As her body returned to its normal still state, Blath frowned. “Something is always wrong with that one. His eye is still black, is it not? From another conflict with Galvin Herder?”
Dari clenched her fist at the mention of the ongoing fights between Aron and Galvin. She had asked Stormbreaker to put an end to it a dozen times, but Stormbreaker told her over and over again that Stone apprentices were left to find their own path with one another, and that Aron and Galvin seemed to have some working arrangement.
It’s our way, Stormbreaker kept insisting. They must build their own bonds now, to honor those bonds later.
Dari seriously doubted Aron was bonding with the older boy, or that he would ever honor the likes of Galvin Herder, but that opinion was met with polite silence from Stormbreaker.
Had Galvin struck Aron again? Perhaps too hard this time?
The bells kept up their announcement, as if to underscore the magnitude of the troubling energy gripping all of Triune. Dari tried to ignore the incessant sound, but the chimes seemed to peal through her skull and chest. “Look at how Aron’s moving,” she said to Blath. “Zed and Iko are virtually holding him on his feet—and he’s scarcely concealing the strength of his legacy.”
Without waiting for a response, Dari focused her own mind-talents on Aron, and let her awareness slip through the Veil. The cloud-covered day immediately took on a silvery-white brightness that was almost too much to bear, but she ignored her enhanced vision, her heightened hearing, and the almost overwhelming smells of pies, breads, cakes, roasts, potatoes, sweat, oxen, horses, and even the stinging, acrid whiff of fear billowing up from the House of the Judged. Instead, she let her thoughts, her essence streak toward Aron, meet him, and join with him.
He didn’t resist her mental touch, and in fact seemed to welcome the strength she lent him. Images flew at her, of the Shrine, the clouds, of Endurance House, then back to the Shrine again. Waves of frustration boiled off Aron like heated water. His full attention was riveted on the ring of stones, but Dari saw nothing out of the ordinary, with her own perceptions or those she shared with him.
Steady, she told him, and was relieved when he gave her his full attention and began to recover from whatever had addled him. Go, she instructed, shielding her words so that only he could hear them on the other side of the Veil. Stormbreaker will be looking for you at the Arena.
Dari felt his assent as much as heard it, and let go of her contact with him. As she slid back to normal awareness, she muttered, “Why does he keep returning to that spot? We’ve examined that shrine hundreds of times.”
“There is nothing in that place but rocks and leftover prayers to the Goddess,” Blath agreed, as below them the boys began to lope southward, into the teeth of the Judgment Day madness and—Dari realized with a jolt—into the company of a visiting dynast lord they had yet to identify.
She spun to fetch her woolen robes, and began to dress herself as quickly as she could.
Blath was still at the window. “Perhaps,” she said, “Aron wants your attention and sympathy more than an understanding of reality. Maybe that’s why he spends himself in pursuit of phantoms at the Shrine.”
Dari pulled on the gray robe Stormbreaker had fashioned for her on their journey to the castle. “He’s just a sad boy, Blath.”
“He is almost a grown man,” she countered, turning the force of her gaze on Dari, who waved her off.
“He won’t even be sixteen until after the first of the year.” Dari reached for her summer boots and snagged one with two fingers.
“Which will make him a grown man, and only a bit more than a year younger than you.” Blath’s stare deepened, and Dari endeavored to keep her focus on her second boot.
When she didn’t respond, Blath moved a step closer and spoke even more quietly, yet forcefully. “He has the height of a man now. The thoughts of a man. He is passionate.” She paused a moment, then added, “And passingly handsome, as Fae go, which you might have noticed.”
Dari jammed her foot into her boot and straightened herself to face Blath. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her face felt hot, and she had an urge to let her own fangs grow—at least long enough to give Blath a moment’s hesitation before she continued her lecture.
“What are you saying?” Dari asked, hearing the edge in her voice.
Blath’s determined expression never shifted. “I am saying that it may be time to pass Aron’s training on to someone else.” She reached for Dari’s arm and let her fingers brush Dari’s elbow. “I’m saying—again—that it may be time to leave this place.”
Dari swallowed hard. The spot where Blath had touched her burned, as if Blath had imparted some absolute fact, some dire warning, and the universe had chosen to underscore her meaning.
A mix of anger, worry, and affection for Aron lurched through Dari’s consciousness, surprising her and confusing her at the same moment. Tears jumbled into her eyes, and more emotion rose to the surface—Kate, and the war, and her long absence from home. How utterly out of place she still felt in the lands of the Fae, and how hopeless she had become about finding her sister.
In that moment, she was closer to agreeing with Blath than ever before.
And in that moment, a knock sounded at her chamber door.
Dari’s senses and feelings were so raw and exposed that she knew immediately her callers were Stormbreaker and Windblown. She was struck by a mental image of both men standing outside the wooden door, Stormbreaker with his fist already raised, ready to knock again.
Blath kept up her searching stare, as if willing Dari to tell the men to go away, as if praying Dari might finally agree to depart. To flee Eyrie, and go back to the relative safety of her own people.
Stormbreaker knocked a second time.
The melancholy flood inside Dari slowed to a trickle faster than she imagined possible, and she looked away from Blath, to the smooth gray stone of the chamber wall. “Let them in,” she whispered, and tried not to let her tears fall when Blath’s face fell into the very picture of disappointment.
Without further comment, Blath complied, moving quickly to the chamber door and admitting Stormbreaker and Windblown. Both men wore their ceremonial robes, a richer, silkier gray than day-to-day garments, and both seemed barely able to contain their agitation.
“Lord Altar has come for an audience, and to witness Judgment Day, as is the right of any dynast lord.”
Stormbreaker held himself back for a moment, and Dari knew he was giving her time to absorb his words.
Lord Altar.
Lord Altar, here.
Why?
“Lord Baldric would like you to attend the meeting in his chambers,” Windblown finished, tugging at the chain around his neck. “He wants Aron present, too.”
Dari’s mouth came open. “That’s far too dangerous! What if Lord Altar grasps his identity and informs Lord Brailing of Aron’s whereabouts?”
Stormbreaker seemed ready for her objections and held up both hands. “That’s unlikely. Aron’s more Stone than Brailing now, and you’ll be present to make sure he keeps his graal concealed. Lord Altar has no reason to be searching for Aron, least of all in the heart of Lord Baldric’s study, under his very nose. The need outweighs the risk.”
There was truth in that assertion that Dari couldn’t deny, even though she wished to find some reasonable objection. If Lord Altar had made the journey to Triune, the Stone Guild needed all the assistance they could recruit to determine his true purpose, and the level of danger his interest posed.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Stormbreaker said. “Windblown and I will serve as your protectors in Blath’s absence. Lord Altar will think nothing of two High Masters being present for this meeting.”
Dari’s jaw clenched, then set, and she knew she was starting to glare. Not this again. Not Stormbreaker treating her like some fragile bit of flower in need of a pair of swordsmen to defend her.
Did he not see her for what she was—for all she was?
“See to finding Aron, and ensuring his safety,” she called over her shoulder as she stormed toward the steps that led down to the Den entrance. “I can take care of myself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DARI
Dari seated herself on the hearth of a dormant fireplace and assumed the posture of a dedicated servant, a Ross pigeon in attendance simply to be certain no souls needed dispatching from Lord Baldric’s chamber this day. His rooms were cool but well lit, with the shutters open, and the air still smelled of the cedar logs he had burned for warmth in the winter. Dari breathed deeply of the comforting smell as she fingered the knitted sock in her palm, grateful that some seamstress had already finished the project. Lord Baldric, who was pacing in front of her, had given her some needles and yarn to toy with—as if she had any idea how to make a proper stitch. Sewing had been Kate’s province, not hers. She preferred daggers to needles.
“Lift it here,” Lord Baldric grumbled as he stopped his frenetic walking, gesturing to a spot midway on his own chest, as if he might have knitted the sock in Dari’s hands himself. The image made her smile, but Lord Baldric didn’t return her expression. The depth of his frown was matched only by the rusty red flush outlining his cheeks. He stalked to his formidable desk and took a seat in his wood and leather chair. He made for quite an imposing figure, bedecked in his own ceremonial gray robes, but Dari thought at any moment the many benedets marking his face would crawl right off his skin. The two of them were alone, awaiting the arrival of Stormbreaker, Windblown, and Aron. Once everyone had arrived, Lord Baldric would summon Lord Altar.
“I’m weary with so many visits.” Lord Baldric leaned against his chair so hard the wood creaked. “So many requests. Every messenger purports to carry tidings of Stone’s best interests, but it’s the interests of the writers that will be most truly served if I comply with any of them.”
Dari knew better than to make a comment. Lord Baldric had vowed many times, with increasing volume and vitriol, that Stone would in no way be drawn into the war.
“This bastard, he’ll be wanting some assurance or promise or the other, mark my words.” Lord Baldric’s voice grew louder with each word. One of his big fists rested atop the desk, and Dari thought he might have been more comfortable if he could have held a throwing knife in his tight grip.
The door to the chamber opened, and Stormbreaker hurried in, leading Windblown, Aron, and Zed. Dari glanced at Stormbreaker’s worried expression, but it was Aron’s appearance that gave her a jolt.
It wasn’t so much his pallor or the circles beneath his earnest sapphire eyes, but other changes that drew her attention. Changes Blath had alluded to, but that Dari had somehow failed to notice. As her heart skipped from the shock of her realizations, she had to acknowledge that Aron had indeed grown as tall as Stormbreaker and Zed now, though he kept a lean, lanky awkwardness. His face, though—it was no child’s face. Not anymore. There was a sharpness to the powerful line of his jaw, and his nose had developed the slight curve often associated with Fae nobility. His right eye was still green-blue from his last battle with Galvin Herder, and Dari had little doubt he had other bruises and scrapes too serious for simple healing by graal. Still, he gave no hint of discomfort or soreness.
No hint of weakness. Seeing the totality of him, of his aging and changes, made her chest ache for the wide-eyed and gentle boy he had been. Stone is making him hard.
The thought rested painfully inside her for a moment; then she chastised herself for once more forgetting where she resided. At Triune. With a guild full of assassins. Of course their training was toughening Aron. It had to be so, or he’d be killed in his trial, or by his Judged when he drew his first stone.
He came to her quickly with Zed behind him, keeping his gaze fixed on her face, and once more, Dari saw something that she must have been missing all this time. A slight blaze of affection, and of something like hope, too. Dari shifted on the hearth as Aron sat on her right, and Zed on her left. Zed’s nod was pleasant, but he regarded her as nothing more than a friend, just a companion at Stone. Aron, on the other hand, kept up an almost painful scrutiny of every move she made.
“What did you see at the Shrine?” she asked Aron, more to defuse her own tension than to discover information.
As Windblown left to summon Lord Altar, Stormbreaker and Lord Baldric conversed in low tones. Aron kept his gaze on them as he said, “Nothing distinct. It was like always. I saw images of… something, but what, it’s hard to say.”
Aron closed his bright eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Dari knew he was holding something back. Perhaps he had grown weary of not being believed, or at the very least, of having no proof with which to support his claims of visions at the Shrine. A vague guilt seized Dari, and she found herself staring too deeply into Aron’s face, as if she might absorb the truth of what he had seen—if it was anything beyond the physical manifestation of his own fears.
Why would he see it, and no one else? His legacy is powerful, but no greater than my own graal.
As Dari finished the thought, she found herself wondering for the first time if she might be mistaken about the extent of Aron’s abilities. Was it possible that any Fae could have mind-talents as powerful as a Fury’s skills?
And if that were true, what kind of disaster might she foment in continuing his training?
He was staring at her now, and the sparkle in his eyes reached her awareness. She looked away, feeling heat in her face. It took several breaths to center herself from the series of shocks over all the realities she had failed to comprehend.
She glanced at Zed on her other side, but he was combing his blond forelock with his fingers, acting as if he heard not a word they had exchanged.
Kate’s been the only important thing. Kate… and Stormbreaker. And all this time, Aron’s been here, getting older and stronger, and perhaps more dependent on me than I ever should have allowed.
She had barely regained her emotional footing when the chamber door sprang open. In strode Windblown, who quickly stepped aside to admit a tall, heavily muscled man with weathered skin, white-blond hair, and eyes the color of a deep, crystalline lake. He wore copper-colored robes trimmed with steel gray, and he bore matching tattoos on either side of his neck—the image of a Great Roc with wings spread, a sword in one set of talons and arrows in the other. His essence shimmered about his head and shoulders like brilliant copper waves, and his presence was so commanding that Dari had to force herself to remain still.
Hunter, her instincts screamed, and the more primitive part of her nature wanted to flee or fight him, here and now. In days of old, Fae with the Altar graal of tracking prey were the closest thing her people had to natural enemies.
“Lord Bolthor, Altar of Altar.” Lord Baldric stood and offered a polite bow first, though he was not obligated to do so in his own stronghold. Stormbreaker bowed as well, as did Windblown.
Lord Altar did not bow in return. Bleak anger seemed to emanate from his scarred face and clenched fists, as powerful as his graal. Dari sensed distrust, determination—and something else.
Something like … defensiveness? Shame?
Lord Altar turned toward Dari before she could look away from him. Even as she dropped her eyes to the sock and yarn clutched in her hands, she felt him appraise her, give Aron and Zed passing attention, then return the force of his focus to her.
His attention felt like clawed nails scraping down her senses.
Hunter. Hunter!
She had no doubt if she raised her eyes, she would see a manic, barely controlled expression on Lord Altar’s face. It would be the look of those with the Altar legacy when they were on the hunt and had caught scent of their quarry.
“By the Brother’s grace, Baldric—a Ross pigeon?” Lord Altar’s voice iss
ued in the powerful, gravelly bass Dari expected from such a man. “Do you plan to do killing in these chambers today?”
“She is pledged to Stone and stays near me most of the time.” Lord Baldric lied with a grace and fluidity Dari had to admire. He came around his desk to stand beside his guest, keeping Stormbreaker and Windblown on his far side. “Pay her no more heed than the apprentices.”
Lord Altar grumbled something unintelligible to himself, then turned his back on Dari, Aron, and Zed.
Dari’s mind reeled off the nickname Rockiller, which she knew Lord Altar had earned in his Guard service, fighting the many lawless, rebellious tribes that populated the deserts of his dynast. Warbirds, his people were called, with good reason. It was said if Altars ran out of bandits and enemies, they’d turn on one another just to have someone to fight.
After seeing this dynast lord in the flesh, Dari could believe that. She dared a quick glance at the fearsome man.
How easy it must have been for Lord Brailing to draw this man into his treachery. Lord Altar seemed to be a war waiting for a battlefield.
Aron, on the other hand, had gone so still Dari actually looked at his chest to be certain he was breathing. She checked the color of his legacy to visible eyes—dull, with barely a dollop of sapphire. He was doing so well with this disguise, it seemed almost second nature to him now. The lines of his face remained smooth, and his expression was one of polite disinterest. Another disguise, because his eyes …
The white-blue blaze in his slightly narrowed eyes …
Dear gods and goddesses. Dari’s muscles tightened, as if readying for battle against her will. There may be murder today, after all.
Lord Altar’s deep voice rose over the racket of her mind as he announced, “I’ve come to watch Judgment Day, to see the killing of the rapist who sullied my niece.”
Lord Baldric straightened a little at this announcement. “Laird Reese. Yes.”
“I have his stone.” Stormbreaker rested his hand against a leather bag tied to his waist.
For the briefest of moments, Lord Altar gave his attention to Stormbreaker. “Very well. See that you don’t waste it.”
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