“Just for the record,” the pirate grumbled to the zanthyr as the company turned north, heading into the hills, “I was well on my way to escaping that dungeon before you showed up.”
“Escaping to where?” Phaedor challenged, sounding irritated. It was clear that he and the pirate had some history, and it seemed the zanthyr did not recall it fondly.
“What did that matter?” Carian protested.
The zanthyr glared at him. “It mattered if you wound up in the Windlass Desert, or the Valley of the Suns, or in the middle of the table during a meeting of the Council of Nine. You well know how the nodes of T’khendar are twisted.”
“I would’ve found the Great Master,” the islander insisted. “I would have, and we’d be one Vestal closer to restoring Alorin’s Five.”
Phaedor turned and leveled him a reproving look. “That was no time to be gallivanting around Björn’s dungeon in search of his favorite prisoner.”
“No time like the present,” Carian argued. “I’d be back there already if I had my map.”
“You’ve already proven yourself a fool many times over to the world at large,” Phaedor returned, gazing at the pirate through the spill of his dark hair. “Who else are you trying to convince?”
Carian apparently couldn’t find an adequate retort, for he said nothing, only turned to Ean looking deflated. “Is it true?” he asked the prince. “This creature travels among your company?”
Ean nodded.
The pirate shook his head, incredulous. “You do you realize who he is, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ean answered absently, his mind occupied with a host of more important mysteries for which there were equally no answers. “He has offered me his services, and I’ve accepted them for as long as he desires.”
Carian grunted derisively. “And I thought I took chances.”
Fifty-two
‘As a forest fire sparks from the smallest ember, so shall a single man effect the end of days.’
– The wielder Malachai ap’Kalien
Alyneri d’Giverny followed one of the villa’s staff into the room where Raine awaited. As the man was closing the doors behind her, Alyneri scanned the elegantly furnished room and its three sets of mullioned double-doors, all opening onto an expansive patio. She found the Vestal there, standing before an iron railing covered in flowering jasmine, gazing out over the expanse of city and the azure sea beyond.
“Oh,” Alyneri exclaimed as she joined him outside. She steepled fingers before her lips. “It’s so beautiful!”
Raine turned to greet her with a quiet smile. The Fourth Vestal seemed ever composed, ever controlled, but Alyneri sensed a great unease within him. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Your Grace,” the Vestal said, his diamondine eyes seeming unearthly and out of place accompanied by such an unprepossessing manner. “I deeply apologize for the haste, for I know you’ve only just arrived after a very long journey. I will try to keep this brief.”
Alyneri just nodded.
Raine motioned her toward a marble table where refreshments had been set, a plate of fruit and cheeses and a decanter of white wine, the pitcher sweating in the early evening heat. As they sat, Raine poured her some wine and inquired, “Has Ean confided at all in you? What can you tell me of his Adept progress since leaving Calgaryn?”
Alyneri accepted the wine with trepidation, for his question stirred uncomfortable memories.
As they’d boarded the ferry that morning, Ean had been in particularly foul humor. When she’d asked him of his troubles, he’d growled that Raine had betrayed him but offered no further explanation. Alyneri couldn’t fathom the remark. Raine was one of the most respected of the realm’s Vestals—hadn’t he been the one to send Gwynnleth to their aid? If only Ean hadn’t been so unpredictable since Chalons-en-Les Trois. Alyneri didn’t know what to believe.
So she took a sip of the wine, found it a welcome relief to the day’s stress, and relaxed a little in the Vestal’s company. “I know some,” she admitted then, drinking more of the wine, which was quite good. “He’s worked the lifeforce a few times—but you’ve no doubt seen these effects on the currents—and he’s been having strange dreams. He won’t speak of them to me, but on the days after such dreams, he is distant and… unapproachable.” She dropped her eyes to the goblet in her hands, watching the golden liquid swirl and still.
“What else?”
Alyneri glanced up again. “There is a dragon hunting him,” she confessed, suspecting Raine had seen it already in her thoughts, “and a strange man—a malevolent man—who came into our camp one night in search of him. ’Twas only the zanthyr’s skill that kept us hidden and safe from harm.”
Raine drew back slightly. “The zanthyr?”
“Phaedor,” she said, meeting his gaze. “He joined us three days south of Chalons-en-Les Trois. The day after the dragon appeared.”
Raine peered wondrously at her. “Did you all see this dragon? Are you certain of its nature?”
“Several saw it fly past. I did not personally. It attacked Ean’s mind…somehow. He thought it was because the creature knew his pattern.”
She drank her wine then, only noting the glass was empty when she felt that warmth in her stomach and a lightness come to her head. Raine was watching her intently, waiting for the rest, and Alyneri pressed her lips together as she considered him. Regardless of Ean’s fears, surely there was no harm in telling the Vestal what everyone in the company already knew.
She set down her empty goblet, and Raine refilled it for her as she continued, “In the last few days, Ean has started practicing with the zanthyr. I came upon them once; whatever they practiced, it created huge changes in the currents.”
“Yes, I’ve seen evidence of their practice,” the Vestal admitted. “But there was something else I was hoping you might know about. Something that happened earlier, perhaps while still in Chalons-en-Les Trois.”
Alyneri shook her head. “I know of no working there.” She dropped her eyes. “We’ve really only spoken once since then. He doesn’t confide in me much. Perhaps the Avieth would know more.”
“Gwynnleth?”
“I’ve seen them talking in depth, though he speaks to no one as much as the zanthyr. They are rarely apart.”
Raine regarded her pensively, his expression troubled. “I confess it disturbs me to hear that Phaedor travels among your company. He is an elusive creature with questionable motives.”
“I do not doubt your knowledge of him, my lord,” Alyneri admitted, her eyes lifting to meet his. She added hesitantly, “…but if there is anything I am certain of, it is that Phaedor would let no harm come to the prince even should it mean his own end.”
Raine arched brows. “That is quite the avowal. I do not think it glibly spoken…nor do I receive it offhandedly.”
Alyneri nodded, feeling weary and suddenly weak of heart, her fortitude drained dry. What a strange twist of events to find that she trusted the zanthyr more than the Fourth Vestal; it was terribly depressing.
Raine clasped hands in his lap and leaned back in his chair considering her quietly. “I have wronged him, you know.”
Alyneri’s eyes flew to his and her breath caught. It was so difficult dampening her thoughts, and the Fourth Vestal was so very perceptive… “Your Excellency, I—”
Raine held up one hand. “Ean spoke truthfully to you. I used him, and unapologetically so. I used him to lure out my oath-brother, to force his hand.” He leaned forward then. “But none of it has been for naught. My oath-brother has finally made a mistake—it seemed impossible, yet I am certain that we now hold the upper hand. We have people in place. There is but one last scene to this play, and when Björn van Gelderan appears in the dénouement, we will be in position to take him.”
Alyneri stared at the Vestal. It seemed too incredible to be believed—that this might all be over when no end had seemed in sight… “What will you do then?” she whispered.
&nb
sp; Raine exhaled a measured breath and sat back in his chair. “Bring him to Illume Belliel. Let him stand trial for his crimes. There must be atonement.”
She pressed fingers to her lips. “Is…will Ean still be in danger?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The net is cast too shallowly to draw in all of the players with one haul, but we shall prevail, Your Grace. Fear not. Recent events lead me to believe that Balance is finally on our side.”
Alyneri knew Truthreaders couldn’t lie, and she suspected he truly believed what he said, yet something in Raine’s words seemed…thin. “Is there anything else, Your Excellency?”
Raine considered her quietly with his hands clasped in his lap. He wore one of those looks that many Truthreaders claimed, the kind that made you feel they knew everything you were thinking before you thought it. “No, Your Grace. Thank you for your time.”
Alyneri pressed hands upon the table as she rose to leave, but then she reconsidered, wrestling with her conscience. Finally, she turned back to him, rested fingertips upon the smooth marble top, and cautioned, “Have a care when you speak with Ean, my lord. He is not the same man you knew in Calgaryn.”
Then she departed.
***
Tanis was sitting on the staircase when the others arrived back at the villa. The lad rushed to greet everyone as they were entering the grand hall. The zanthyr was the first inside, and he glided across the marble floor as if knowing exactly where to go, though Tanis didn’t think Phaedor had ever been there before. Ean and Fynnlar followed, trailing a tall man with long, wild hair and two curved blades at each hip. Upon closer inspection, Tanis saw the man wore four silver hoops pierced through each ear and a tiny gold loop in his right nostril, and he determined with a thrill of excitement that the man must be a pirate.
No doubt one of Lord Fynnlar’s contacts from Jamaii!
Raine D’Lacourte emerged from a side passage almost at the same moment that the zanthyr was disappearing down a different one.
“Ah, Ean,” said the Vestal, coming forward to greet the prince. “It is such a relief to see you safely here. I would speak with you as soon as you are settled.” He looked to Fynn and then to the pirate leering behind him. “And you must be my new Espial.”
“My services are for hire,” Carian corrected, “but I’m no man’s Espial, be him mortal, Vestal or god.”
“Of course,” Raine said accommodatingly. “I will pay you Guild wages for your services to begin at once.”
Carian eyed him shrewdly. “I’ll need one day’s wage in advance and tonight to conclude my own affairs, but I can return ere noon tomorrow.”
“That should be satisfactory. There is much to be done.”
Still the pirate watched Raine with narrowed gaze. “So just to clarify, that would be daily wages then, for as long as I’m in your employ?”
“Indeed.”
Carian grinned. “Then we have an accord.”
Gwynnleth entered then, coming in from a long row of open doors leading out to a patio and gardens beyond. She attracted Carian’s eye at once, and the pirate broke into a leering grin. “Now there’s a pretty chase. And who might you be, poppet?”
Gwynnleth turned her tawny gaze on Ean in accusation. “You’re claiming friendship with pirates now? That will be two.”
Ean shook his head and indicated Raine. “The Vestal hired him, not me, but I’m pleased to do the introductions. Gwynnleth, may I present Carian vran Lea of Jamaii. Carian is a Nodefinder.”
“Of the highest degree,” Carian said with a wink and a less-than-courtly bow. Because Gwynnleth only stared openly at him with one wispy brow arched in dubious regard, Carian grinned broadly back at her and inquired, “See something you like, birdie?”
The Avieth rested a hand on her short sword at her hip. “I was merely thinking how like my niece you seem with hair so long and pretty like a girl’s. I used to braid my niece’s hair with jasmine flowers and ribbon.” Her tawny eyes swept him from head to toe, whereupon she added tartly, “Mayhap the same treatment would improve your likeness somewhat.”
Carian grinned. “You can braid my hair any way you like, birdie, so long as you’re sitting on my cock while you’re doing it.”
“I fear I would have trouble finding it.”
“I fear I’m obliged to prove you wrong.”
“Carian,” Raine cut in, “I would that you might make a brief stop on your way to conclude your own affairs.” He took the pirate by the shoulder and walked him toward the door, passing near to Tanis as he said in a low voice, “There is a node I need you to investigate. Be careful to merely look upon it—dare not travel its pathway. It is likely being watched on the other side. But I would know where this portal leads. It is of vital importance.” He leaned and whispered something into Carian’s ear, whereupon the pirate nodded.
Carian lifted his gaze over Raine’s shoulder to fix on Gwynnleth then. “Don’t fret, birdie. I’ll be back to your side tomorrow.”
“I shall lament the hour.”
Carian spun and headed for the door, nearly colliding with a man just then coming in, a stout man with shoulders twice his breadth and biceps like boulders. His red hair had the same auburn fire as Gwynnleth’s, but his nose was aquiline and fierce. And Tanis knew him at once.
Seth Silverbow!
Seth shoved the pirate off with an indignant oath and headed on inside, tawny eyes glaring at everything and everyone. “The perimeter is secure,” he reported to Raine as he stalked across the marble floor, his silver-fletched arrows catching the light. He espied Ean and gave him the once-over. “You must be the prince that caused all this trouble.”
“Seth,” Raine murmured.
“I would gladly abdicate my role in it, my lord,” Ean returned, his gaze hard.
Seth frowned at him. “No doubt.”
Ean looked to Raine, but his gaze did not soften. “A moment to freshen up, if you will allow it?”
“Of course. I will call upon you later.”
“Ean, really, you—” Fynn said, but the prince waved him off as he headed down the hall after the zanthyr.
Fynn gazed after him and then growled suddenly, “Is there anything to drink in god-forsaken place?”
“A meal is set for us on the patio,” Gwynnleth told him, and so they all headed out into the soft night to take the meal. So it was that Tanis sat and ate with two of the realm’s Vestals, an Avieth and a royal prince beneath the twilight skies of Xanthe, and while the meal lasted, life was very good.
Prince Ean did not return during the meal, nor did Her Grace appear, and eventually Raine excused himself ostensibly to check on the former. When Seth was finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked around, and his amber eyes caught at Tanis’s belt, whereupon he rumbled, “Merdanti?” Hard amber eyes settled on Tanis. “What’s a boy doing with a zanthyr’s dagger?”
Not expecting such direct address, Tanis started with a little squeak. Instinct made him reach for the dagger in question, and his eyes were wide as he managed, “Phaedor…uh, gave it to me, Your Excellency. A—gift to remember him by, he said.”
“On a cold day in M’Nador,” Fynn remarked.
Tanis shot him a frustrated look.
Seth seemed baffled by his explanation. “That creature never ceases to confuse me.”
“How is that, my lord?” Tanis braved to inquire.
“Zanthyrs are impervious to enchantment of any nature,” Seth replied, still glaring at the blade at Tanis’ belt as if expecting it to strike him. Then he added under his breath, “which is what makes them such infernal nuisances.”
“And human weapons leave not even a scratch on them,” Gwynnleth added.
“But a weapon that can hurt them is one of their own enchanted blades,” Seth continued. “Merdanti, they are called, named for the rare element used for their forging as much as the magic inherent in the process. Merdanti weapons are the only weapons that can mark a zanthyr. As you might expect, they guard such weapons with t
heir lives—carry every one of their blades on them all the time, in fact.”
“Safest place, I suspect,” Fynn muttered.
“Yet here the boy wears a zanthyr’s Merdanti dagger,” the Third Vestal finished in a tone of utter befuddlement, pointing at said blade.
In that moment, it became frighteningly clear to Tanis just how important the weapon he carried at his belt. He gives me something I could use to harm him? The boy felt the blood draining from his face. Why?
Seth cast him a keen look. “Aye, you see it now, lad. You could kill the creature with that blade—ironically a blade of his own making.” He settled Tanis a pointed stare and added, “You’re the only one here who could.”
***
When the servant announced Raine’s arrival at Ean’s rooms, the prince was standing on his patio staring out over the bay. He felt a strange prickling sensation in the back of his neck. It had started just before they arrived at the villa, and it only grew stronger and stranger as the night deepened.
He sensed more than heard Raine’s approach on the patio behind him.
“Hello, Ean.”
Ean made no reply. He felt there was no love lost between them. What had Raine ever done for him but turn him against possible allies and set him upon a course toward the Vestal’s own ends?
“You have a right to be wroth with me, Ean,” the Truthreader said, coming forward, “but I would have you understand that it has been to the good of all.” His tone became hopeful as he continued, “We’ve made inroads into the Karakurt’s organization, a course that could never have been accomplished without you. We may even soon apprehend…but it’s too early to speak of that,” he corrected himself. “Still, you must understand, Ean, none of this could’ve happened without you. I regret not telling you of my plans, but I felt it was necessary.”
Ean turned him a scathing look. “Yes, it’s easier to control your pawns when they don’t know they’re in a game.”
Raine looked hurt by his words. “I have wronged you,” he admitted. “I confess it to you most humbly, and I ask you humbly to forgive me.”
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 90