by Jasmine Walt
“Well, I—” Siur clearly wasn’t expecting to be questioned, and Barson could see him frantically trying to come up with a plausible answer. His hesitation was damning.
“Tell me everything,” Barson ordered, looking at the man he’d once regarded as a brother. “Why did you do this?”
Siur blinked, backing away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Don’t lie to me. At least show me that much respect.”
“Captain, Barson, I—” The soldier kept moving backward, and Barson saw what he was after the very second the man’s hand closed around his sword.
Barson unsheathed his own sword. “Tell me the truth,” he said coldly, “and you will die quickly and painlessly.” He was glad the traitor was showing his true colors; up until that moment, he hadn’t been completely sure of the man’s guilt.
With an enraged cry, Siur attacked. His momentum carried him across the room, his sword swinging.
Barson met his fierce attack, parrying every blow and watching carefully for an opening to disarm his opponent. Normally, Siur would’ve already been dead, but Barson didn’t want to kill him yet. He needed information, and the traitor was the only one who could provide it.
Siur fought like a berserker. Faced with the prospect of interrogation, the man was apparently trying to go for a quick, glorious death—something that Barson had no intention of allowing. They fought for what seemed like forever. If Barson hadn’t been so tired from his earlier ordeal, this would’ve been easier. As it was, he had to restrain himself from killing Siur every couple of minutes, while simultaneously preventing the soldier’s deadly blows from reaching his body.
His moment finally came when Siur made a violent thrust at Barson’s shoulder. With one flick of his sword, Barson grazed his opponent’s left side, drawing the first blood. Siur jumped back with a pained hiss, then attacked Barson with even more desperation. The soldier knew he would now grow weaker with every minute that passed, and Barson found it more difficult to restrain himself from dealing the traitor a killing blow.
“You can’t make me talk, no matter what you do,” Siur panted, executing a triple feint attack. Barson easily defended himself; he’d personally taught this maneuver to Siur, and the man had never particularly excelled at it. That Siur used it now was a sign that he was no longer thinking straight.
Silently taking advantage of this opening, Barson slashed the man’s right shoulder, slicing through his naked flesh with ease. It was fortunate the soldier wasn’t wearing armor; otherwise, Barson’s task would’ve been even more difficult. Siur stumbled, letting out a pained cry, but pressed on, his eyes glittering with rage and desperation.
A trickle of sweat ran down Barson’s back, intensifying his longing for a bath. Deciding to bring the fight to its inevitable conclusion, he pretended to favor his right side, leaving his left exposed for a brief moment. Siur immediately took the bait, going for a killing blow to the heart.
At the last moment, Barson twisted his body, letting the man’s sharp sword scrape the side of his armor, cutting through it and leaving a shallow scratch on his skin. At the same time, Barson’s gauntleted fist landed on Siur’s right arm with massive force, causing the traitor’s sword to fly across the room.
“Now we talk,” Barson muttered, punching Siur in the face and knocking him out.
17
Augusta
The wizened old man was working behind his desk when Augusta entered his lavish study. His workspace was nearly the size of her entire quarters in the Tower. Being the head of the Council certainly had its privileges.
“Augusta.” He raised his head, regarding her with a pale blue gaze. Although Ganir’s face was wrinkled and weathered, his white hair was still thick, flowing down to his narrow shoulders in a style that had been popular seven decades ago.
“Master Ganir,” she responded, slightly bowing her head. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t help feeling a certain grudging respect for the Council Leader. Ganir was among the oldest and most powerful sorcerers in existence, as well as the inventor of the Life Capture Sphere.
“You need not be so formal with me, child,” he said, surprising her with his warm tone.
“As you wish, Ganir,” Augusta said warily. Why was he being kind to her? This was very much unlike him. She had always gotten the impression that the old sorcerer didn’t care for her. Blaise had once let slip that Ganir thought they didn’t suit each other—an obvious insult to Augusta, since the old man had treated Blaise and his brother with an almost fatherly regard.
In response to her unspoken question, Ganir leaned back in his chair, regarding her with an inscrutable gaze. “I have a delicate matter to discuss with you,” he said, lightly drumming his fingers on his desk.
Augusta raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. She wouldn’t have thought her interference with the rebels was a particularly delicate matter, and she didn’t know why he didn’t just bring up her actions at the next Council meeting. Of course, it was possible he wanted something from her—a possibility that made her uneasy.
“As you know, when you were with Blaise, I did not always act approvingly,” Ganir began, shocking her by echoing her earlier thoughts. “I have since come to regret that attitude.” Pausing, he let her digest his words.
Caught completely off-guard, all Augusta could do was stare at him. She had no idea why he was bringing up ancient history now, but it didn’t seem like a good sign to her.
“I wish I had supported you then, back when you and Blaise were together,” the Council Leader continued, and the sadness in his voice was as unusual as it was surprising. “He was one of our brightest stars . . .”
“Yes, he was,” Augusta said, frowning. They both knew what lay behind Blaise’s self-exile. It was Ganir’s own invention that had led to that disastrous situation with Louie—and to Augusta losing the man she had loved.
Then, with a sudden leap of intuition, she knew. Ganir’s summons had nothing to do with the battle she’d just returned from . . . and everything to do with the man she’d been trying to forget for the past two years.
“What happened to Blaise?” she asked sharply, a sickening coldness spreading through her veins. Even now, despite her growing feelings for Barson, the mere thought of Blaise in danger was enough to send her into panic.
Ganir’s faded gaze held sorrow. “I’m afraid his depression has led him to a new low,” he said quietly. “Augusta, I think Blaise has become a Life Capture addict.”
“What?” This was not at all what she had expected to hear. She wasn’t sure what she did expect, but this was definitely not it. “A Life Capture addict?” She stared at Ganir in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like Blaise at all. He would consider it a weakness to drown himself in someone else’s memories. In his work, yes, but not in other people’s minds—”
“I had trouble believing this at first as well. The only thing I can think of is perhaps the isolation has broken his spirit . . .” He shrugged sadly.
“No, I don’t see how this could be true,” Augusta said firmly. “If nothing else, he would never abandon his research. What made you decide that he’s an addict?”
“I have someone reporting to me from his village,” Ganir explained. “According to my source, Blaise has been getting enormous amounts of Life Capture droplets. Enough to stay in a dream world all waking hours.”
Augusta’s eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on him?” she asked, unable to keep the accusatory note out of her voice. She hated the way the old man seemed to have his tentacles in everything these days.
“I’m not spying on the boy,” the Council Leader denied, his white eyebrows coming together. “I just want to make sure he’s healthy and well. You know he doesn’t talk to me either, right?”
Augusta nodded. She knew that. As much as she disliked Ganir, she could see that he was hurting, too. He had been close to Dasbraw’s sons, and Blaise’s coldness had to be as upsetting to him as it was to Augusta hers
elf. “All right,” she said in a more conciliatory tone, “so your source is telling you that Blaise acquired a lot of Life Captures?”
“A lot is an understatement. What he got is worth a fortune on the black market.”
Ganir was right; this didn’t sound good. Why would Blaise need so much of that stuff if he was not addicted? Augusta had always considered Life Captures to be dangerous, and she was extremely cautious in how she used the droplets herself. She had even spoken up about the risks of Ganir’s invention in the beginning—a fact that she suspected had something to do with the old sorcerer’s dislike of her.
“What makes you so sure he got them for himself?” she wondered out loud.
“It’s not definitive, of course,” Ganir admitted. “However, no one has seen him for months. He hasn’t even shown up in his village.”
Augusta did not think this was that unusual, but combined with the large quantity of droplets, it did not paint a pretty picture. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, even though she was beginning to get an inkling of the Council Leader’s intentions.
“I want you to talk to Blaise,” Ganir said. “He will hear you out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still loves you. Maybe that’s why he’s suffering so much—”
“Blaise left me, not the other way around,” Augusta said sharply. How dare Ganir imply that their parting was to blame for Blaise’s current state? Everyone knew it was the loss of his brother that drove Blaise out of the Council—a tragedy for which they all bore varying degrees of responsibility.
Why hadn’t she voted differently? Augusta wondered bitterly for a thousandth time. Why hadn’t at least one other member of the Council? Every time she thought of that disastrous event, she felt consumed with regret. If she had known that her vote wouldn’t matter—that the entire Council, with the exception of Blaise, would vote to punish Louie—she would’ve gone against her convictions and voted to spare Blaise’s brother. But she hadn’t. What Louie had done—giving a magical object to the commoners—was one of the worst crimes Augusta could imagine, and she’d voted according to her conscience.
It was that vote that had cost her the man she loved. Somehow, Blaise had found out about the breakdown of the votes and learned that Augusta had been one of the Councilors who’d sentenced Louie to death. There had been only one vote against the punishment: that of Blaise himself.
Or so Blaise had told her when he’d yelled at her to get out of his house and never return. She would never forget that day for as long as she lived—the pain and rage had transformed him into someone she couldn’t even recognize. Her normally mild-tempered lover had been truly frightening, and she’d known then that it was over between them, that eight years together had not meant nearly as much to Blaise as they had to her.
Not for the first time, Augusta tried to figure out how Blaise had learned the exact vote count. The voting process was designed to be completely fair and anonymous. Each Councilor possessed a voting stone that he or she would teleport into one of the voting boxes—red box for Yes, blue box for No. The boxes stood on the Scales of Justice in the middle of the Council Chamber. Nobody was supposed to know how many stones were in each box; the scales would simply tip whichever way the vote was leaning. There should have been no way Blaise had known how many stones were in the red box on that fateful day.
“I’m sorry,” Ganir said, interrupting her dark thoughts. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re to blame. I just think Blaise is still in pain. I would go speak to him myself, but as you probably know, he said he would kill me on sight if I ever approached him again.”
“You don’t think he’d do the same thing to me?” Augusta asked, remembering the black fury on Blaise’s face as he threw her out of his house.
“No,” Ganir said with conviction. “He wouldn’t harm you, not with the way he felt about you once. Just talk to him, make him see reason. Maybe he would like to rejoin our ranks again—he’s been away from the Tower long enough.”
Augusta raised her eyebrows. “You want him back on the Council?”
“Why not?” The Council Leader looked at her. “Like you, he’s one of our best and brightest. It’s a shame that his talents are going to waste.”
“What about Gina? She took his place, so what’s going to happen to her if he comes back?”
“We’ll have fourteen Councilors,” Ganir said. “I wouldn’t want to replace Gina. She’s an asset.”
Augusta stared at him. “It’s been thirteen ever since the Council began. You know that.”
Ganir didn’t look particularly concerned. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean things can’t change. For now, let’s not worry about this. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Do you really think the others would welcome him back?” Augusta asked dubiously.
“He was never forced out. Blaise left on his own. Besides, if you and I team up, everyone will have to follow.”
Augusta gave him an incredulous look. She and Ganir, team up? That was an idea she’d have to get used to.
“All I can promise is to speak with him,” she said, and then walked out of the old sorcerer’s study.
18
Blaise
“So who is this girl?” Esther asked as soon as she and Blaise were alone. “How did you meet? How long have you two known each other?”
Still reeling from Gala’s kiss, Blaise shook his head at the barrage of questions. “This is not why I wanted to speak to you, Esther,” he said. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course, anything,” his former nanny said immediately, though Blaise knew she had been hoping to learn more about Gala and was likely disappointed at the lack of gossip coming her way.
“I want you to look after Gala,” he said, giving Esther a serious look. “I don’t want her to draw any needless attention to herself—and it’s best if her connection to me is kept secret.”
“Why?” The old woman looked puzzled. “Is she a fugitive?”
Blaise shook his head. “No. She’s just . . . different.”
Esther frowned at him. “She seems very young and innocent. Did you involve her in something you shouldn’t have?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Blaise said vaguely. He wasn’t certain how Maya and Esther would react if they knew the truth about Gala’s origins. Even other sorcerers would be shocked to learn what he had done; how would someone with much more rudimentary understanding of magic feel? Even in this enlightened age, most peasants were superstitious, and many still believed the old tales of undead monsters and ghosts. If they knew Gala was not really human, she would never be able to experience the world as a regular person.
Esther continued looking at him, and he sighed, not wanting to lie to the woman who’d raised him after his mother’s death. “Esther,” he said carefully, “Gala has a power that the Council might find . . . threatening.”
His former nanny stared at him, her expression slowly hardening. She hated the Council even more than he did, blaming them for Louie’s death. She’d raised his brother too, nursing him from infancy, and his loss had affected her deeply. “I will watch her,” she promised grimly.
“Good,” Blaise said, relieved. “Also, keep in mind, she’s been somewhat sheltered.” He decided to settle for a half-truth here.
Now Esther seemed confused. “A sheltered young girl who’s a threat to the Council? How did you come across her?” Then she held up her hands. “Never mind. I know you’re not going to tell me.”
Blaise grinned at her. “You’re the best, Nana Esther.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t,” Blaise said, leaning down to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Straightening, he reached into his pocket. Pulling out a drawstring purse filled with coin, he pressed it into Esther’s hand. “Here is a little something for Gala’s room and board—”
“Blaise, that’s a small fortune!” She stared at him
in shock. “You could buy a house with that money. It’s too much for just feeding one skinny girl.”
Blaise was about to tease Esther for always trying to feed everyone, but then he realized something. He’d never asked Gala if she wanted food. In fact, he didn’t even know if she needed to eat like a regular person, or if, like him, she could sustain her body’s energy levels with sorcery. He mentally kicked himself for being so inconsiderate. Of course, he thought with relief, if she did need to eat, he was certain that she wouldn’t starve now—not with Maya and Esther around.
Thinking about food reminded him of the challenging situation the peasants were facing. “How are the crops?” he asked, switching topics. The drought that had begun a couple of years ago was the worst in a generation, affecting the entire land of Koldun from one end of the ocean to another and decimating crops in most territories.
Esther gave him a smile. “Your work really made a difference, child. We’re doing much better here than people elsewhere.”
Blaise nodded, satisfied. When the drought first started, he’d had the crazy idea of doing a spell to strengthen the seeds, imbuing them with resistance to certain pests and reduced need for water. The resulting improvements, as he’d planned, were hereditary, enabling his subjects to grow and harvest healthy crops even during these difficult times. “I’m glad,” he said. “The others in the village don’t know, do they?”
“No.” Esther shook her head. “They know we’re faring better than other regions, and that you’re a good master, but I don’t think they realize the full extent of your help.”
Blaise sighed. He often felt like he wasn’t doing enough to help his people—and certainly not enough for other commoners on Koldun. That was part of the reason he had created Gala, though that hadn’t exactly worked out as planned.
“I will check on her soon,” he said, getting ready to take his leave. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but please, just keep an eye on her.”