Nick wandered back into the village, choosing to follow darker side alleys rather than risk having to talk with people on the wider, more populated streets. Many would be up by now and he did not want to deal with pleasantries, not while Ree's face still clung to the edges of his mind.
He turned down one street and then another, following the worn dirt grooves with no real direction in mind. Common sense told him he was heading in the general direction of his cottage. He had time before he needed to meet Miles, and the quiet of these back streets greeted his sorrow like an old friend. He clutched his hands behind his back and allowed it to speak to him.
For a time, only the skittering of an occasional pebble broke his trance. But then something else sliced through the quiet.
“Niiiick,” the whisper came on a soft song.
Nick did not recognize the voice, and he was tempted to ignore it, but it begged for him again.
“Don't pretend you don't hear me,” it said. “I know you can. I've been waiting for you to find me.”
Nick stopped. The voice sounded close. It echoed off the back of the houses that formed the alleyway, but the strength of it seemed to come from only a few feet ahead, on Nick's right. He scanned the buildings and saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were several two-story houses constructed from wood. Their back windows and root cellar doors faced him, silent and dark. Following those, a short, square stone building with no exterior exit was dwarfed by a line of row houses designed for men and women without families and for people who visited the village as long-term guests. Nick's eyes sought the house in the middle of the row, the one he knew Miles slept in, but could not find even a sliver of light to signal the Elder had awoken. Only one window in the line of perfectly matched houses showed any sign of life. The flicker of a hearth fire glowed from within it, but the gauze curtains were drawn, the window shut tight.
Nick kept walking, frowning when the voice turned into laughter.
“Do you think they'd make it so easy for people to see me?” it taunted him. “Have you forgotten about the torture chambers the Elders are capable of designing?”
Nick stopped again and turned his head to stare at the short stone house. The voice seemed to have come from there. But that was impossible unless the person speaking had the power to throw his voice.
Or someone had enacted the confining spell.
Although the spell had fallen into disuse after the Zeiihbu War, some of the older Guardians still knew it. But why would anyone need it here? And why did it seem to be failing? The prisoner should not be able to talk to Nick, let alone see him.
Nick tried to recall what he had read about the spell in his schoolbooks, though his memory felt hazy at best. The Spellmaster had designed it so the army could keep prisoners in the village jails without anyone knowing they existed.
He took a step closer to the house and puffed out a breath in frustration. The spell had an emergency provision. He knew that fact only because he had gotten the question wrong on a test. It was one of only a few spells with such a provision, though as it had in school, the details of it eluded him.
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to read his teacher's red pen marks from his memory and the haziness cleared. The provision allowed someone with a weaker power to cast a weaker version of the spell.
For desperate times, Nick realized, and ventured a guess at the identity of the prisoner.
“Darius?” he asked.
“Ah, yes,” the voice replied. “So you've heard of me.”
“I have,” Nick said and studied the stone bricks more closely, looking for the telltale spot that would give him a way to lift the spell. At shoulder level, he found it—a dull brown square mixed in between the dark and light gray of the regular stones. He pressed his fingers to it, and held his breath when a barred window appeared in front of his face. The stone dissolved, melting like waves retreating from the shore to reveal a brown door beneath the gray. In the center of the door, a locked metal flap covered a pass-through window and Nick knew this was how Darius received his food. No doubt, Miles had been feeding him well, keeping him alive so he could face his trial when the time came.
Hands came through the bars of the window, and Nick stepped out of their reach, though he was careful to leave his fingers on the stone. If he remembered correctly, he had to maintain contact with the stone in order to keep the spell from falling back into place.
Darius laughed at Nick's reaction. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said. “I'm not a traitor, despite what the Elder may have told you.”
“Miles hasn't told me anything,” Nick replied. “I tend not to trust people in jails.”
“Wise logic,” Darius responded. “But my guilt will depend on the perspective of those who judge me, if I get that far.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nick asked.
Darius did not answer. He drew closer to the bars, nearly pressing his face against them, and smiled. “So I hear you're our new King,” he said. “I never expected to see one so young, but then, age doesn't always gauge wisdom. Your father was wise at a young age.”
“What do you know of my father?”
“Enough to have respect for him,” Darius answered, “and to extend that respect to his son. He and I were in school together. You look like him, you know. Less like your mother, which is good as I'm certain that means you didn't get her short temper.”
Nick pressed his lips together to curb his anger and studied the prisoner. The man's face had a weathered, near leather texture, and he looked yellow in the burgeoning daylight. Brown irises watched Nick from within bloodshot eyes. Pale, cracked lips spread wide, stretched across an angular face. Darius patted down thin hair with long, bony fingers, and Nick guessed the man had tossed out most of the food Miles had given him—either in protest or through a desire to ensure he never met his court date. He grinned again, showing a mouth short on teeth and Nick frowned in response.
“Most definitely less of a temper than May,” Darius said. “She would have given me a tongue-lashing for that comment, or beaten me if she could have figured out how to get through the door.”
Nick shook his head and stepped away from the cell, removing his hand from the wall in the process. He had no desire to play games. He had too much to do and too little patience. He turned to walk away, but faltered at the man's next comment.
“There are two of us, you know.”
Nick cast a look over his shoulder. Did Darius mean there were two traitors? If so, he had to find out.
“Give me a name,” he said. “Tell me who the other traitor is and I'll ask the Elders to grant you leniency.”
“Leniency?' Darius asked with a cackle. His cackle turned into a hacking cough. The cough continued for ten seconds and then twenty. When it stretched further, Nick approached the small house again, pressing his fingers to the brown stone to check on Darius. Although the cough racked his body, it soon stopped. He clutched his fists around the bars and Nick felt alarm grow within him when he saw a fine misting of blood on Darius's hand. The man looked paler somehow.
Nick stepped back again, but left his hand against the stone. “I'm going to get you a Healer,” he said.
“A Healer is useless to me,” Darius responded. “As is your leniency. The most you can offer me is a lifetime in the Pit in lieu of banishment to the Barren. I would rather take my chances against the worst of the lands than live my life in the confines of the Queen's dungeon.” He paused and smiled again. “I would even take death over that.”
“It's your choice,” Nick replied, his voice cold with impatience.
“It is,” Darius agreed. “But there's no reason to be upset with me. As I said, I wish not to harm you. It's why I'll give you my information for free. Your leniency and whatever bargaining tools you offer are not necessary.”
“What information?” Nick prompted, moving closer again despite his reservations.
“Whatever you wish to know within the realm I'm willing to share. J
ust ask.”
Nick narrowed his eyes, his frustration mounting with the elusive answers Darius seemed to favor. “Fine,” he said. “Why did you betray Ærenden? What did Garon offer you?”
“Nothing,” Darius answered and pressed his forehead to the bars. “Garon offered me nothing. In fact, we aim to betray him when we're done using him. We have no desire to sacrifice Ærenden to his inept leadership.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Nick countered. He stepped closer, so that his face came within inches of the bars. “You expect me to believe you made a pact with him only to betray him later?”
“You said yourself you don't even know what I've done.”
Nick felt the heat of anger flash into his cheeks only because Darius was right. Nick had assumed by Miles reaction to his questions about the former Head Guardian that he had betrayed his post somehow. Darius's confinement seemed to confirm those suspicions, but Nick did not know the nature of the betrayal—if there was any betrayal at all. It was possible someone else had locked Darius in the cell, and even Miles did not know his whereabouts.
“Then why are you in here?” Nick asked.
“I killed the other three Guardians,” Darius said in a statement so devoid of emotion that Nick held his breath. “I managed to do it without anyone witnessing the act, but I had the misfortune of burying them in the field at the same time the Elder rode up. I would have killed him, too, but his force field power is a bit hard to get past.”
“And you feel no guilt for your actions?” Nick asked, letting his breath out in a hiss. “You feel nothing for the lives you took?”
“Of course not,” Darius replied, and for a brief moment, his smile slipped before he pasted it back over his face. “I'm not inhuman. But what I do is for the best of Ærenden.”
“And what is it you do?” Nick prompted. “What is it you think is worthy of taking lives?”
“As I said, there are two of us.”
“Two of what?” Nick demanded, latching his fingers around one of Darius's fists. “Tell me!”
“Two types of Guardians. There are the regular Guardians like you. You protect Ærenden from physical dangers.”
“And the others?”
“Are members of a greater Guardian society, a society born to protect Ærenden from one thing. We call ourselves the Shadow Guard.”
“What is that one thing?” Nick prompted, feeling chilled for a reason he could not explain. His eyes narrowed when Darius coughed again. His hacking lasted longer and produced a small pool of blood in his palm, but Nick did not care. He remembered the Guardian traitor from Artair's village and his chilling fear grew into a block of ice that froze his blood.
“Her,” Darius said, his voice weak and raw. “We follow a prophecy given to us in ancient times, a prophecy passed down among the generations. She must be stopped or she'll bring destruction to us all.”
“Who?”
“Your Queen,” Darius answered. “Your wife. She was never meant to be born and now she can't be allowed to live.”
“You lie!” Nick grabbed the collar of Darius's shirt through the bars. “There is no society. It's your job to protect Meaghan and you've failed at it. You've gone insane.”
“I haven't,” Darius responded. Despite Nick's anger, his voice remained calm, his face unflinching. “The Shadow Guard was formed in the beginning for one purpose and one purpose only.”
“So you said,” Nick muttered and let Darius go. The man's eyes appeared distant, unfocused, and Nick wondered how long ago his sanity broke. Was it the war that did this to him? Or a spell of Garon's? Either way, he could not believe the man had murdered with free will and a clear mind. “If it's only Meaghan you're after,” he said, “then why kill the other Guardians?”
“They got in the way. They caught me talking on a commcrystal with another Shadow Guard. We have one with her, you know. He was only supposed to watch her at first, but then he got the order. She won't live to see the boy rescued.”
“The boy,” Nick whispered and grabbed one of the bars to keep from pitching backward. “How did you know about that? You aren't supposed to know about that mission.”
“I told you already.” Darius stepped back from the door. “There's a Shadow Guard among her party.”
“Who?” Nick demanded. “Tell me.”
“I don't know,” Darius said. He lifted a hand to his mouth to catch another cough. “I wasn't given that information.”
“Don't play me for a fool,” Nick growled. “You know, and you'll tell me now or you'll suffer for it.”
“I believe you would follow through on that threat if you had a chance. But you won't have one. I won't sacrifice my fellow guard.”
“Then why say anything at all?” Darius turned from him, and Nick slammed his palm against the bars. “Don't turn your back on me!” he yelled. “I asked you a question.”
“Because you're still my King,” Darius answered before turning back around. He made a slight bow. “And I'm still a Guardian. I had to say what I said to protect you, to give you the chance to protect your kingdom. You must let the Shadow Guard do what's right. You must allow us to get rid of Ærenden's greatest threat.”
“I won't let you kill Meaghan.”
“If that's your choice, then you leave us no other options. You'll be buried at her side.”
Darius retreated into the darkness of his prison. Nick cursed, understanding that Darius considered the conversation to be over, but pushed his face into the bars anyway, determined to convince the traitor to give up his secrets.
“Darius,” he began, but stopped when the man coughed again, the sound riddled with fluid.
“They should clean out these jail cells more often,” Darius rasped. “There are some pretty weeds under the cot, blue flowers with black centers. Do you know them?”
Nick did. A child's song sprang to his mind, a poem written in warning to the young against confusing the plant with its sweet, edible cousin.
“Pretty flowers, bright and blue,” Darius sang, echoing the words running through Nick's memory. “White in the center and they'll love you. Black, black eyes, best let them stay. Then you'll live another day.”
Nick stepped back from the bars and closed his eyes, not bothering to ask any more questions. It was too late. He had missed the signs—Darius's yellow skin and bonelike frame, his missing teeth and bloodshot eyes, the bloody cough. Black-eyed daisies took days to kill their victims, but they did the job well enough. Most did not even realize they had eaten the poisonous flowers until the cough appeared and by then, it was too late. Darius had moments left to live.
A last round of rattling coughs ended in wheezing. Darius would suffocate now. The fluid filling his lungs would see to that. Nick released his hand from the rock wall and pressed it to his forehead. His head throbbed. If he had come sooner, he could have had more answers. He might have been able to convince Darius to give him the name he needed.
But if he had not come when he did, he would not have received the little bit of information he had. It might be enough if he could get word to Meaghan in time. He turned, set to run for the main road and Miles's row house, but froze when he saw the Elder standing behind him, tucked off to the side in the shadows of the larger buildings. He held a bowl of white porridge meant to serve as a prison breakfast. Miles locked eyes with Nick and Nick realized he had been there a while.
Nick's anger flamed hot, kindled by his worry. “Did you know about this?” he demanded. “Is this what you didn't want to tell me? Are you part of this?”
“If Darius was telling the truth—”
“Answer the question.”
“Of course not,” Miles said. “I just thought he'd gone insane. I still do.”
Nick's fingers found the knife hidden in his belt, though he hesitated on brandishing it. Miles could be trusted. He knew that. But panic and fear still clawed at him, tearing holes of doubt in his trust.
Miles stepped forward. “Nick, I saved Me
aghan as a toddler, remember? If Darius was telling the truth and this Shadow Guard exists and if I had anything to do with it, I would've killed her then.”
And no one would ever have known, Nick realized. The other Guardians would have assumed Meaghan had perished in the attack, alongside her parents.
Nick nodded and relaxed his grip on the knife. “I need you to get in touch with my mother.”
“What do you want me to tell her?”
Nick turned his gaze to the sky. Sunlight streaked across it, bringing warmth to the air, though it could not touch the darkness settling over his heart. He wanted to believe Darius had been lying, that his words were the last rambling hallucinations of a mad man, but deep down he knew the Guardian had spoken the truth.
“Tell her to send the gildonae,” Nick answered. “And hope it gets to Meaghan in time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I STILL don't see why you insisted on bringing Artair,” Cal complained as the rescue party neared the end of their first day trekking the tree-lined slopes of Clear Mountain. He paused while Meaghan scrambled to the top of a large boulder, and then frowned up at her when she did not respond. “You were certainly quick enough to bring him along. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two had that conversation planned.”
“Right,” Meaghan said. “Because we planned on Talis being injured so that Talea would be a wreck by the time we needed her to travel with us.”
“Okay, maybe not,” Cal conceded and pulled his bulky frame on top of the boulder to sit next to her. “But I don't trust him. Eudor would have been a better choice.”
“He's given you no reason not to trust him,” Meaghan responded.
Aerenden: The Zeiihbu Master (Ærenden) Page 22