by sun sword
"Kalakar," he said.
"Primus. This is not the time or the place."
"There is no other," Alexis replied, and The Kalakar took a very hard look at the single sword across her right shoulder.
"Sentrus," Duarte said, and the woman fell silent.
"Primus," The Kalakar continued, as if there had been no interruption, "this is not a torturer's session. This is an interview."
"It's more than just an 'interview,'" Auralis said, in that wonderfully attractive drawl that made him so popular among the less discriminating young of either sex. "It's an interrogation on the eve of the biggest war we've seen in twelve years." His lovely eyes were still lidded, but he'd straightened up to his full height. It made him look slightly more dangerous—and marginally more respectful.
This was the real reason why Ellora had elected to leave both of the Verruses behind. They could not tolerate obvious disrespect, and she did not wish to have to defend it when she found it distasteful enough herself.
She did not respond, but instead continued to meet the eyes of the one man she was sure of: Duarte AKalakar, fledgling mage, leader of the Ospreys.
"You know what's at stake," she said softly.
"And you," was his quiet reply. "Commander, may I speak freely?"
Ellora snorted with genuine amusement. "And I'm to stop you when I can't even keep a bunch of your sentruses in line?"
His smile was rueful, but beneath the smile of both of these leaders was steel; they knew the people who served them; they knew the promises that had been made.
Neither knew, and neither wished to know, what would happen to the service when the promises themselves were compromised. But neither wished to go to war against not only the Dominion, but some shadowy cabal that seemed to work beside it and within it, with less knowledge than they could easily have.
As if they knew what the only clean answer to their predicament was, they both turned to Kiriel. The girl, cool and pale and somehow darker than cloudy night, said nothing, and there was a quality to her silence that made Ellora realize, for the first time, that although the young Sentrus did not understand what exactly the difficulty was that she posed to the House Guards, and therefore to Kalakar, she understood, in some way, that it was a difficulty.
And she found it amusing.
There are times, Ellora thought, as she met, unblinking, the young woman's gaze, when Devran's right. Then, as if such a concession, unspoken though it was, galled her, she said, "You are required to attend the interview itself. You are not required to respond to questions that pertain to your past. While you remain a member of the House Guards, you are under my protection, and your past is not at issue."
But her voice was clipped, even cool, as she spoke, which had not been her intent. There was something about Kiriel that provoked her; something about the girl that made her, attractive and extremely competent though she was, very difficult to like.
Turning to Duarte, some of that coolness remained. "You are to leave, with the men and women under your command. Any Osprey that chooses to disobey that order—and it is an order, make no mistake—will find themselves debarred from House Kalakar, names stripped. Do I make myself clear?"
It was not what she had intended, but once she had set foot on that path, she could not turn back; she understood the rules of leadership.
Still, Sentrus Alexis hesitated a moment, seeking something from Primus Duarte.
Find it soon, Ellora thought, ill-amused.
The woman apparently found enough of what she sought to tender The Kalakar—the Commander—a sharp salute.
They left, and they left her alone with Kiriel di'Ashaf, a girl who had not yet served the mandatory probation required to make her Kiriel Ashaf AKalakar. I gave her my word, Ellora thought, as she met the girl's black eyes. Thinking of Evayne a'Nolan, and the massacre in the Averdan valleys. Thinking of what it meant, to return there now.
Thinking of demons, of darkness, of a city racked by the screams of the dying.
And Kiriel di'Ashaf's smile widened slightly, as if those screams, attenuated and distanced only slightly by years and time, were a song she could hear, could conduct.
The Kalakar rose, shuttering her face, setting the memories firmly aside. And then she opened the door to the hall.
"Gentlemen. Time is of the essence."
Before Kiriel could rise or speak, five men and two women entered the great hall. The Princess of the blood, Mirialyn ACormaris, Devon ATerafin, The Berriliya, Commander Allen, Member Meralonne APhaniel of the Order of Knowledge and the little known, but greatly respected, Jewel ATerafin.
She knew that she would be true to the word that she had given when she had accepted the service of Kiriel di'Ashaf, but her lips turned up in a slightly triumphant smile as she caught the surprise that made Kiriel seem, for just a moment, a sixteen-year-old girl.
She did not understand these people.
For a moment, fear held her; she touched her sword, pulling what shadow she could find into a tight, near impenetrable web around her body—armor that only the mage would find easy to pierce. But although her hand was on the haft of her blade, she did not draw it, and the moment passed, leaving her with a dryness in the mouth and throat. Frustration settled around her shoulders as if it were the only mantle she would ever wear again.
The mantle.
"Member APhaniel?" The Berriliya said quietly.
"It is already done," the mage replied, quick with the words, as if he did not wish to appear to be following the commands of another. Strands of platinum hair flew a moment in the absolutely still room, and then he bowed sardonically to Kiriel. "Kiriel di'Ashaf," he said softly.
"Meralonne APhaniel," she replied.
"You have a good memory, Kiriel," The Kalakar said, as she took a seat at the long table, and motioned for their visitors to do the same. They could not shed power, but they could shed the formality of it, if they so chose.
"Too good a memory." It was Member APhaniel who spoke. "I do not believe that my given name was ever used in your presence."
"You are well enough known, Member APhaniel." It was the youngest woman in the room, save Kiriel, who spoke, tossing her dark curls out of the fringes of her lashes and binding them with a swathe of red cloth. "If she was curious, she could have asked. Devon said that the first thing you did was practically order King Cormalyn to execute her."
"True enough." Gray eyes met black ones; a platinum brow lifted. "And is that what happened?"
Kiriel shrugged coolly. "No. I did not know who you were until someone spoke your name—but I knew of you." Let him wonder. It was, after all, the truth.
"I… see."
"Did she do it to you, as well?" Kiriel said, the bitterness in her voice adding years to her face.
" 'She'?"
"Evayne. Did she take you from your home and bring you here?"
"From my—" He froze, and she knew at once—the blood knew—that he was, for a moment, afraid. It was gone before she could hold it long enough to twist; gone before she could make a weapon of it that she could use. If she could; that had never been her art, thanks to Ashaf.
Ashaf's life had cost her much.
But her death had been worse.
"No, Kiriel," the mage said gravely, "Evayne did not bring me to Averalaan; I was here long before her birth."
They don't know, she thought suddenly. They don't know your secret. And they don't know mine. But they know I have one.
She did not reveal what he had not revealed. Because a secret, like a concealed dagger, was only useful once, and this was not the time for it.
"How do you know of me?"
She said nothing.
"I see." He bowed slightly. Conceding? "This is The Berriliya—Commander of the second army. The Kalakar, as you know, is Commander of the third. Commander Allen," and the quietest man in the room nodded briefly, "commands the first army." He turned then to a woman whom Kiriel also recognized. "This is the Princess Mirialyn
ACormaris; she represents the interests of the Crowns. This is Devon, and this is Jewel; they are both ATerafin."
"And they represent?"
"The interests of the Crown." It was the Princess who answered, drawing Kiriel's eye. Of all the people in the room, Mirialyn was hardest to look at—because once she started, Kiriel found it very, very difficult to stop. The Princess held a light like a vessel made for only that purpose; where darkness edged her it was thin and fine, a net made of life, but not a plant with deep roots. Among the kin, beauty was defined solely by power.
And yet.
And yet they saw the light as clearly—more clearly— than she. They did not hold it; could not take it; could not contain it. Given enough time, they could corrupt it and destroy it, but a light such as Mirialyn ACormaris carried would take several lifetimes to dim and tarnish. And so they disavowed it.
She is lost to us, Kiriel. Look elsewhere; look long.
No. she shook her head as a voice that she never wanted to hear again touched her memory. Speaking words that were oft spoken, deeply felt.
I will not listen to you again.
"Sentrus."
Necessary interruption was usually humiliating; this was to be no exception, although no one laughed or sneered. Kiriel felt the sting across her pale skin, the burn of blush; she looked away from the Princess and struggled to continue to do so.
Jewel ATerafin felt the shift in Kiriel di'Ashaf; she could almost see it in the lines of the young woman's face. For a moment—for just a moment—entranced by the Princess of the blood, the clouds had separated, and a glimpse of something completely different had shown through.
A glimpse of something familiar; something that would have attracted her when she'd been on the streets; something worth reaching out for. Something worth following.
Something that she had followed, and taken in, at least once. It surprised her, and Jewel ATerafin was one of the seer-born; she wasn't used to being surprised.
She was a good judge of character. It was her pride, and it was more besides; it had kept her alive for long enough to come to the notice of The Terafin. She had lived in the twenty-fifth holding with her small den, much less worthy of note than even the bastard child of a well off patris. Stealing for a living was living, and only a fool tried to survive that life in this city on her own. Jewel was, and had been, no fool, but her lot had been slightly different than other orphaned children: Each and every member of the den she'd thieved with had been her personal choice.
And she had once taken in a killer.
Duster.
She hadn't thought about Duster for ten years.
Duster had been her right hand; Duster had been the heavy. In a fight, Duster had been the muscle—if something that graceful and fast could be called muscle. She'd been the easiest of the den to taunt into stupidity, and she held grudges for longer than a god. They'd made jokes about it, back then. Very quiet ones.
She'd killed three men before she became one of Jewel's den-kin. The first one, in self-defense. The second, in anger. The third in vengeance, although she never would explain what had driven her to such a revenge. It was the third death that had made of Duster a killer.
But Duster had chosen the den. The den had chosen Duster. And although she had killed that lone man, had truly tested the limits of how much suffering she could both endure and willingly, personally inflict, she had served, in heat and cool anger, better than anyone. Had died in that service.
"Jewel?"
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I was—I was thinking." Devon raised a peppered brow, and she shook her head slightly: no threat.
Kiriel now hid behind shadows that were more than just lack of light.
Without thinking—and Jewel, surrounded by men and women of this rank, never acted without thinking—she brushed past Devon ATerafin, past Mirialyn ACormaris, past the three Commanders who had earned their place in a grim and bloody history—as if they were the passersby, and this was the open street, and this young woman was in search of, in need of, a den.
And then, as she met dark eyes that were somehow shining like liquid gold, she froze.
"Kiriel di'Ashaf," she said quietly. "I'm Jewel AT era-fin. You can call me Jay."
Kiriel didn't answer.
Jewel didn't expect it. "You're part of the Kalakar House Guard. Pretty impressive for a newcomer. I know people who'd kill for a place here."
There was no reply.
"But you're wasted here, and we both know it."
She heard a cough at her elbow; two in fact. Ignored them both. "We are considering a declaration of war against the Dominion of Annagar; it has happened before in the history of the Empire; no doubt, it will happen again. But this declaration—it's not ours alone to make.
"This is your war."
Silence, one marked by the raising of eyebrows and exchanged glances between powerful men, and women, who had somehow become spectators.
"Don't tell me how to fight my battles," Kiriel said, relenting enough to show teeth.
"Jewel," Devon whispered, "what—"
"Not now." She didn't even look back at him. "I can't tell you how to fight them. I don't know enough about what they are." She shrugged again. "But I do know what I saw in the Great Chamber."
Kiriel's smile was thin and cold—but it was there. And it froze in place. "You're the one who shouted."
"Yes."
"You're fast." Respect, and Jewel knew she didn't often show it.
Jewel ATerafin didn't take respect she hadn't earned. Not from her den-kin. "No."
"Then what?"
"I'm seer-born."
Silence. Then, heavy with forced nonchalance, "What do you see for me?"
"War."
Kiriel snorted. It was odd; the single act of derision made her seem more youthful; almost her age, in fact.
"With me at your side."
"What?"
"What?"
What?
"You? You're no soldier."
"No. And neither are you. You're Kiriel. When your enemies come hunting you, they won't stop in the ranks of the foot soldiers—because you won't be there." She saw past the paling alabaster of Kiriel's skin, into the depths of eyes that were golden and cold.
Oh, the silence. Jewel wondered what in the hells she was doing, and she hoped, whatever it was, she was going to survive it.
"And where will I be, seer?"
"You'll be with the kai Leonne." Jewel knew the words were true the minute she said them. Just didn't know why, but it didn't concern her yet. It would, though.
"Why?"
"Because you've' already saved his life once. And because, before this is out, Allasakar-Etridian won't seem like such a difficult foe."
Kiriel's eyes narrowed.
"Kiriel, your enemies and our enemies are the same, whether you know it or not. There will be a Sun King in the Dominion of Annagar, or there will be a puppet."
"And this so-called Sun King won't be your puppet?"
Jewel shrugged. "Meet him. Decide for yourself. And decide, Kiriel di'Ashaf, just how far you're willing to go to protect him."
Kiriel shrugged, but the movement was forced and edged. "His protection is not my concern. I'm part of the House Guards," she said at last. "I'm one of—one of the Black Ospreys."
Jewel was surprised. She'd heard of them, though— who hadn't? It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her that that was where Kiriel was placed. But she knew that Kiriel didn't belong there—because if she had, if she'd truly found kin, she wouldn't have had that momentary look that could draw Jay Markess across both a decade and a room. "But I'm going to war beside Valedan kai di'Leonne. We need to win this war," she told Kiriel, and knew it of a sudden for absolute truth. Felt it so sharply, the fear of loss was visceral.
"You can't."
Something in the girl's tone set Jewel's teeth on edge, but she'd heard it before, a dozen times. Fear made fear a weapon—and the gods knew in the streets of the lower holdings, y
ou needed to hone whatever weapons you could. Jewel Markess had always understood the pleasure inherent in causing fear.
She didn't bother to hide hers behind bluster; no point to it. Because she knew that Kiriel's taunt was also Kiriel's truth, and for an icy second the ghostly otherwhere of a battlefield strewn with corpses fogged her vision.
She understood it then. The vision. The image of Kiriel, darkness wreathed and absorbed; the sight of Valedan, bleeding, bruised—and living.
"She's right," Jewel Markess said, and her voice was the seer's voice—the distant, cool certainty that made of the speaker a vessel. "We can't win."
No one spoke; the moment stretched, thinly, between each of the men and women there. Glances were joined and broken as the unsaid surfaced: That Jewel Markess ATerafin was seer-born. Then, as they watched, they realized that the seer's gaze did not waver from the face of Kiriel di'Ashaf. Her gaze held weight, and the eyes of the men and women who were in large part to decide the course of the coming battle turned to Kiriel as well.
"Kiriel," the seer said, "will you come to war with us?"
"As a member of the House Guards—" The Kalakar began, but Jewel's imperative wave cut the words off so cleanly it might as well have been a blade.
I hope, Devon thought, cringing as he saw the cloud settle into the lines of one of the ten most powerful people in the Empire, that you know what you're doing, Jewel. Because I guarantee if you don't, you'll wish you'd never left the street.
"You said this was my war," was the cool reply. "And if I wanted allies, I'd ask."
"You'd go to the Hells themselves in burning chains before you'd ask for anyone's help."
Kiriel smiled at that; the smile was genuine. And then it faded. "You came here to ask me questions. The Kalakar said I could answer whatever ones you asked that didn't have anything to do with my past.
"You won't ask any," she said, rising. "But let me be generous. I know what you're facing. You could field the biggest army your world has seen since Moorelas fell, and you still wouldn't win.
"They don't want you," she added softly. "At least, they don't want you yet. Stay home. Let them play in the Dominion. Maybe, by the time they're finished there, you'll have had enough time to build some sort of a defense." Her tone made it clear that if there was one, she couldn't conceive of it.