"And the Sword?"
Sendari met Alesso's gaze and held it. He said, "I am sorry, General. You were right. You should have killed her when the rest of the Leonnes were slaughtered. I think, in the end, it would have been a kindness."
"To her," Alesso asked shrewdly, "or to her father?"
"To her," her father said, "To me? I cannot say."
"Then I will be blunt. Had I killed her deliberately, it would have damaged the only friendship I rely on. We have always had our peculiar weaknesses, and we mask them, as we can, with strength. She has stolen the reminder of what I failed to do. No more. No less.
"The battle for the Tor will be decided by the Lord: we will war. And at the end of the battle, the winner will be the wielder of the Sun Sword."
He smiled. "There is only one Leonne left. And after his death, the Sword will be free. Come, Sendari. All choices have been made. We go to war against the North."
"It is not auspicious, if history is an example, to call for war after the Festival of the Moon."
"It is precisely because of the comparison between myself and the former Tyr that the timing is perfect. We have won a victory over our allies, and we are in control; they need us."
"Well played, Alesso."
"Indeed. And my only regret is that it was not all my doing."
23rd of Scaral, 427 AA
The Shining Palace, The Northern Wastes
Lord Isladar sat in the tower that had been Kiriel's home. In his arms, slumber enforced by spell—as Kiriel's had so often been until she grew into her power and developed the peculiar immunities which made her so dangerous—was the child Anya had plucked from the city streets.
She had woken twice, screaming in terror; he could taste it and he was certain that every demon in the city was drooling where it stood. But he eased her fear rather than feeding it.
He had given Anya a'Cooper his word.
And his word, given as it was to the only mage alive who had survived such an enormous transfer of power, was worth keeping. For now.
The Lord of Night had His throne; He had some portion of His gate, but although He had clawed and struggled, the Dark Conjunction had failed to produce the anchor that He needed to hold the worlds together in their drift. What He guaranteed Himself was a place in which he might reign without the constant need to feed in order to stay sentient.
Which was unfortunate, but not unexpected.
The child stirred, he shifted beneath her, the movement almost as natural to him as breathing was to her. Ironic, that something he had done for so short a span of years could still feel natural.
Kiriel had taught him many things, and all of them were complicated; he had not yet done with the lessons. Nor had he finished with the lessons he wished her to learn.
He thought about putting the child down; Kiriel's bed was as she left it, the sigils and wards still functional, although it had been many, many years since they were invoked.
Yes, he thought about putting her down.
But he was not certain how long he would have the ambivalent sensation of carrying her. She had been brought here by Anya, and most of Anya's pets or toys died of neglect or her frayed and unintelligible temper.
He wondered, if Anya hadn't already been so very damaged, if she would have the survived the ceremony intact. It was an idle curiosity; he would not be allowed to experiment. At the end of it, as if completely unaware of what had transpired, she had turned to Lord Isladar, of all people, to complain because her arms and her back hurt. The child, apparently, was heavy.
But his arms were not her arms, and the child that slept in them could be held forever. And forever, as Isladar knew, was a very theoretical concept.
Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court Page 85