Chains of Darkness, Chains of Light

by Michelle Sagara

  Sargoth.

  Loooorrrrd. Like a human sigh, the word escaped him, touching the bounds of the Dark Heart. Immediately he felt a surge of power at the core of his shadow, enough to push the net away, if not to break it.

  The pain was gone. At leisure he would examine it. Stefanos remained.

  For a moment, the net pressed inward, and Sargoth was impressed anew at the power the First could wield when he wished it. And then it was gone.

  They stood as if nothing had passed between them, and after a moment, Stefanos turned away to look at the light outside of the window.

  “I should have known.” His voice was soft. “You belong to your Lord.”

  “We all do.”

  “Do we, Sargoth?” Inexplicably, the anger was once again gone, and Sargoth’s curiosity was a bitter ache. “You have called, and he has answered. The game is still with him.” A shadowy arm was raised. “Go, Sargoth. I will no longer play.”

  “And the Empire?”

  “I do not care for it.” He shrugged. “Keep it or destroy it as you wish; give it to the Church and its priests.”

  He spoke only the truth, and Sargoth felt each word as a physical blow. This, then, was the end of the Dark Heart’s plan; all of the power and planning, the deception and humiliation of working with mortals, had come to this pass. He did not understand why. Every detail should have been perfect.

  The Dark Heart would not be pleased. If anything had the power to frighten Sargoth, it was this.

  He had to think, and quickly, had to pull some partial gain from the ruins of his plan. His voice went out to the darkness like a whisper. It carried his uncertainty, but that could not be avoided.

  Sargoth ...

  Lord? Yes; I will come.

  The Second of the Sundered raised his head, and the glitter of his eyes was reflected in the window that Stefanos stared through. Long after he had faded, their afterimage marked the air—a symbol of confusion, frustration, and fear.

  chapter nineteen

  Renar was weary when Amalayna at length dismissed them. He had always held her in high esteem—inasmuch as one could any noble of an imperial house. She had been so cool and competent. Her political struggles had been completely veiled, and more potent for it. To be truthful, she was a beautiful woman, if one liked ice and distance. She was haughty and as perfect as a flawless gem—with just that hard clarity and those sharp edges.

  Or she had been.

  Laranth’s death had shaken him greatly, much more than he cared to admit. He grimaced, knowing his reaction had been admission enough. Even grieving, Amalayna was keen and perceptive. Nothing, he was sure, had escaped her notice.

  A house slave with an almost deplorable lack of curiosity led the way to a set of large guest rooms that they had been given permission to use for a short while. Renar was happy with the terse offer. It gave him a chance to get out of his gaudy costume.

  He stood aside at the door, entangled with the bother of thought, and let everyone pass him.

  What were they going to do now? House Sentamos, while not Church bound, was extremely important; to offend it at this point was the act of fools. On the other hand, to be in Malakar at all was easily as foolish—but Lord Sentamos would have them followed no matter where they chose to bide. Judging by the man’s expression, being tailed was the least of his intentions.

  I knew, Renar thought, with just a hint of angry hubris, that I should have just come with them.

  He turned sharply on his heel and caught the swinging door, sliding quietly into the room.

  It was an interesting room, especially seen as it was: A flurry of color—red, gold, and deep browns—passed by his eyes as he sailed through the air. The ceiling and the floor seemed to be doing a happy tailspin that ended with the sumptuous paneling of a wall. He barely had time to grunt at the impact before hands picked him up by the back of the collar.

  Lace and frill might be delicate; the double-lined velvet of the house jacket was not. Seams cut into his underarms as he was yanked to his feet and spun round.

  “What-in-the-hells-are-you-doing-here!?”

  It was hard to remember, especially when the contents of his skull were being shaken with extreme force, a time when he had seen Tiras look quite so angry. He considered ordering Tiras to stop, but thought the better of it. His teeth might take out his tongue before half a word escaped.

  “Your pardon, Master Tiras,” Gerald began gently. He didn’t bother to finish the sentence as Tiras’ baleful glare hit his face. It was enough of a distraction for Renar, who grabbed his former master’s hands and wrenched himself loose.

  The young king looked around the room. Erin met his gaze, but only briefly, before finding something of interest on the bedside table. Darin, who had had his share of Tiras’ rather sharp tongue, suddenly started looking at his hands as if they were new and surprising.

  Cospatric shrugged and grinned.

  If there was anything that Renar hated, it was the I-told-you-so expression that Cospatric wore.

  “Well,” Renar said, straightening out his collar, “I rather thought I was saving your lives.”

  This got about the reaction that Renar expected—although he was still a little taken aback to see just how livid Tiras could look.

  “You fool!” Tiras drew closer, and Renar retreated, hitting the wall with his back. “Don’t you have any idea of what a king is?”

  Renar showed a little wisdom: He kept his mouth shut.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of risk you take with Marantine? What if you’re killed here? There is no proper line of succession! Do you think Marantine, so recently liberated, will easily survive a struggle for power?”

  “I left Lorrence in charge.”

  “Lorrence is not the king!”

  “He may as well be—he runs almost everything. I won’t be missed, Tiras.”

  “Lady?”

  Erin turned almost unwillingly. Her slight shoulders looked smaller than ever as they shrugged. “The lines never mixed with normal politics.”

  Tiras snorted. “You know I’m right.”

  She shrugged again and sighed. “Yes.”

  “Erin!”

  “You probably should have broken both of his legs before we left.” She smiled halfheartedly at Renar.

  “I’ve half a mind to do it now.”

  “Tiras, for the Bright Heart’s sake! She’s just joking!” He slid sharply to the side and rolled low—both movements in less than five seconds.

  “Renar, you have a duty now that supersedes all other plans. Marantine’s heart is your life.”

  “Then we’d both appreciate it if you didn’t end it on the spot.” Renar’s cheeks were flushed, but it was hard to tell whether the stain was from shame or anger. Erin thought both.

  Tiras opened his mouth to speak, but Renar’s tongue was faster.

  “I’m here, and we don’t have much time in Malakar. We have to find what Erin is searching for and quickly. Sentamos is no house to be trifled with; if our throats aren’t slit while we sleep it will be no small miracle.

  “And we can’t stay here. Lord Laranth is dead, and his father was never the biggest of my admirers.” He shrugged. “I know Malakar better than any of you, save perhaps that one—” he pointed at Corfaire. “I can lead you almost anywhere.” He paused and drew himself up to his full height. His hand flew out dramatically. “I know the floor plans of the temple.”

  Erin, Darin, and Corfaire all gaped.

  Tiras, ever the master, was not impressed. “And what makes you think that that knowledge is useful?”

  “Erin’s face, for one.”

  Tiras looked back with an economy of movement that indicated a simmering temper, not an explosive one. “Lady?”

  She closed her eyes, sagging a little. “I’m sorry. It’s the only place I haven’t really checked. What I search for is there, or the power that conceals it from me is there. We have to—to at least get closer.”

  “A
nd you want him to lead?”

  She shrank further, although it hardly seemed possible. “I know you’re right, Tiras, but more than Marantine is at stake.”

  “You aren’t saying all, Lady.”

  “No.” She drew a deep breath and turned her gaze to Corfaire, who had remained silent throughout. “But if Renar leads us in, Corfaire can leave the city.”

  “Leave?” Seldom did Corfaire’s face express emotion so clearly. “Lady, I cannot leave. You’ve accepted my oath; I am life-sworn.”

  “You can’t stay in the temple when we—if we find what I’m looking for.”

  “Why?”

  “It will kill you.”

  He was silent as he weighed her answer, knowing it for truth. Erin had not yet lied, at least not successfully, and she spoke with the quiet force of conviction.

  “Why?” The word was soft, almost gentle.

  “It is the Light of the Bright Heart—and it knows only one enemy. The blood that you carry. The Light will destroy it.”

  He turned and let his head drop. His eyes slid over the sheath of his sword and came to rest on his right forearm. There, beneath layers of linen and leather, lay the mark that had robbed his life of true power.

  “Oh Lady, Lady,” he said, and Erin recognized the tenor of his chuckle, “there truly is no mercy in you. Do you still have no miracles to grant?” His hands, still gloved, curled into taut, slim fists as his voice changed. “I have never been afraid of killing. I have seldom thought it important which life I took.

  “But I am life-sworn to you, and I know the Swords. We are not so different, they and I. You will go to the temple, and I will follow.”

  “Corfaire—”

  He held up a hand that was still mostly fist. “I never chose my parents. I suppose this is true of any of us who live. But I have worked for most of my adult life to expunge my father’s influence and control. Perhaps your Bright Heart will do it in the only way possible.

  “And perhaps, Lady, you will prove true in that way to your title.” He turned, fully, to face her, and his eyes were almost black. “To order me away would be no mercy.”

  She was silent under the weight of his words.

  “Well then, if that’s settled, we might come back to the question of me.” Renar’s hands fluttered in the air and came to perch firmly on his hips.

  “I think Tiras should break your legs.” Cospatric was grinning widely.

  “No one asked you.”

  “Lady?”

  “I think we—we need him.”

  “Well good. Now that we’ve decided that, I think it’s time to start moving. I’ll just go out for a moment and speak to Amalayna, and then, if you’re all prepared, we can leave. Oh, and Gerald, Cospatric—the two of you should get out of what you’re wearing.”

  “Your Majesty.”

  “Don’t sound so snide about it.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Evening dress. Full jacket, frills—stop being idiots. You know very well what I had in mind.”

  “They might, but I would be interested to hear it.”

  Renar froze. “Erin, that didn’t sound like you. Have you learned to throw your voice lately?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes stared over his shoulders.

  “Damn. I didn’t think so. Cospatric, you didn’t smuggle any of your lady friends in with you?”

  Cospatric was also staring past him. If he thought the comment humorous, it didn’t show.

  “Which means—” Renar sighed theatrically. “—that Lady Amalayna has a way into the guest chambers.” He turned and spun into a low bow. “Lady.”

  She walked quietly out of the study, her skirts rustling oddly in the stillness.

  “I searched it,” Gerald whispered.

  “I’m sure you did.” Renar’s voice was honey and vinegar.

  Corfaire drew his sword. The sound rang dully in the silence. Lady Amalayna did not deign to notice the threat.

  “So,” she said quietly. “You are the reigning Maran monarch.”

  Renar shrugged. “At your service.”

  “I doubt that. I doubt it very much.”

  She stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her. They were seven to her one. It almost made the situation even.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve called house guards?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Corfaire took a step forward, and Tiras caught his arm. He pulled, but the older man’s grip was deceptively gentle; the fingers were not dislodged.

  “Then you’ve come to bargain.” Renar gestured at the large, winged chair in the room.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “Suit yourself. I, on the other hand, am quite exhausted; with all the abuse I’ve suffered this eve, it’s no surprise. You don’t mind?” He had already seated himself and planted his elbows on the armrests.

  “No. It isn’t to you that I want to speak.” So saying, she turned her black, hollow gaze upon Erin. “I don’t know who you are, but I think I know what you’re looking for.”

  Erin jumped slightly, but held herself firm. All sign of fear or fatigue had been erased from her features. “And?”

  “I can help you get there.”

  “Then you don’t know what I seek.” Erin’s fingers itched. “Or you would make no such offer. Renar—she’s stalling.”

  The lady held up one thin, fine hand. A solitary ring glittered on a finger. Her voice was soft. “Should it become necessary, I will indeed stop you and see an end to your plan. But it may not be necessary.”

  “You are of the Empire, Lady, you—”

  “I don’t care about the Empire.” The vehemence in the last word took even Renar by surprise. “If it stands or it falls, what difference will that make? I had already planned my death—and I lost it, because I was foolish. I want only one thing, and I believe you can give me that.”

  “Lady Amalayna—”

  “Renardos, be silent!”

  Erin stared, and as she did, she felt a familiar pull. The song of the blood rang in her ears with the melody of Lady Amalayna’s pain. It was wild, black, and almost incoherent. She lifted her hands, then looked at them as if they were someone else’s. They fell stiffly to her side. Even had she chosen to, there was nothing she could do to soothe this woman.

  “What can we offer?”

  Lady Amalayna leaned forward, and the walls surrounding her noble face crumbled. “Vellen.”

  “The high priest?”

  “No other.”

  “Why?”

  Amalayna hesitated for a moment, and a haughty expression flitted across her face. It vanished in the wake of a desperate hope. “He killed my bond-mate.”

  Erin’s silent pause was an agony for Lady Amalayna, but she bore it well. “We can’t promise that. If all goes well, we will never see him.”

  “If you are looking for what I suspect is the Enemy’s Wound, you will meet him.”

  Erin’s eyes widened. “Yes,” she said softly. “That is what I seek.”

  “Then take me with you. Give me only the opportunity to avenge myself, and I will be satisfied with whatever bargain we make.”

  Erin still hesitated, and Amalayna offered the only other thing that she could.

  “I can get you into the temple.”

  Erin bowed her head. When she raised it again, her face was pale. “Lady, how much of our conversation did you overhear?”

  “Enough.”

  “If you are with us, you will perish.”

  “If I were not, and I succeeded, I would do the same.”

  Corfaire snorted. “How can we trust her?” His words, edged and cold, were for his Lady’s ears alone. “If she should somehow manage to assassinate the high priest, would she not then turn against us? She could claim his death as our responsibility.”

  Erin waited for Amalayna’s answer, but before it was given, Corfaire spoke again.

  “You have a chil
d.” His face was impassive. “Will you risk his life in this?”

  Amalayna was quite alone in the room. No one, not even Renardos, could speak for her. No one offered her their trust. Nor would she have done so, had their positions been reversed. She swallowed, and turned not to Erin, but to Renardos himself. Her hands she held out in a gesture that was almost supplication.

  “Renardos.”

  “Lady?”

  “I—You asked who the other assassin was. I told you he was dead.”

  Renar nodded carefully.

  “That man was my father, Lord Valens.”

  Renar’s elbows embedded themselves in his chair. He did not speak.

  “I—I will do anything that I can for Laranth. He—he does not rest peacefully. Please—your lady is not of the Empire. Tell her.”

  “Erin.” Renar’s voice was the king’s voice. “The lady’s offer is good.” His skill as an actor was not up to the task of hiding his horror and his awe at what she had revealed, for he knew Veriloth well enough to know the cost had been enormous.

  Amalayna was very tired. The rush of hope that had all but thrown her into the room had robbed her of any true strength. Even so, she managed words. They were almost as natural as breath.

  Erin lifted a hand, and Corfaire obeyed it, stepping forward with his weapon. This time, Tiras made no move to hinder.

  Amalayna saw the halo of gentle green that suddenly sprang to life around Erin’s body. She shivered; it was wrong and dangerous, this light—a pale mask of war.

  “You know of the Wound which we call the Gifting.” Erin’s voice was full and yet distant and sharp. “You must know what its power is, if it is invoked. I will go to the temple, if that’s where the Gifting is. I will do what I must to cleanse it.

  “The Church will almost certainly fall, if not immediately, then in the coming weeks. The land will lose the Greater Cabal and much of its most powerful nobility.

  “We will do everything we can to take advantage of this.”

  Renar left his chair and walked quietly over to where Amalayna stood. He encircled her shoulder with his arm and drew her gently back. “Sit.”