The Aisling Trilogy

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The Aisling Trilogy Page 60

by Cummings, Carole


  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Dallin retorted.

  Corliss gave him a sharp shake. “Siofra’s word now determines whether or not war is declared. Siofra’s word is all that’s keeping the Guild from foaming at the mouth.

  Siofra’s word will hopefully calm the Guild when he tells them that Cynewísan did everything in its power to find their Chosen and return him to them safely, and then—”

  She stopped, face screwing up and eyes once again misting over.

  “And then see that the Chosen’s ‘kidnapper’ is properly hanged, I imagine,” Dallin finished for her. He shook his head. “How long have we known each other, Corliss?”

  She looked away, didn’t answer.

  “Since we were fifteen,” Dallin supplied. “I’ve sat at your table. I watched you bind your hand to Olin’s. Your children have used me for a tree, all six of them, at one time or another.” He leaned in, teeth clenching with an anger he hadn’t even been aware was rising, but now that he was thinking about it—what right did she have feel betrayed? “You should’ve known me better than this,” he told her. “You should’ve known that whatever it might look like, I did what I did because I had to, because the need was greater than the job.”

  “And how would I have—?”

  “You should’ve found a way to ask!”

  The bustle in their periphery paused for a moment, the stable workers and Commonwealth troops who’d been trying very hard not to look like they were watching suddenly flicking keen glances their way. Woodrow met Dallin’s eyes squarely for the first time. Dallin was surprised to note there was no judgment there, no anger, no nervous blushing. Dallin narrowed his eyes in interest, but Corliss distracted him when she glanced about, set her jaw then took his arm again and began to lead him from the stable, Woodrow and Creighton falling in behind.

  The soldiers stared; two of them spat in the dirt as he passed. Dallin ignored it.

  They walked in silence until they were out of the yard, making the turn for the street that led to Chester’s Constabulary. Corliss was tense, brooding, but she leaned up to speak quietly in Dallin’s ear. “What d’you want from me?” she muttered in a voice that was edging on conciliatory.

  Dallin breathed a small, silent sigh. “He means to question me,” he murmured back. “I want you to listen. To all of it.”

  She shook her head. “He’s a close one, and he doesn’t trust women. I doubt he’ll let me.”

  “I didn’t say you should ask him,” Dallin told her.

  “There’s a book in my pack. Find it and read everything you can find on the legend of the Aisling, then get your arse to wherever they’re taking me and listen.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, Corliss, and I’ve never asked you for a damned thing. I’ve been a good superior to you while you’ve been at the Constabulary, and for most of our lives, I’ve been a good friend. You do what I ask now, and whatever happens after, you owe me nothing.”

  Corliss gusted a heavy sigh, scowling down at her dusty boots. “As you will,” was all she said.

  The Chester Constabulary was newer than Putnam’s, brighter with its great, wide windows and gleaming wooden floors, rather than the bulky stone and stale surroundings that Dallin had always associated with The Law. He’d expected glares and derisive gestures when he was brought in—lawmen didn’t generally take kindly to one of their ranks switching sides, and there was the mess with the gate guard, after all—but he was generally ignored but for the few whose services were required to get him through the door and into an interrogation room. He wasn’t taken to a desk to be processed by a bored minion; he wasn’t formally apprised of the charges against him. He was led straight down into the gas-lit basement of the place, the same stone as the city’s walls, and into a small, dank room with no windows, merely a plain table bolted to the floor and two wooden chairs.

  Stark and dim and dusty; it didn’t exactly inspire the ease of conscience for which Putnam reached. Judging by the representatives of authority Dallin had run into here, he guessed they went more for extraction by force.

  He’d thought Siofra would keep him waiting, try to get him anxious and sweating, but he arrived with no fanfare a mere several minutes after Dallin was deposited by a bored bailiff. He sat across from Dallin, no charming smile this time. Good. Perhaps they were to speak plainly, then.

  Except Siofra didn’t speak—just stared at Dallin, a pale glimmer in his eyes that was reminiscent of Wil but small and ugly, where Wil’s was… pure? Dynamic? Just solely and simply Wil? Siofra was cold arrogance reaching for stolen respect, while Wil was all burning intensity and cool cunning. The difference was marked, and that made Dallin feel rather smug, too.

  Even the slender blades of power reeking from Siofra felt… slick, slick and oily, as they tried slipping past Dallin’s mind, or maybe past his soul. Dallin didn’t know and didn’t bother defining it. He merely rolled his eyes, said, “Right, that doesn’t work on me. Save your tricks for your own minions.” He tilted his head. “Orman ever recover?”

  Siofra’s calm façade slipped the tiniest bit before he caught himself, smiled a little and shrugged. “I regret that our meeting has occurred under such circumstances,” he began.

  Trying to be ‘friends’, talk man-to-man. Too bloody predictable. I just hope to hell you’re out there listening to this, Corliss. Because I mean for you to get a bloody earful.

  Dallin raised an eyebrow. “I’ve no doubt,” he replied easily, even smiled a little. “Then again, I’ve no doubt you regret we’ve met at all. You did try rather hard to prevent the possibility, after all.”

  “Ah, delightful, we’re to be blunt, then.” Siofra sat back in his chair. “So, the lad’s been telling tales, has he?”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps I put too much trust in the boy.”

  “Trust. An interesting choice of words.” Dallin raised both eyebrows this time. “D’you know what it means?”

  Siofra chuckled. “As you will, then. Perhaps I should have been more… precise in my aim. Lind was so…” His long nose wrinkled. “…messy.”

  Dallin would not allow his teeth to clench like they wanted to. “Perhaps you should have been more precise with your questions afterward.” He shrugged. “When you drug a man and trick him into being terrified of the one meant to protect him, then trick him again into making him believe he was responsible for wiping out half a village, you really can’t be surprised when he keeps a secret or two.” He shifted, frowned thoughtfully.

  “What I don’t understand is, why did you even think it necessary? I mean, let’s face it—you already had him. He was already petrified of me, and you were going to stage your raid on Lind whether he knew about it or not. Why was it so important that he believe he did it?”

  “Ah, that’s right. You are— Oh, I’m so sorry, you were a constable. I imagine you’re used to asking the questions.”

  The condescending sympathy in the tone almost made Dallin snort. The man really did think he knew what he was doing.

  Not so good without your drugs and your stolen magic now, are you, then?

  “I do apologize,” Dallin returned, just as sincerely.

  Anyway, he didn’t really need an answer. Siofra had done it to make sure Wil stayed far away from Lind. Why he thought he needed to do it, seeing as how Wil had been a prisoner all his life and there had been no real hope then of escape, Dallin would certainly like to know, but he doubted Siofra would be terribly forthcoming on the issue. Dallin had asked the question mostly for the benefit of Corliss, so he didn’t pursue an answer he wouldn’t get. Instead, he frowned, tilted his head. “What was the question, anyway?”

  “I’m not quite certain I’ve asked one yet,” Siofra replied. “But since you’ve asked—I’m very curious to know what you think the lad is about.” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t really matter, you understand—he’s mad and needs his draughts just to control his violent temper, and nothing he says can be trus
ted.”

  Dallin’s jaw twitched some with that snide little needs his draughts, but he managed to control the snarl and keep his face blank. Siofra leaned into the table, clasped his hands atop it.

  “However,” Siofra said, “perhaps, if I knew more about the story that he’s given you, I might be moved to appeal for leniency, once we reach Penley.” His eyes widened, mock-apology. “Oh, I don’t think I mentioned—you’re to be tried in your capital before your Elders. I’ve become quite… familiar with the High Seat, Channing.”

  I’ll just bet you have.

  Dallin wished his hands were free; he’d like to drape himself back over his chair for a more cavalier effect. He settled for stretching out his legs and slouching a bit.

  “You assume it was necessary for him to give me a story at all.” Dallin quirked his lips. “You assume very many things. I thought you knew what I am.”

  Siofra’s mouth pinched. “I don’t care what you are,”

  he said through his straight, white teeth. “You’re no threat to me anymore.”

  “Perhaps not.” Dallin shrugged. “But he knows what he is now. He knows what he can do.” He cocked his head. “What frightened you the most, d’you think? You knew about the elements when you stole him away, so it must not’ve been that.”

  The narrow features froze for a moment before Siofra’s eyes narrowed. “It was him that called the storm outside Dudley, then.”

  Dallin almost jumped up and did a little jig. One little bit of confession and from Siofra’s own mouth. Corliss, you’d damn-well better have your ear plastered to that door.

  Because he hoped this was just the beginning.

  “What else can he do?” Siofra demanded, all pretence at indifference abandoned.

  This morning I watched him call fire and tame it to his hand. Bet would send your stones up to your throat.

  Dallin widened his eyes, all innocence. “P’raps when you see him again, you can get him sotted on leaf and make him tell you. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Steal him and then try to steal his power?” He let his face go hard. “But you didn’t know what else he had in him, did you? You knew he was the Aisling, but you didn’t know about the dreams, right? And when you found out, you kept him drugged for decades so you could twist them yourself.” I just wish I could see your face when you find out the hard way about the pushing. Dallin leaned in, narrowed his eyes. “I wonder what your dear, familiar Channing would think if he learned you’d been using a man’s dreams to gain advantage against his country?

  Magicking without a license in Cynewísan is rather frowned upon, and I’d say magicking with criminal intent toward the Mother’s own Gift wouldn’t go over very well at all. How old are you, anyway? Ah!” He sat back again with a serene smile. “But then, I suppose you reckon the Elders won’t find out, yes? Because the only one besides you who knows about it will never make it to Penley for trial, am I right?”

  Siofra’s complexion had gone rather gray—a mixture of rage and fright, Dallin guessed. Hoped. To Dallin’s sincere satisfaction, Siofra’s hands were gripping at each other so hard his fingers had turned wax-white.

  “I rather thought ‘shot while trying to escape’ had a nice ring to it,” he said.

  Dallin chuckled. “From the sound of it, I don’t suppose there are many left in Putnam who will dare to object. Nice trick, that. How did you get them to arrest Jagger so quickly?”

  “I’m to be asking the questions!” Siofra snarled.

  If Dallin had a hand free, he would have held it up, placating. “Ah, right, sorry, I forgot.” He dipped his head. “As you will.”

  Siofra sputtered for a moment, off-balance. It was only with an obvious effort that he reined in his fury and too-evident unease. He took a long breath. “What,” he seethed, “can he do?”

  Dallin allowed a snort this time. “You don’t really think I’m going to tell you that, do you? Honestly, man, do give me at least some credit.”

  “Oh, I give you all sorts of credit, young man. But you’ve obviously heard as much about me as I have about you.” Siofra leaned in, more confident now. “You know I can find out.”

  Dallin shrugged, unconcerned. “You can try.”

  Almost immediately, the air thickened, grew heavy, and a light buzz fizzed at the back of his brain. Where before had been an unsettling annoyance, this was an all-out cloying assault. Dallin narrowed his eyes; it was getting more difficult to maintain the smirk, but he kept it, hardened it.

  You’ve been doing it all your life. Wil’s calm voice, guiding him resolutely through the locks and chains of his own mind. Just find it and make it stronger.

  The drone rose in octave, skittering over Dallin like tiny little insects crawling over his skin, slithering up his backbone. It was… familiar. Good thing for the shackles, else Dallin would’ve smacked himself in the head. Instead, he barked a laugh.

  “It was you,” he snorted. “I felt you coming. Shit, wish I’d known what it was before. Would’ve saved me an awful lot of wittering.” He shook his head, still chuckling.

  “I kept thinking something terrible was coming, and all along, it was only you.”

  The buzzing stopped abruptly. Siofra sprang from his chair, lunged across the table; Dallin consciously controlled the instinctive flinch and kept his smile. Siofra’s long fingers curled around the edge of the table, clenched.

  “Laugh it up, Guardian,” he hissed. “Laugh all the way to the noose, for all I care. But then, as you say, you won’t make it that far. Just know, as you hear that bullet coming for you, that it’s all for nothing—I’ll find him and I’ll have him. He’s mine. You’ve failed, as the others before you did.”

  “Have him.” Dallin lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you wanted him dead.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Siofra sniffed. He pulled back and examined his fingernails. “Well. I’ve decided I may have been a bit… hasty.” He smirked, a cold, nasty little thing. “He can be a good lad, with the proper motivation. I’ve become fond of him over the years.”

  Uh-huh. And the fact that Æledfýres has discarded you and sicced the Brethren on Wil has nothing to do with it, right? Just like I’m sure you’re not even a little bit worried that they might beat you to the next one, because let’s don’t forget who laid that particular gem in your palm in the first place, and who he’s talking to now instead of you.

  Dallin let the smile drop from his face, let his expression turn cold. “I wonder what Æledfýres thinks about that?”

  He watched carefully as Siofra’s face went from smug to blankly stunned. It wasn’t just surprise that Dallin knew how Siofra had found Wil; there was fear there. Dallin’s eyes narrowed just a little. “What did you promise him in return for telling you where to find the Aisling?” he asked, low and smooth. “Or should I say, on what promise did you renege? He must’ve been mightily pissed, seeing as how he’s turned to the Brethren and cut you loose. Were you one of them before? I’ll bet you were. I’ll bet they were just as useful to you once as they are to him now. I’ll bet they helped you ambush and kill the Aisling’s first Guardian, and then you stole him right out from under everyone—even Æledfýres.” Oh, this was just too rich—

  Siofra had lost so much color, he was almost transparent.

  Dallin pushed it harder:

  “I have to hand it to you,” he admitted. “Biting the hand of a god. Pretty nervy. I should warn you, though—the Mother and the Father are sorely displeased with you. You might want to watch your back.”

  Presumptuous, but likely pretty accurate. He’d just more-or-less spoken for gods, but he thought They might be somewhat forgiving of the circumstances. Now, if only one of Them would see fit to give him a bit of a hand here—pop loose the shackles or something, make Siofra choke to death on his own rage… really, anything, he wasn’t picky.

  “I’ve nothing to fear from either of Them,” Siofra snarled, but it didn’t have the venom behind it of only a few moments ago.

/>   “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” Dallin told him sincerely. “They’re quite cross that you’ve used Their Gift so badly.” His own teeth clenched and he set his face hard. “And Their Gift is no longer addicted to leaf and helpless to fight you. So, you see, regardless of whether or not your bullet finds its target, or your noose, I’ve not failed. The Guardian has fulfilled his Purpose.”

  Siofra’s jaw twitched. “You expect me to believe you’ve seen Them?”

  “I don’t really give a shit what you believe. I don’t really give a shit about you at all.” Dallin sighed. “It’s so very strange,” he mused. “I’ve been expecting someone powerful, someone to fear, someone… someone with a bloody spine, at least.” He shook his head. “You’re so much smaller than I’d thought.” And then he shrugged.

  “It seems you’re only scary when you’re drugging little boys and stealing their power from them. It’s a little… disappointing.”

  Siofra just stood there for a moment, seething. Dallin wondered if he realized just how much information he’d given up during this supposed interrogation. Realized he truly didn’t care. He didn’t know exactly what he’d be able to do with the new erudition, considering his current circumstance and his apparently rather limited lifespan, but it was something. A victory. Somewhat.

  Please, Corliss, be out there and listening. And anything happens to me, find him and help him.

  “When next I see him,” Siofra said, low and thick, “I’ll be sure to give him your regards.”

  “Do that,” Dallin said with a bored sigh.

  “And perhaps I’ll tell him that you’re the one who whispered his true name into my ear.” His mouth curled up in a vile, humorless smile. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll tell him you were the one who gave me the key to his soul. I’ve no doubt he’ll be…” The smile curled into a grin that turned Dallin’s stomach. “Utterly shattered, I should think.” Siofra dipped his head in an ironic half-bow. “But you take solace in that Purpose of yours, Guardian. Perhaps it will make your grave less dark and cold.”

 

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