Aldaeon stared at Niko until he retook his chair. Then he shifted a troubled gaze to Alshiba. “I admit, the circumstances under which Franco provided this information were unfortunate, Alshiba, but now that we have the knowledge, I am duty bound to act upon it. Björn van Gelderan has twice caused an uproar in the city. He admitted to me during one such disruption that Dagmar and Raine are alive in T’khendar…I see no other choice.”
“No,” Alshiba let out a slow exhale, feeling dread like a too-tight rope binding her chest, “I don’t either. But the nodes into T’khendar are twisted. How—”
Niko snorted. “There’s a node leading directly from the cityworld to that godforsaken place—can you believe Björn’s audacity? Franco told Mir all about this so-called Sylus node. He even volunteered to take us there himself…that is, after Mir gave him the proper encouragement. Tell her what he said, Mir.”
“I would rather hear from Franco.” Alshiba turned a furious gaze from Niko back to Aldaeon. “Honestly, Your Excellency, why is my Deputy Vestal being treated this way? He should be in an infirmary, not held in arms like a criminal.”
The Speaker winced slightly. “Franco is here to cast his vote, Alshiba—or I should say, he has given it. Yours is the only vote outstanding.”
“He didn’t seem to want to sit down earlier,” Niko remarked smugly.
I take full responsibility for that. Mir’s voice felt like scalding oil pouring into Alshiba’s mind. A host of unwelcome images accompanied this admission—Mir’s willing confession.
Alshiba had never hated anyone like she hated Mir Arkadhi in that moment. She made a tight coil of her conviction. “I will give my vote of consent,” she told Aldaeon levelly, “but only on the condition that Franco is Healed before he’s required to travel.”
“Of course, Alshiba. I’ll summon my Healer—”
“I’ll see to him personally, but thank you for the offer.”
“Do you really think that’s wise?” Niko clucked with disingenuous solicitude. “I mean…with your recent illness and so forth.”
It was all she could do to keep the daggers out of her gaze. “I feel much restored of spirit today, Niko.”
You seem quite remarkably restored, in fact, Alshiba dear.
Alshiba shifted a frosty stare to find Mir regarding her with a hand draped beneath his chin and his eyes gleaming with amused speculation.
“You can attend Franco in my adjoining chambers, Alshiba.” Aldaeon motioned to his knights, and they set off carrying a semi-conscious Franco between them.
With the meeting clearly adjourned, Mir glided from the room with his usual grace, but Alorin’s candidate vestal and Alshiba’s biggest mistake came over and took her hand in his. “Do take care for your health, oath-sister—”
“She’s not your bloody oath-sister!” Seth spun a glare over his shoulder. “You haven’t sworn the oath.”
Alshiba leveled Seth a pleading look.
He turned to glare out the windows again.
Alshiba withdrew her hand from Niko’s clutching fingers, which oddly dragged at her oath-ring as if to remove it with their departure. “Thank you for your concern, Niko.”
He gave an insincere smile. “We would all be quite distressed were anything to happen to Your Excellency, especially while engaged in the activity of Healing a traitor’s Espial.” He bowed to her and departed.
The moment the doors shut behind Niko, Seth spun heatedly. “I’m not spending my eternity oath-bound to that insufferable snot.”
“Epiphany willing, you won’t have to.” Alshiba looked to Aldaeon. “You should know, I’ve formally withdrawn my recommendation of Niko and have named Franco instead. I filed the motion on my way here this morning.”
“About bloody time,” Seth grumbled.
Her gaze entreated his silence, but in truth, it startled her that he had agreed so readily to Franco’s nomination.
Aldaeon sank his head into his hand and regarded her gravely. “My, that does complicate things.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.” Alshiba held the Speaker’s colorless gaze while a whirlwind of concerns made a tangle of her mind. “Aldaeon…” suddenly she saw another hall in another time, and a sea of Shades prostrated before a madman’s throne, “you recall what happened the last time the Council sent the Paladin Knights in search of Björn.”
“Unfortunately, I do. That’s why this time we’ll be sending two hundred knights instead of fifty. Mir lobbied heavily for a considerable force, in light of their quarry.”
Alshiba leaned both hands on the Speaker’s desk. “You know him. You know what he’s capable of,” she took a leap of faith and added, fierce and low, “you know what he’s actually doing in T’khendar!”
Seth hissed an oath from behind her.
Aldaeon laid fingertips on his desk and pressed himself tall. Alshiba straightened away from the august force of his presence. “I know Björn,” he replied austerely and with the slightest tinge of reprimand in his tone, an acute reminder that his integrity remained absolute, “well enough to know he acts according to his conscience and expects us to do the same. Now,” his tone softened a fraction, but his gaze conveyed much more, “see to your Vestal, and let us get on with this unpleasant business of betraying my friend in the name of justice.”
***
Franco roused to the taste of blood souring in his mouth. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was being strung up in one of the many devices Mir kept in his dungeon for his dark entertainments. Then the mor’alir truthreader had poured himself into Franco’s mind like an oiled snake, and the only thing Franco remembered after that was pain.
No…that wasn’t true. He recalled many of Mir’s dark torments. The man had taken steps to ensure that he would. It was another of Mir’s little private amusements—anything to subjugate or enthrall others to his will.
Franco’s mind felt like a battleground after the battle had been fought—churned and blood-muddied, littered with the torn remains of broken thoughts. Had Mir taken anything the First Lord had bound him on? Franco honestly couldn’t say. The truthreader had tilled his mind so badly that its landscape was unidentifiable.
He didn’t recognize the room where he’d awoken, but from the angle of the sun shining in through the windows, the day had matured. He turned his head and saw Alshiba sitting nearby. She was staring out the windows, her gaze distant, lips pressed together tightly.
Franco held out his hand to her. “My lady.” His words felt thick on his tongue. “Are you well?”
She turned with a sudden smile. “You’re awake.” She moved to his bed and took his hand in hers. Gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his eyes. “In all my years, I’ve never had to work the kind of Healing I just did to restore you. Mir…twisted your life pattern. It took me hours to untangle it.”
Franco thought that was probably the least of what Mir had done. “He’s a mor’alir Adept.” He managed a tight swallow. “I feel like he made an inverteré pattern out of me.”
She exhaled a slow breath, holding his gaze with apology heavy in hers. “I’m afraid I may not have…”
“Found everything he did to me?” Franco was sure she hadn’t. Alshiba was a strong Healer, but it would take someone with the First Lord’s skill to unwork that many inside-out knots. “I’m sure you’ve Healed me enough for what I have to do.”
Her brow constricted. They both knew what that ‘doing’ entailed.
“My lady, about this Admiral business—”
“You did what I should’ve done from the first.” Sudden determination brought new strength to her tone. “But I’ve taken care of that now.”
Franco tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve formally withdrawn my advocacy for Niko and named you as Dagmar’s successor instead.”
As if she wasn’t already in enough danger! Oh, if he ever got his hands on Mir Arkadhi—
But Mir had made certain Franco could never exact the vengeance he was due
. To even attempt to harm Mir would cause Franco debilitating pain. Amazing what a truthreader could do to a man when conscience and discretion no longer ruled the use of his talent.
Alshiba rose. “I’ll give you a moment to dress.”
Franco reached for her hand. “Stay…if you would.” He looked down at the outline of his legs beneath the sheet. Thinking of what Mir had done to him made them quiver.
“Of course.”
He hated that he had to reveal such weakness to her, but the fact remained that even with her Healing, he didn’t trust his legs to hold his weight.
Alshiba retrieved his clothes and set them on the bed. Then walked to the windows while he dressed.
Franco moved to the edge of the bed and looked up as he was donning his pants. “When did he leave?”
It was a moment before she answered, though she certainly knew of whom he was asking. “This morning, five seconds before Aldaeon’s summons. His timing was as impeccable as ever.” Surprisingly, the bitterness that would’ve darkened her tone before revealed only shades of resignation instead, even…admiration.
Franco found this more telling of the reparative force of her time spent with the First Lord than anything she might’ve told him. “But he finished his Healing. You feel restored, my lady?”
“I did…” she turned a look over her shoulder, “until I saw what Mir had done to you.”
The meaning in her eyes…oh, it had never been clearer to him—startling, yes, surprising certainly, welcome even, and yet acutely painful.
If only Mir had known how deeply he’d destroyed Franco with his petty torments! The First Lord had finally shared everything with Alshiba; yet now, on the cusp of what should’ve been their long overdue moment of candor, along had come Mir Arkadhi with his devastating games to make honesty impossible yet again.
Franco worked the muscles of his jaw, holding back a fury that had no outlet. For what Alshiba couldn’t know, and what Franco couldn’t tell her—couldn’t even hint at—was that Mir had revealed their entire plan to him, there in that dark room reverberating with pain, and then he’d truthbound him on it, so he couldn’t warn her—couldn’t even mention it in a way that would rouse her caution.
This was Mir’s twisted sense of humor at work, another of his dark games—thorns of malice set to work their way slowly into Franco’s heel until they became too excruciating to endure.
Alshiba dropped her gaze. “If you don’t feel the same—”
“I do.” The force of this confession drove him across the room with surprising strength. He took her hand and met her gaze—Mir’s games be damned! “Alshiba…I’ve been bound to you since the first moment you Healed me. Would that I’d had the courage to tell you sooner.”
A soft smile touched her lips, echoic of an ages-old grief, redolent of hope. “I know now hardly seems the time.”
Franco cupped her face. “Will there ever be a better time?” Then he kissed her.
She clutched him almost desperately close. This was no gentle kiss from either of them, yet Franco felt incredible relief in it, and even more in finally laying claim to her affections. He drew her into his arms afterwards, feeling suddenly as if he’d wanted nothing else in centuries save to hold her. She hugged him tightly while their racing hearts beat echoes of each other.
“I knew it also in that moment,” she whispered, “though I couldn’t—”
“I know.” Franco pressed a kiss into her hair, feeling her arms tight around him. So he’d staked his claim, but would she believe his feelings were true after tonight had played out, after she’d been betrayed anew, this time by the secrets he’d been forced to keep from her?
The entire situation reeked of the callous irony of the gods. Franco knew that somewhere Cephrael was laughing, and Mir Arkadhi was laughing with Him.
***
Alshiba kept trying to pull herself out of a daze, but the day’s events were so difficult to frame into context—at dawn to have awoken in the arms of the man she loved and by sundown to be sending two hundred wielders to hunt him down as a fugitive? To have at last learned the truth of Björn’s actions, only to be forced to act against him? To have finally admitted her feelings to Franco, only to soon watch him being carted away to await a formal tribunal?
Now she stood within the grounds of Alorin’s embassy—how ironically fitting that Björn had built a portal to T’khendar within the protective patterns of his own estate—watching as two hundred knights prepared to bring her Fifth Vestal back to Illume Belliel, dead or alive. She imagined most of them would prefer dead.
How could she stand there and let them carry on with this? She knew why T’khendar was so vital now. Without it, the Malorin’athgul would have direct access to the Realms of Light! And without Dagmar, Raine and Björn there to shore up the world’s magnetic grid against the immortal actively trying to unmake it, T’khendar would fall in short order.
A desperate grief clenched inside her. If she stood to defend Björn now, if she told Aldaeon everything, he would only think her still besotted. She’d accomplish nothing save ruining her position with the Council.
By all the gods, why did Björn always have to be so insufferably right in his predictions? He’d broken with her to ensure they trusted her. What good now would come of destroying her reputation? The knights would still march off to war. Franco would still go on trial. Björn would still be dragged back in chains, her other Vestals under extreme suspicion—and she’d be in no position to help any of them. The only thing she’d gain from trying to head this off was a clear conscience.
‘…Sometimes we have to be our own pawns of sacrifice…’
Alshiba clenched her jaw. Sometimes I really despise you, Björn.
Only sometimes, love?
By the time they arrived at the staging area, the sun had fallen behind the trees and the gardens wore a cloak of shadows. Men filled those gardens now, most of them armored. Franco moved into their midst to prepare the node for travel.
While half of Alshiba’s mind lamented, the other half was scrambling to think of a way to protect Franco. She didn’t for a moment believe that Niko would wait for a Council Tribunal to determine Franco’s guilt or innocence. Nor was Franco the only one who was likely going to need help and protection.
Alshiba spotted Seth’s fiery red hair amid the masses and made her way over to him. Drawing him out to the fringes of the lake of knights, she warded the space and leveled him a determined look. “You need to get involved in this rebellion.”
The Avieth crossed his arms, making his massive biceps strain against the green suede of his tunic. “You’re different.” His tawny-gold eyes studied her. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on around here?”
“Yes, if you’ll hear it.” She eyed him askance and then cast her gaze across the others. “But not now. Not here.”
Seth’s muscles flexed as he considered what she was asking of him. “All right.” He settled into decision as a hawk upon its perch. “What rebellion are we talking about?”
She told him in broad strokes. In the last, her gaze shifted to Niko, who was standing amid a pod of knights, separate from the larger group. “He’ll go after them—all of them, every Nodefinder who’s backing Franco. I had no idea Niko was so conniving. Perhaps it’s his association with Mir Arkadhi. Perhaps he’s always been this way. I only know we can’t let him destroy what’s left of the strand to avenge himself against Franco.” She shifted her gaze back to Seth. “And I have a feeling Alorin is going to need your help in that effort.”
Seth considered her with all the receptiveness of a knotted oak. Then he gave a nod of accord. Alshiba let out her breath in relief.
Seth eyed her tetchily. “You know, if you’d asked me before proposing the slime-ridden bastard, I might’ve advised you better to begin with.”
Her gaze softened in apology. “I know, Seth. I’ve been unfair to you. None of us cares more about the realm than you.” It was almost true. Elae’s thi
rd strand bound Seth more tightly to Alorin than any of the other vestals. Only Björn had proven himself more willing to sacrifice in the realm’s best interests.
Seth’s tawny gaze scanned the assembly, fierce and predatory. “I’ve dreamed about this day.” He shifted his eyes back to hers. “It doesn’t feel like I imagined it would.”
Alshiba put as much understanding into her expression as she could manage.
He looked critically upon the assemblage. “Think I’ll skip the coup d'état.” Those tawny eyes looked her over for a moment more. “Be careful, sister. There’s a foul wind blowing here.”
She watched him walk away, feeling hollow.
***
Franco saw Niko coming towards him through the crowd and wished he’d cut the man’s throat when he’d had the chance. Niko led his little pod of knights beneath a flag of self-importance, waging a collision course for Franco like a victorious king claiming the battlefield, but Franco’s gaze was tracking Mir Arkadhi, who was following behind Niko’s knightly goons, the stalking viper whispering through the verge.
Mir had orchestrated this entire affair. He’d advised Niko what to say to trap Franco into confession, he’d sought the audience with the Speaker, he’d demanded the knights be sent to T’khendar with no time to waste. Verily, Mir had murmured the entire plan into Franco’s ear while his fourth-strand inverteré patterns twisted his mind into unrecognizable shapes.
The question was, why. Why was Mir involved? Alorin had nothing to offer Eltanin—Niko certainly had nothing to offer Mir—and Mir Arkadhi never extended a toe beyond the door of self-interest.
Niko halted before Franco wearing a smug, cat-ate-the-canary smirk. Doubtless he felt safe indeed with two hundred Paladin Knights lined up behind him and Mir Arkadhi’s compulsion pinning Franco’s hands behind his back. “Let’s see this node of yours then, Admiral.” Niko looked to the knights and raised his voice with command. “Five go with us to inspect the scene. Then we’ll return for the rest of you. Ready yourselves, Knights of Illume Belliel!”
Franco rolled his eyes. Somehow Niko had failed to notice that readying themselves was the only activity the knights had been engaged in for the entire afternoon.
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