never regain its innocence, or be known as an isolated land of enchantment. Once a thing was broken, it did no good to pretend that it could again be whole.
But finding beauty in the jagged edges of what remained—that was a task he could accept. They could build again. Find life in the ashes of destruction. Rowan had reminded him of the enormous task ahead—of finding homes and healing for those of his people who had survived slavery and were now free.
None of them who lived through the destruction of Erath would ever be unbroken. Like the Rose, his own heart had lain in pieces since Erath fell. But that didn’t mean there was no hope. Before he could embrace that hope, he would have to move forward, to grieve the loss of his own dreams and accept that he must start anew. His purpose might be different than he had ever imagined, but that was no reason not to grasp it.
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