“I thought you might like to be reminded of the time, Sire.”
Wirr gave him a puzzled look, glancing out the window. The sun was high; it was noon, perhaps a little after.
“Oh. Fates.” Wirr started walking, beckoning for the man to follow. “I …” He paused, then gave Andyn a curious look. “I forgot something.”
“Of course, Sire,” said Andyn smoothly.
The man’s face remained expressionless, but Wirr could have sworn he saw the faintest glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes.
Wirr made a few more turns, restraining a smile as he and Andyn came to the corridor outside the Great Hall.
Dezia looked relaxed as she leaned against the sill of the east-facing window, gazing down onto the gardens below. She glanced up as she sensed Wirr’s approach; though she didn’t overtly react, her blue eyes lit up when she saw who it was.
The hallway was long and full of people at this time of day—servants, guards, the odd lord hurrying about their business—and so Wirr made sure to keep his nod of greeting polite and formal.
“Dezia! What a coincidence.”
Dezia gave a curtsy appropriate to their respective stations. “Your Highness. It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” agreed Wirr, sincerity in his tone. He paused. “Did Karaliene speak to you earlier?”
“No, Sire. What did she want?”
“I’m not sure.” Wirr shrugged. “I’m about to go and find her myself. You could accompany me, if you wish.”
Dezia inclined her head, only the smile in her eyes giving away her amusement. “I’d be honored.”
They started off, but quickly came to a halt again as Andyn gave a pointed cough. Wirr glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Highness. I thought it might be worth pointing out that Princess Karaliene’s quarters are the other way?”
Wirr shook his head. “I have a feeling that she might be in the gardens this afternoon, Andyn.”
“Still the other way, Sire.”
“The west gardens.”
“Of course, Sire.” Andyn gave the faintest hint of a sigh. “My mistake.”
Wirr exchanged a glance with Dezia, then turned back to the redheaded man. “It’s a long walk over there, and I really should be safe enough here in the palace. I can meet you back in my rooms when I’m done.”
Andyn didn’t hesitate. “The answer is the same as three days ago, Sire. And three days before that. My job is to protect you, regardless of location.” His eyes flicked to Dezia. “Or whom you are with.”
Wirr just gave a resigned shrug.
Andyn hesitated. “I should drop back a little as you walk, though, Sire. Not so far as to let you out of sight, but … it’s wise for me to avoid routine. Predictability is as good as an invitation to assassins.”
Wirr cocked his head to the side, genuinely surprised at the stolid man’s suggestion. He gave his bodyguard an approving look.
“That sounds like a sensible plan, Andyn. I … commend your initiative.”
Andyn dipped his head, hiding whatever expression was on his face. “Thank you, Sire.”
They began walking, Dezia close enough to talk to quietly, but not so close that they looked … together. They arranged these walks far enough apart, and in different areas of the palace, that it was unlikely anyone rushing through the hallways would take much notice of them—but only so long as they acted with absolute propriety while together.
Wirr waited until Andyn had dropped back, then sighed. “I’m late. Sorry.”
“I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show up. You can only pretend like you’re interested in looking at an utterly destroyed garden for so long, you know.” She grinned at him, though she quickly hid the expression again. “Trouble this morning?”
Wirr nodded ruefully. “Just had a delightful chat with the Desrielite ambassador—he accused me of trying to use one of the Gifted to infiltrate the Gil’shar, of all things. Which I guess means he assumes I’m not only underhanded, but incompetent.”
“You’re definitely not underhanded,” said Dezia.
Wirr shot her a wry smile. “Ha. Ha. And of course Pria kindly tried to save me from that conversation by failing to mention that the ambassador was here at all.”
“That was thoughtful of her.” Dezia shook her head wonderingly. “She really doesn’t understand the whole ‘hierarchy’ thing very well, does she?”
“I think she understands it just fine. She just has a different idea of where I should fit into it.”
Dezia gave him a sympathetic nod. One of the few people in whom he felt able to confide his struggles, she’d already heard plenty about his difficulties with Administration over the past month. “And the Assembly?”
“Still won’t pay attention unless at least either Administration or one of the Tols officially change their position.” Wirr shook his head grimly. “I can hardly blame them. If I can’t convince my own organization to support sending more soldiers north, I can hardly expect the Houses to.”
There was silence for a few moments as they came to the stairs leading down into the western gardens. Work had already begun in earnest to restore the foliage here, and only a few spaces still showed the dark splotches where Davian had drained the life from the plants during the battle. The day had turned sunny and a few people had emerged to enjoy it, but the pleasantly green expanse was mostly empty.
“You haven’t heard anything else about this threat against you?” Dezia eventually asked quietly. She kept her eyes forward as she spoke, but Wirr could hear the concern in her tone. She’d been waiting to ask, as she did every time they met.
Wirr forced a cheerful expression. “Still narrowed down to ‘someone doesn’t like me,’ I’m afraid.”
The rumor of a plan to assassinate Wirr had come to light two weeks ago. It hadn’t really come as a surprise—even after their efforts in defending the Shields, plenty of people still harbored a deep-seated hatred of the Gifted. Now that one had abruptly taken charge of the very organization meant to keep them in check, some backlash had been inevitable.
Dezia nodded slowly. “At least they’re taking it seriously,” she said softly, stealing a glance back at Andyn, who was still trailing at a discreet distance. “I much prefer knowing someone’s watching out for you.”
Wirr’s smile faded but he nodded, heart swelling a little as he glanced across at Dezia. He hated only being able to see her every few days, pretending to run into each other as they did. It was necessary, though. Anything more and word would quickly get back to his uncle, one of the Houses with an eligible daughter, or worse—his mother. The king was a good man, but he was also politically savvy and far from sentimental. If it meant doing what he thought was right for the kingdom—or if Geladra demanded it—Kevran would have Dezia sent away in a heartbeat.
As if reading his thoughts, Dezia cocked her head to the side. “So. All I’ve heard anyone talk about today is how you have a rather important dinner tonight?”
Wirr snorted. “Not of my own free will,” he assured her. “Apparently it’s my mother’s doing, despite her not having spoken to me since the funeral. And Uncle told me it was either go, or risk offending Lord Tel’Rath and endangering our relationship with him in the process.”
“To be fair, your uncle did try and organize a few dinners prior to this, and you always managed to have an excuse,” Dezia observed, a slight smile on her lips.
Wirr looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You almost sound as if you think it’s funny.”
“The picture of you being forced into a formal dinner with Lord Tel’Rath and family? With the sole purpose of him trying to get you interested in his daughter?” Dezia’s eyes sparkled. “I would pay gold to see that sort of awkwardness. Real, actual gold.”
Wirr tried to give her a dirty look, but couldn’t help laughing softly. “To be honest, when I think about this supposed assassin and dinner tonight, I’m not sure which is worse.”
Dezia shook her head, still smiling. “At least you’ll have Andyn with you. I’m sure he can protect you from Iria if need be.”
Wirr glanced back at his bodyguard, who was still maintaining a polite distance. “Wonderful. I didn’t even think about that. He’ll never show it, but I’m beginning to suspect that Andyn takes perverse pleasure from my suffering.”
Dezia’s smile widened. “I knew I liked him.” The expression lingered, though her tone became more serious. “Speaking of your family—have you organized to visit your mother and sister yet?”
Wirr coughed. “Ah. Not yet. There’s just been so much to do around here, and …” He shrugged uncomfortably.
“You really should think about it,” said Dezia, tone gently reproachful. “I know the funeral was awkward, but you can’t avoid them forever. And the longer you leave it, the worse it will get.”
“I know.” Wirr nodded, sighing heavily. “I know.”
They talked for a while longer as they walked through the gardens, not obviously strolling, but taking the most circuitous route possible. The rest of the conversation revolved mostly around inconsequential things, allowing them to simply enjoy each other’s company in the bright afternoon sunshine.
Eventually, though, they reached the end of the gardens, and the regret in Dezia’s eyes acknowledged that it was time to part ways.
“East courtyard in three days? Say, third bell after noon?” she suggested quietly.
“Third bell it is.” Wirr held her gaze for a few seconds, wishing he could show more affection. “Looking forward to it.”
“Me too.” Dezia gave him a serious look. “And tonight, just remember—Tel’Rath’s fortune is based mostly on trade and agriculture. You should talk about how you’re hoping to increase taxes on both those things, in as much detail as possible. Iria will be fascinated and Lord Tel’Rath will no doubt appreciate your honesty, and be glad he asked you around.”
Wirr narrowed his eyes at Dezia. “Good advice.”
“Of course it is.” Dezia walked away with a casual wave. “I look forward to hearing all about it.”
Wirr grinned after her, then headed back over to Andyn. Without talking, they began walking back through the gardens.
“You seem to be running into the young lady Shainwiere quite a bit, recently, Your Highness,” noted Andyn, his tone imparting neither approval nor disapproval. “From my count, that’s three times. Three times since I was assigned to you ten days ago.”
Wirr glanced at his bodyguard, shrugging. “We both live in the palace. It’s bound to happen.”
Andyn simply nodded. “Of course. It’s just that I need to be on the lookout for threats, and I was just thinking that someone coincidentally running into you so often seems … odd. I should probably report it to the king.”
“No!” Wirr faltered and turned to Andyn, trying not to let panic show on his face. “There’s no need …”
He trailed off. His bodyguard’s expression remained an impassive mask, and yet Wirr couldn’t help but sense amusement radiating from the man.
“I take your security very seriously, Highness,” said Andyn smoothly. “But if you don’t feel there’s a need to report these meetings, I suppose I can overlook them.”
Wirr stared at him for a moment longer, then chuckled, shaking his head ruefully.
“Come on, Andyn,” he said resignedly. “Let’s go and prepare for dinner.”
Chapter 4
Caeden blinked blearily as Asar removed his hand from Caeden’s forehead, the other Augur settling down in his chair opposite with a mixture of wonder and frustration in his expression.
“You are a puzzle, Tal’kamar,” Asar muttered, half to himself. His piercing blue eyes bore into Caeden’s. “Still nothing?”
Caeden rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, leaning back. They were in Asar’s quarters again, the room feeling plain next to the pulsing, multicolored beauty of the tunnels and chambers elsewhere in Mor Aruil. “I catch glimpses. Names, places. Images. Little bits of information here and there. But … nothing major. Still nothing like what you said to expect.”
He sighed. It had been two weeks since they had started this process, two weeks since Caeden had finally accepted the memory that Asar had first shown him. Every morning he’d left his sparsely furnished chamber, walking the surreal passageway with the rippling veins of light to Asar’s quarters. Every day Asar had tried to coax out his ability to see into his past, all the while strengthening him with a constant flow of Essence—an indescribably exhausting process for both of them.
And each night, Caeden had collapsed back into bed, unease settling deeper into his chest each time. Asar was trying. Caeden was trying.
But they were getting nowhere.
He swallowed, heart sinking at the expression on Asar’s face. “Perhaps you’re just going to have to teach me after all,” he concluded quietly.
Asar sighed, shaking his head. “We have had this conversation, Tal’kamar,” he said irritably, the dark circles under his eyes making him look even more tired than Caeden felt. “I can talk for months, talk until the air in my lungs gives out—it could never replace thousands of years of memory, of skills you have learned and context you have gained.”
Caeden hesitated. He’d already accepted what Asar was saying—the memory of the Darklands still flickered uncomfortably in his head sometimes, a reminder of what he was really fighting against—but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
“You have told me why we’re doing this,” he acceded, trying to keep his voice calm and even, though tiredness was shortening his temper. “But what about that?” He gestured to Licanius, where Asar had it strapped to his side. “I still don’t understand why I would erase my memories, risk so much just to get it. I know the stakes, Asar—but clearly not everything important. Perhaps if you just—”
“Tal’kamar, the more I explain, the less motivation you have to remember.” Asar’s voice was a tired growl. “I understand your fear of facing the man you once were, but you cannot put this off forever. Our plan relies on you remembering.”
Caeden flinched at the rebuke, scowling. “But what happens after I remember? What is our next step? How do I fulfill this bargain with the Lyth? Perhaps if you just explained the plan, I would feel a little more comfortable. Why won’t you just tell me?”
“For El’s sake, Tal’kamar. I’m not telling you because I don’t know.”
There was silence for a moment, Asar’s features set in a snarl, the admission clearly coming hard. Caeden stared at him in disbelief.
“You don’t know? Two weeks of this, and you don’t know?”
Asar looked to the side. “Not all of it, anyway. I know you are intending to use the Lyth’s power to strengthen the ilshara somehow, to buy us more time, but … the fact is, you didn’t feel the need to share the details with me. You didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust anyone, Tal’kamar, because that was who you were. And so instead, I was forced to trust you.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Your plan had almost been uncovered once before; I think you were afraid that by telling it to me, you risked that happening again. And if you were the only one who knew how to hold off the Lyth, it meant that no one would dare try to stop you, once you’d started. You wanted that security. You wanted that control.” He leaned forward, meeting Caeden’s gaze. “So now it’s time to earn it.”
Caeden swallowed, subsiding a little, though the frustration remained. Asar’s reaction seemed genuine.
“Very well,” he said eventually, a little more calmly. “But you can at least tell me what happens if the Lyth get Licanius—you wouldn’t be so worried about it if you didn’t know. Is it really that bad?”
Asar hesitated, looking again like he was about to deflect the question.
Then he sighed, nodding slowly.
Caeden shivered at the certainty in his eyes. “How? Why?” He forced aside his exhaustion and leaned forward, encouraged by the first real response he’d had, though he k
new that he was trying Asar’s patience. Licanius lay on the table next to Asar and from where Caeden was sitting, it looked … unremarkable. He knew that it was more than just a sword—remembered how much easier his holding it had made accessing and controlling kan, how delicately it had let him manipulate the dark energy. But that was all. He’d felt powerful, godlike next to those he was fighting against—and fighting for, if it came to that—but it was still just a weapon. Asar had defeated him while it was in Caeden’s possession, seemingly with no more trouble than it would have taken to swat a fly.
“What could it possibly do?” he continued. “Back in Res Kartha, Garadis said that the Lyth would use it for that which it was made. For its original purpose. What did he mean?” Those words, uttered after Caeden had finally taken Licanius, had plagued him over the past month.
Asar stayed silent throughout the minor outburst, just watching. Once he was satisfied that Caeden had finished, he hesitated.
“I don’t know a lot about where the Lyth came from—none of us ever did, except for perhaps you and Andrael. And you were always reluctant to talk about it,” he said eventually, slowly, resignation thick in his tone. “We only discovered their existence not long after you raised the ilshara. For a while after that, our history with them was … combative, shall we say. Bloody, on both sides, until Andrael struck his deal. But what we learned from that period is that their bodies are made up almost entirely of Essence, and it’s that fact that keeps them trapped where they are. Unlike us—unlike people—they’re not shielded from the Law of Decay. From the effects of kan. They can use Gates to travel anywhere in the world, but if they stay away from Res Kartha for more than a few minutes, they simply … fade away. Dissipate.” After checking that Caeden did not look too lost, he kept going. “You understand the Law of Decay?”
Caeden nodded; Davian had explained it to him once, and even as his friend had spoken, the details had come back. “Essence needs a Vessel. Outside of a Vessel, it erodes.”
Asar grunted, sounding almost amused. “More complex than that, Tal’kamar, but close enough.” He sighed. “And do you know the cause of Decay?”
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