Wirr shifted uncomfortably. “Is that necessary?”
“We need to understand how this works, Sire. And we cannot test it on anyone else, because if a real Administrator ever learned of it …” He looked at Wirr pointedly.
Wirr swallowed, thinking again of what his mother had said. “True enough.”
“Although,” mused Taeris as if he hadn’t spoken, his enthusiasm evident, “perhaps you could command someone to never speak of something. Or to forget it entirely? I wonder.” His eyes shone as he considered the possibilities.
Wirr flinched, stomach churning. He wasn’t sure how he would have felt about this even yesterday—but now, after what he’d just learned about his father? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want anything to do with this.
But he knew that he couldn’t just ignore it, either.
The following hour was as long a one as Wirr could ever remember. Physical proximity or being audible wasn’t necessary for a command to work, so long as Wirr said it out loud and was thinking of someone specific. More precise directives worked better, as—like the Tenets—there seemed to be a degree of interpretation to them being carried out. Instructions to forget a set period of time, or specific events, appeared to work as well. Those memories clearly weren’t erased, though; when the prisoner was told to remember them again, he was able to do so immediately.
It went on. A newer command would take precedence over a contradictory older one. Instructions—if they were laid out clearly enough—could be conditional, complex, triggered by other events. Taeris even figured out that Wirr could direct the man to follow orders that he had no memory of receiving—leaving him with no clue as to why he was acting a certain way, but still unable to prevent himself from carrying out the instructions.
By the end, they had answered a lot of the immediate questions surrounding Wirr’s ability, as well as extracted the names of several Administrators who knew about the recruitment of more “unofficial” ones. They also, much to Wirr’s horror, discovered that the bald man had been responsible for countless unreported crimes against the Gifted over the years—most of them covered up thanks to his commanding his victims to silence via the Fourth Tenet.
Even with those revelations, Wirr felt a little emptier with each new test. Perhaps he did need to know how this worked, and perhaps this man was deserving of everything that was happening to him. It didn’t change how dirty manipulating the prisoner made him feel.
When the man had finally finished relating the last of his crimes, Wirr shook his head in disgust as he and Taeris moved a little distance away, to where they couldn’t be overheard.
“Let’s tell him to forget that we were ever here, and then to confess all of what he just told us to the warden,” Wirr said quietly. “I’ve seen and heard enough.”
Taeris nodded slowly, still staring at the bald man through the bars. He was outwardly calm, but Wirr had noticed his gaze holding steadily more heat as the would-be assassin had listed his wrongdoings. “I’d like to test the longevity of these bindings at some point,” he said absently. “There’s no way of knowing when—or if—they will eventually wear off. Tell him to forget, and I’ll come back in a few days, then perhaps a few weeks after that. We’ll see if he remembers any of this.”
Wirr nodded, taking a breath to issue the command, when Taeris suddenly held up his hand.
“There’s one last thing that we need to check.”
“Which is?” asked Wirr wearily.
“Ask him to hurt himself.”
“What?” Wirr stared at him. “No.”
“We need to understand how far this can be pushed,” said Taeris. The words were delivered calmly, but Wirr could hear the underlying ice in them.
“We don’t need to know if it can be pushed that far, because I’m never going to tell someone to do that,” replied Wirr grimly. “He’s going to hang for what he’s done, Taeris. I despise him as much as you do, but …” He shook his head. “That sort of punishment isn’t for us to mete out.”
“It’s not about punishment. It’s about understanding limitations.”
“We both know that’s not true,” snapped Wirr.
“You need to be willing to take these extra steps, Sire.” Taeris locked gazes with him. “This is a powerful advantage only if you understand its capabilities. Think about it. You can win the vote against your mother with this!”
Wirr stared at him in disbelief. “Are you listening to what you’re saying?” he asked. “You want me to bind all the Administrators. Or at least all the ones who matter. How can I do that, in good conscience? How could I possibly call myself a leader if I simply force them to follow me?”
“Are you listening to what you’re saying?” Taeris’s patience was clearly running out. “How can you call yourself a leader if you do not, Sire? Administration will turn against all of our efforts if you’re not in command—and if that happens, I’m not sure whether this brave new world that we’re trying to forge will last.” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Fates, you know them better than most. They still don’t believe that Devaed is responsible for the attacks—don’t believe that there is anything worse than the Blind and perhaps a few wild animals on the other side of the Boundary. How could you possibly let that foolishness cost lives—potentially even the country—when you could so easily make a difference?”
Wirr paled under the onslaught of words, but shook his head stubbornly. “Where would it end, Taeris? Don’t we have a responsibility to do what we know is right?”
“This is just like at Gahille.” Taeris face was a mask, but Wirr could see the tightly controlled anger behind it. “You want to do the right thing, but you don’t want to do the necessary thing. And all it does is put others in danger.” He leaned forward. “I say this not to embarrass, but to explain, Sire. It is a sign of a weak leader.”
Wirr clenched his fists. “So imposing my will, just because I believe something, is the sign of a strong one?”
“It is when you know it’s right,” said Taeris quietly. “You’ve seen enough to know the truth. They haven’t. Besides—you call it imposing your will, and say that it’s immoral. What do you think politics is, at its core?” He gestured. “Others will impose their will by threats, or by information, or by trickery, or with gold, or reason, or sheer charisma. They take advantage of what they have, Sire. None of them would hesitate for a heartbeat, were they in your position.”
Wirr shook his head angrily. “I don’t want to be like them, Taeris.”
“And yet you have to be. It’s the only way to win. Your father knew what it would take. Your father died for this. Your father—”
“That’s enough!” Wirr shouted. “You don’t know anything about my father! Be quiet!”
Taeris opened and closed his mouth silently at Wirr for several moments, eyes widening.
They stared at each other in steadily growing horror.
“You … you can speak now,” said Wirr awkwardly.
Taeris let out a gasp, as if he’d been holding his breath.
“Well.” The scarred man licked his lips, staring at the ground as if suddenly afraid to meet Wirr’s gaze. “That … changes things somewhat.”
Wirr slumped against the nearby wall. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Taeris hesitated, then took a deep, shaky breath. “I was going to say this anyway—once we leave here, you can’t keep that Oathstone on your person. All it would take is for one misworded comment …”
“I know. Fates, I know.”
There was silence for a long few moments, and then Taeris sighed.
“I … am sorry, Sire. About what I said. I overstepped. I still think it’s important for you to think long and hard about it, but … I can’t force you to do anything.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Unlike vice versa, I suppose.”
“I understand why you brought it up.” Wirr shook his head. “I just … we have some time left before the vote. At least a week. I have to at least try to win
legitimately.”
Taeris grimaced at that, but didn’t protest. He eventually rolled his shoulders. “Well. At least you have someone else to test it on now.”
Wirr smiled slightly, raising an eyebrow at the scarred man. “Who’s to say I haven’t already?”
Taeris blinked, then glared at him. The slight upward curl of his mouth indicated that he didn’t mind the attempt at levity, though.
They talked for a little longer, but soon enough Wirr was giving the prisoner his final instructions, grimacing at the blank, mildly confused look that came over the man’s face. He and Taeris quickly walked away before the bald man registered who they were.
The trip back was filled with awkward silence, Wirr finding himself uneasy about saying anything in case it came out as an order. The only real conversation came when Taeris mentioned his father’s Notarized notebook again; after a short consideration, Wirr agreed to let him read it once they were back. There was no point in hiding the information it contained from Taeris.
Mostly, though, he found himself thinking about what Taeris had said in the prison. Wirr didn’t want to do as the Representative had suggested … but he could also see his point.
There was little chance that he could legitimately convince any of the Administrators to vote for him. Almost none, in fact, especially while his mother had the evidence that she did. The task ahead of him was more than daunting.
But he still had a little time. He had to try.
Dezia was waiting for him when he got back to his rooms.
Wirr swallowed when he spotted her. He’d been trying to give her some space since she’d found out about Aelric.
“I heard about your mother and Administration,” she said quietly as he approached, giving him a small smile of greeting.
Wirr nodded. “I tried talking to her earlier. It … did not go well,” he said ruefully.
Dezia gave him a sympathetic look, but something in her eyes told Wirr that she hadn’t simply dropped by to discuss his problems. He opened the door and they stepped inside.
He shuffled his feet awkwardly as Dezia shut the door again. “’Zia,” he said softly. “Look, I know what I did—”
“I forgive you.” Dezia stepped forward, lifting his chin up gently until his eyes met hers. “You were an idiot—there’s no denying that—but there’s not a malicious or deceitful bone in your body, Torin. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
Wirr blinked at her for a few seconds, running the words over in his head a few times to make sure that he hadn’t misunderstood. He broke into a slow, wide smile, his heart unclenching for the first time in a week.
“I love you, too,” he said quietly. It was true, and to his surprise, he wasn’t afraid to say it.
Dezia grinned at him, cheeks flushed, and a wave of emotion swept over him. He took a half step forward, caught up in the moment.
Dezia held up a hand, stopping him.
“Let me finish.” She was still smiling, but there was sadness to it now, too. “I know that you need as much support as you can get right now, especially given what’s happening with Administration. And I want to support you.” She bit her lip. “But, Wirr … I’ve found some leads on where Aelric might have gone. And they take me south.”
Wirr’s smile faded, too, as he understood. For the first time he noted Dezia’s plain but functional attire.
“You’re leaving,” he said in dismay. He closed his eyes. “You’re going after him.”
“I am.” Dezia’s tone was firm.
“Where?”
“He was spotted in Variden. That’s where I’m heading.” She shrugged slightly. “If he’s not there anymore? I don’t know.”
Wirr swallowed. A large part of him wanted to talk Dezia out of what she was doing—if Aelric was in trouble, the last thing he wanted was for her to get involved as well—but at the same time, south was probably the safest direction in which she could go at the moment.
“Any idea what happened to him?”
Dezia hesitated. “He was seen talking to a man … I didn’t get a name, but the description was familiar. It sounded like Tela del na Gurn.”
Wirr shook his head. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Another of his backers.” Dezia nodded grimly as Wirr winced. “There’s not much doubt. Idiot’s in trouble.”
Wirr shifted. “I can send men with you. Contact Administrators there. We can—”
“No, Wirr.” Dezia said the words gently, affectionately, but she shook her head with conviction. “We both know what it will look like if you use Administration resources to conduct a manhunt for your friend. You can’t afford that. I’ve thought it through, and this is the only way.”
Wirr gritted his teeth. “You can’t go by yourself.”
“I can and I am.” Dezia gave him a rueful shrug. “I don’t much like it either, truth be told. But … all I’m doing is looking for him. And if it does come to more than that, I can take care of myself.”
Wirr took a deep breath. “I know.” He leaned forward. “If you find him, though, and I can help in any way …”
Dezia nodded. “I’ll find a way to contact you. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
There was silence, Wirr finding his gaze suddenly locked with Dezia’s. There was no telling when they would see each other again.
He stepped forward. Cupped her face in his hands.
Then he kissed her, gently at first but with increasing ardor as she responded until eventually they broke apart again, flushed and grinning foolishly at each other. For a few blissful seconds, Wirr completely forgot what they had been talking about, his heart lighter than it had been in a long, long time.
Reality came back to them both too soon, though. Wirr gave Dezia’s arm a gentle squeeze as his smile faded.
“Be careful, ’Zia,” he said quietly.
“You too.” Dezia smoothed back her hair, then raised an eyebrow at him. “By the way—the next time we see each other, I do expect you to still be Northwarden.”
Wirr gave her an amused look. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Dezia nodded seriously. “And if you could resolve this whole ‘Boundary’ situation while I’m gone, too …”
Wirr laughed, only to be interrupted by another quick, passionate kiss.
Before he could react, Dezia was breaking away again and slipping out the door.
Wirr stood there silently for a while after she was gone, emotions roiling. He wanted more than anything to go after Dezia, to go with her. This was his fault, at least in part. If he’d been honest with her from the start—or even just pressed Aelric on what was really going on—this entire situation may never have come about.
Eventually, though, he sighed and compelled himself over to his desk, trying to decide where best to start with what came next.
He had a lot of Administrators to talk to.
Chapter 35
Caeden shivered as he stared across the long, railless white bridge.
It paled in comparison to some of his other memories, now, but remembering the last time he was here still unsettled him. The confusion, the white haze all around, the vague forms of the others behind him as they raced desperately out of the city. The shrieks of the creature, and then the feeling of despair as they’d collapsed on that smooth stone surface and realized that Davian and Nihim were no longer with them.
As he made his way toward the bridge, though, he quickly found himself more concerned with his purpose for being here. Nethgalla. The woman who had stolen his wife’s face, stolen her memories. Even knowing only what he did, the thought made his heart beat faster with reflexive fury.
He knew that he couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, though. He needed to get in, retrieve the Siphon from Nethgalla, and leave again as quickly as he could.
Shale shifted underfoot as he walked along absently, and the cliff behind him cast a shadow over both him and the bridge. The mist across the chasm was thick as it twisted a
nd swirled, thinning farther out where the light still struck, just enough to hint at the buildings beneath.
He didn’t notice the dark shapes lying near the start of the bridge until he was all but on top of them.
Caeden froze as he took in the two black-scaled masses on the ground; his breath caught and he stayed motionless for several long seconds, watching warily. When neither of the figures moved, he cautiously crept forward again.
His tensed muscles relaxed a fraction as he finally saw that the dar’gaithin were indeed both dead. What had happened here? The ground was churned up around the corpses from where their tails had scarred the soft earth, but there were no other signs of violence. Everything was eerily still, the only sound the lonely thundering of water far below.
Glancing around nervously, he hurried onto the bridge.
He found the first of the bodies as soon as he entered the mists.
In horrified silence he picked his way through the barely visible scene. Dark blood was spattered everywhere, stark against the cold white of the stone underfoot. One figure that he spotted was entirely headless, its red cloak indicating that it had been one of the Gifted, while another—also red-cloaked—stared sightlessly up into the swirling white, its limbs mangled and neck at an impossible angle to its body.
Had this been the party from Ilin Illan? He’d deliberately slowed his pace over the past week, hoping to recall as much as he could before he had to face Nethgalla, and had eventually been overtaken by what he’d suspected was the group that Karaliene had mentioned. They had passed nearby while he’d been stopped for a meal a couple of days earlier, but he’d decided against making his presence known to them. It would only have resulted in complications.
Swallowing, he pushed cautiously onward. Two more dar’gaithin lay slain a little farther along, similar to the ones he’d seen just before. He gazed at the heavy black scales and powerful-looking bodies with a steadily increasing sense of dread. Was this the last of them? Who had won this fight?
Had anyone even survived?
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