“So you’d have staged this same ambush if my last name weren’t Skyborn?”
“I cannot decide, are you merely proud, or slow in the mind?” Johan said, a fire burning in his blue eyes. “Like it or not, you are connected to your sister. If you were tortured, or held for ransom, it might compromise her will to fight. That I cannot allow. You are not without worth, nor is your worth defined solely by your own life. I will not lie to you to soothe your bruised feelings.”
Kael closed his eyes, and he told himself over and over to stop being stupid. The mention of his sister jostled memories out of him, his conversation with the Speaker, and he fought to keep calm.
“Before they sent me away, I spoke with Marius,” Kael said. “There’s a traitor in the Weshern rebel camp, and Center’s army is already preparing an invasion. You need to send them warning.”
Johan’s face darkened.
“I see,” he said. “I’ll send a runner to the Aquila Forest immediately.”
“You know of the camp?”
“My eyes are everywhere, remember?” he said. “Don’t worry. Nearly every word leaving Marius’s lips is a lie, and no doubt this was a lie meant to break you as well.”
“Let’s hope so,” Kael said, not so convinced. He shifted some more, trying to get comfortable while Johan called over one of his disciples and relayed an order for them to make their way to Camp Aquila. The disciple nodded, ducked his head back out from underneath the heavy tarp. The wagon hit a deep hole in the road, and Kael winced. The movement scraped his back across the wood, and he felt blood trickling down his spine. He sat up, bunching the blanket tighter for him to lean against.
“So where are you taking me?” he asked, settling back down. The exhaustion, the pain, and the stress of the night were all threatening to steal his consciousness away, and he fought to keep his eyes open.
“To my main base of operations on Weshern,” Johan said.
“And where is that?”
“I’d hate to spoil the surprise. That, and if we’re attacked before we arrive, I’d rather you not know.”
“Glad you trust me so well.”
Johan pulled his hood back over his head, hiding his many scars.
“It is not a matter of trust,” he said, “but experience.”
Kael decided the only appropriate reaction was to laugh. Closing his eyes, he abandoned his fight for consciousness and let the steady rattle of the wagon’s wheels rock him away. Time passed as he drifted in and out, soft conversations between Johan and his disciples an indecipherable mumble to his ears.
* * *
Kael didn’t know how long he actually slept before Johan tapped him on the leg, waking him.
“We’re almost there,” the man said.
Kael rubbed at his eyes as he sat up.
“And where is there?” he asked.
The robed man gestured to the closed flap.
“See for yourself.”
Kael carefully climbed to the back of the wagon and pulled open the rough white canvas. What he saw was a town like any other, except for one key difference. Pieces of red cloth floated from nearly every home and street sign.
“We’re in New Galen,” Kael said.
“Indeed we are,” Johan said, and there was no containing his smug amusement. “Center’s eyes are elsewhere, hunting for Weshern rebellion. But here? This is a new land for everyone, full of orphans and widows and wealthy living among the poor. No one will think twice at seeing an unrecognizable face. Its founding was chaos, and during the relocation of Galen citizens, it was child’s play to bring my own people in.”
Kael had to admit it was brilliant. Even if some of the theotechs had a suspicion Johan was hiding within the town, sending a search party risked igniting riots in an already riled and angry populace.
“What happens next?” he asked as he closed the flap and sat back down.
“We keep pushing,” Johan said. “Sparks are landing everywhere, and it is up to us to ensure they become wildfire. The resistance is isolated here in Weshern, but I have eyes and ears in all other islands. Marius’s invasion of your home has frightened everyone. My words of warning reach ears that were once closed to my wisdom. Protests gather at the royal cathedrals of Elern, Candren, and Sothren. People demanding answers, wanting to know what actually happened to bring Galen crashing to the ocean.”
“No protests here?” Kael asked.
Johan smiled.
“What need of protests do I have when your people already outright rebel?” he asked.
The wagon halted, and Johan rose to his feet, head ducked to prevent hitting the covering.
“We’re here,” he said, pushing aside the flap and stepping out.
The building was larger than the others nearby, two stories tall and containing dozens of windows. One of the newer complexes meant to house multiple families, a rare sight on Weshern though he’d heard they were commonplace on Center. The roof was completely flat, and a man in brown robes stood atop it, acting as a sentry.
“How do you go about unnoticed?” Kael asked as he exited the wagon.
“I’ve purchased several of the nearby buildings to function as armories or storage,” Johan explained. “And several other homes were given to us as gifts to house my members. It may surprise you, Kael, but even the people of Galen wish to see justice brought upon the true destroyer of their nation. Few believe the Speaker’s lies when it comes to Weshern’s guilt.”
Inside the building was dark and crowded, the hallways uncomfortably narrow. Past two side doors they reached the stairs, and Johan led him up to the second floor.
“This will be your room for now,” he said as he stopped before a door at the far end of the hall. “It’s the best I can do given the circumstances. We have better rooms in distant houses, but I’d prefer to keep someone so important close by.”
Inside was remarkably small, hardly enough room to fit the tiny bed. There was no place to store his personal belongings, so he removed his jacket, folded it, and put it in the corner beside the bed.
“It’ll do,” Kael said. “Thank you.”
Johan bowed.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said. “I’m sure you could use the rest.”
“Thank you,” Kael said.
After his brief nap, Kael didn’t expect much sleep, but lying down on something cushioned was far better than the rough wood of the wagon. Grunting at the soreness of his muscles, he lay down, closed his eyes, and let the tense minutes tick away.
Child?
Kael’s eyes fluttered open. The room was dark, muddled, lacking in detail. Sounds were muted, as if he were underwater. A face floated before him, beaming with light. Every feature was smooth, crystalline, perfect. There were no lips to open, no tongue to move, yet again he heard words.
Come to me, blessed child. We must speak.
Before he could answer, two loud knocks sounded from the door. Kael felt his body jerk upward in his bed. He wiped his forehead, felt cold sweat across it. His heart pounded in his chest. The face was gone, the room returned to normal.
A dream, Kael told himself, but he hardly believed it. Before he could dwell on it further, the door to his room opened, and Johan stepped inside without waiting for permission to enter. The robed man crossed his arms, and he used his shoulder to close the door behind him. His face was passive, but Kael didn’t trust it one bit.
“Kael, I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he said. “The resistance camp inside Aquila Forest was attacked before my warning could arrive. Parts of the forest are currently aflame. It looks like the Speaker sent both ground and air forces to surround it, a skillfully coordinated attack.”
Kael slumped down into his bed, head thudding against the thin wall. He forced his thoughts to push through the fog his slumber had created.
“Did any survive?” he asked. It was obvious who he truly asked about, and Johan answered accordingly.
“We’ve received no word of your sis
ter, either dead, alive, or captured,” he said. “Seraphim fled in all directions, and Aquila Forest is vast enough for people to hide within for days without being found.” He put a hand on Kael’s shoulder. “Once Marius pulls back his forces we’ll send people in to search for survivors, as well as put out the call for those who escaped to join us here. Weshern’s resistance will not die tonight, I promise. I won’t let it.”
Kael glanced up at the scarred man.
“You promise miracles,” he said. “But then again, you always have, haven’t you?”
Johan withdrew his hand.
“Rest for the night,” he said. “Come the morning mist, we’ll discover the true extent of the damage. Try not to worry. Your sister is a warrior, a true survivor. Wherever she is, she will endure.”
The strange man left. Kael lay on his back, arm across his eyes, and prayed Johan was right.
CHAPTER
15
Bree awoke blindfolded, a burning liquid being poured down her throat. She coughed and gagged, but couldn’t move otherwise. She lay bound on wood, that she was certain, her groggy mind distantly aware of a sense of motion as well. A wagon, perhaps. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, for the liquid she’d drank set her stomach to cramping and her head swimming.
“Just sleep,” she heard Jaina say. “It’s best for everyone that way.”
Bree would have loved to deny her, but she had no choice. Her eyes closed behind the blindfold, and her consciousness blinked away.
* * *
When Bree emerged from the fog she was lying on her back atop a table. The ceiling above her was pale white, softly lit by a glowing light prism. Four leather straps bound her to the table, buckled painfully tight so that they dug into her skin. She heard a fire crackling near her head, its heat uncomfortable. Her clothes were different, a simple white linen shirt and pants that ended just below her knees. Someone had stripped and changed her while she slept, and the realization made her feel terribly violated.
“Where am I?” she asked. She craned her neck, trying to better see her surroundings. The walls were stone, the floors tile. Like everything else, they were a pale white. The room was thin and long, the walls to either side of her close while the space beyond her feet stretched out for a hundred yards. All of it was completely empty.
“Where am I!” she asked, this time screaming. Her voice echoed in the room, and still it went unanswered. She struggled against the leather straps. Her arms were bound at the elbows, but her hands were free, and she flailed them about, searching for a buckle or loop she could undo.
“She’s finally awake,” a familiar and now-hated voice spoke. Bree tensed as Jaina stepped around her table. Her hair was tied tightly behind her head with gold ribbons, her red robes immaculately clean. In her left hand she held an obsidian-handled knife.
“What the hell do you want with me?” Bree asked, but Jaina paid her no attention. A door opened behind her, she heard the shuffling of feet and the swish of robes. Several more theotechs joined the room, standing to either side of Bree. A man grabbed her left arm while Jaina grabbed her right by the wrist. Without warning or explanation, Jaina drew the knife’s blade across Bree’s palm and then put it away. Bree clenched her teeth against the pain, and she laid her head back down on the table.
More movement behind her, and a louder crackling of fire. She heard a long, groaning creak, like the opening of a metal door or grate to a furnace. The heat blazed hotter so that sweat trickled down her neck and forehead.
“I’ve got it,” a man said, and then Bree flinched at a sudden high-pitched shriek. Bree tilted her head back, but she only saw the top of what indeed appeared to be a furnace. The shriek ended as quickly as it started. Jaina reached out with her free hand, accepted something, and then placed it onto Bree’s bleeding palm. It was a small red fire prism, and Bree cried out as both the prism and her blood burst into flame. Her skin blistered from the heat, yet when she tried to fling the prism away, Jaina grabbed her wrist with both hands and put all her weight on them, pinning her to the table. The fire lessened, much of her blood burning away to ash, until its flow from her cut palm ceased completely. The fire had seared the wound shut, ending the bleeding.
“The blood’s reaction to the prism is within expectations,” Jaina said. She removed the prism, handed it over. “Bring me an empty.”
“Yes, Er’el,” said one of the other theotechs.
She heard movement behind her, a shuffling of drawers. Jaina watched, then moved to join whatever was happening. The two discussed something, too softly for Bree to hear as more objects rattled about. There had to be a table or shelf of supplies near her head, Bree knew, but what was the purpose of the furnace? Why must she be so close, and the thing so damn hot? She couldn’t dwell on it further, for Jaina reappeared, once more holding her obsidian dagger.
Bree screamed as Jaina reopened the cut on her palm, the pain far worse the second time around. She flailed her upper body, forcing a theotech to aid Jaina in holding her down. The Er’el put another prism in her palm, this one cracked and faded, the heart of it a smoky black. Bree winced, only this time she felt no pain. No flame. Instead, the prism shimmered, the black of the interior glowing like a dying ember suddenly exposed to wind. It swelled and swelled until it was a solid crimson, with only the cracks to show it was any different from the prisms Bree had accepted countless times during her training. The whole time a numbing sensation spread up Bree’s arm, her strength draining away as if by leeches.
“Unbelievable,” muttered one of the theotechs watching.
With the prism’s return to color came the fire, flicking across her palm, but this time Jaina removed the prism with a pair of tongs before it could burn her flesh too badly.
“Subject’s blood reinvigorates depleted prisms,” Jaina said, speaking to someone over her shoulder. “Proceeding to gauntlet interaction tests.”
“No!” Bree screamed, thrashing against her bonds. “No, enough, tell me where I am. Tell me what you want!”
Jaina grabbed Bree by the chin and held her still. She leaned in so close their noses nearly touched.
“Your blood may provide the way to a safer, better future,” she said. “What I want is your cooperation.”
Bree spat at her, missing her face and instead hitting the collar of her dress. Jaina didn’t even flinch.
“Stand her up,” she ordered her theotechs.
Bree heard a loud bolt releasing beneath her table, and then she was tilting. Still strapped down, they rotated the table ninety degrees forward. The bottom hit the floor with a thud. The straps holding her sagged, and she slid downward until her toes touched the cold tile. A theotech grabbed her right arm; another strapped a gold Seraphim gauntlet over her hand and wrist. While a normal gauntlet slid on smoothly and comfortably, this one hurt: a sharp needle halfway up her forearm jammed deep into her flesh as they tightened the buckles. Bree clenched her teeth together as it dug in deeper and deeper.
“Is the connection solid?” Jaina asked, examining the gauntlet.
“I don’t know,” Bree said. “Try it on for yourself and see.”
Jaina continued examining the gauntlet, not bothering to look at her when she spoke.
“Urth, prepare a gag in case the subject refuses to be silent.”
Bree glared but did not respond. Through the thick glass protector of the gauntlet she saw a red elemental prism softly pulsing. Filling the prism chamber halfway, and continuing to fill it, was her own blood. It swam over the prism, slowly hiding it from view. Before Bree could ponder the consequences, a theotech grabbed her gauntlet at the wrist and extended it forward. Jaina put on a gauntlet of her own, and she pressed it to Bree’s neck.
“Activate it,” she said.
“No.”
The gauntlet tightened, and Jaina leaned closer, whispering into her ear.
“I can make you, Breanna. It will hurt, but you will release the fire within the prism. Cooperation will save you
that pain.”
Bree stared straight ahead, refusing to answer. Jaina tsked in her ear.
“Very well.”
Jaina’s gauntlet shifted, the focal point pressing against the base of Bree’s neck. She heard a crackle, and then electricity flooded through her. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she’d have cried out if her tongue and lips cooperated. Her fingers widened, gauntlet still held firm by a theotech. Black flashed over her vision, and then she felt the tiniest of cracks within her mind. Fire burst out of her gauntlet, traveling in a great stream to the far side of the lengthy room. It splashed against the wall, charring a black smear across the stone.
Jaina ceased the lightning, but Bree could not cease the fire. It was wild as it always was, for Bree had no sword to center it on, nothing to narrow down its focus. It roared and roared until it ended, the prism drained. Bree slumped against the restraints, and she gasped in ragged breaths. It felt like she’d sprinted a lap around the academy without pausing for rest. Jaina leaned closer to Bree’s gauntlet, observing the prism inside.
“Again,” Jaina said.
“It’s empty,” Bree argued.
“I said again.”
Another jolt of lightning coursed through her, igniting her nerves. Bree felt the connection between her and the prism reactivate, felt her jaw lock tight. Her entire body convulsed, and blood pooled in her mouth as her teeth clenched down on her tongue. Fire burst from her quivering gauntlet, another tremendous stream that shot across the room and splashed like liquid against the far wall. On and on went the stream, not quite as long as before, but each second felt like an eternity to Bree.
Finally the electricity stopped, and Bree hung there, lacking the strength to stand.
“Damn it,” Jaina said as Bree stared at the blur that was the floor, blood dribbling down her lips and landing in vibrant spots upon the white tile. “Someone get me a cloth so she doesn’t bite her tongue again.”
One theotech lifted her head, another dabbed at the blood.
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