It didn’t wince—it didn’t even change positions. The gash in its shoulder spurted a dark haze of mist-like smoke. However, as Raeth watched, the hissing slowed, then disappeared. The process took a great deal of time, the better part of fifteen minutes.
“That doesn’t happen on the battlefield,” Ydallen noted. “He bore the other wound all day, and it didn’t heal until we took it captive.”
“That’s something, at least,” Raeth said thoughtfully. “Do they heal because it’s nighttime, do you suppose? Or just because the creature’s resting?”
Ydallen stood quietly for a moment, then started, as if realizing that Raeth was actually asking his opinion. “Um, I don’t know, my lord. Either one makes sense. I’ve wondered why the Forgotten stop at night—at all other times, they seem almost invincible. Could they actually need rest?”
“A good question,” Raeth said. Well? He asked in his mind. Do you have anything to add?
I know no more than you know, the voice replied. Though, I don’t seem to need rest.
My other Aether gets tired if I make it work too hard, Raeth though, frowning slightly. Don’t you?
Night, the Aether, gets tired. But I do not.
But you are the Aether, Raeth argued.
The voice did not respond, ending their conversation with its usual bluntness.
Raeth sighed. He looked down at the knife. There was one thing he’d been wondering about the Forgotten, one thing he’d never been able to confirm. He stepped forward and sliced the creature again on the shoulder. This time he didn’t stop, however. He cut it again and again, slicing up every bit of dark skin he could find until the hissing from the Forgotten’s wounds rang in the quiet night.
Raeth stepped back. The men probably thought him a maniac, exacting revenge on their captive. Raeth stood quietly, watching the wounds leak. It might have been a trick of the shadows, but the creature’s body seemed to grow thinner in the torchlight.
The wineskin is running out, Raeth though. “Captain Ydallen,” Raeth said. “Free the creature.”
“My lord?” Ydallen asked.
“Free it,” Raeth requested again.
The captain nodded to one of his men, who shrugged and cut the bonds. The hissing lessened slightly as the tension was released and the ropes dropped to the wet ground.
The Forgotten stumbled forward, then jumped straight for Raeth. Raeth started, hopping back slightly. However, before the creature made it halfway to Raeth, it stumbled and collapsed to the ground.
The scouts jumped, cursing, but then paused as the Forgotten fell. The creature slowly pushed itself up onto its feet, wobbled slightly, then began to move toward Raeth again. Several scouts jumped forward to grab it, an action they had little difficulty taking. The Forgotten resisted their capture, but its motions were lethargic.
“It’s weaker?” Raeth asked.
“Much,” one of the soldiers said. “Before, it three of us to hold it still. Now it barely struggles.”
They fight during the day, then heal and attack refreshed in the morning. No wonder there always seem to be so many of them. We’ve been going about this all wrong. It wasn’t a huge revelation, but it was an edge. Anything would help.
“Thank you, Ydallen,” Raeth said, turning. “Tie it up again, just in case we need more information.”
“Yes, Sir,” the soldier said, a bit confused. He obviously didn’t understand what Raeth had figured out.
#
D’Naa gently folded her silky Aedinor dress, admiring its sheen and lace one final time. Then she set it aside. Its fabric was far too thin for the highlands. Here, there were no Corpates to heat the rooms, and its trestles were too delicate for Kavir cities, where mud-packed earth or well-worn boards replaced shiny marble corridors. She wore her woolen green dress, the one she had worn on her first day in Vae Annitor, so long ago.
So long ago, D’Naa thought wistfully. Barely a month has passed. Why does it feel like so much longer? Her eyes turned involuntarily to the west, toward Aedinor’s plains. That life isn’t for you, D’Naa. It never was. Her Aether squirmed slightly at the thought, matching the mood of her stomach, but she ignored them both. Instead she finished her unpacking, stowing the clothing in chests instead of bureaus or closets.
Despite the room’s relative drabness, furnished by aged wooden furniture and a single rug, there was something special about it. There were brocades or pillars, no mosaics or paintings, but it was home. And home it would remain.
A knock came at her door. “Yes?” D’Naa asked.
A serving girl entered, her head slightly bowed. “The King’s back, my lady,” the girl—barely into her teens—said. She made a fine contrast to the ruffled Shorriken pages and messengers of the Imperial palace.
“Thank you,” D’Naa said with a nod. The King had been out visiting another town when D’Naa and her grandparents had arrived the day before. As soon as he discovered their return, Ala’D had sent a message saying he’d come immediately. However ‘Immediately’ still took time. There were few Vo Dari in Kavir, and most people—her cousin included—preferred horses to Sendings.
D’Naa closed the chest and walked out into the hallway. Ala’D’s ‘palace’ was a long, single-story wooden building that almost served more as an inn for important visitors than it did as the king’s dwelling. Ala’D and his wife had a room only slightly larger than the rest, though he spent much of his time visiting neighboring villages.
D’Naa found the king and his entourage standing outside the front of the building. She stepped out into the bitter cold, shivering and pulling her shawl closer. Wind-bore flakes of snow spun in the dark night, illuminated only by the torch-bearing guards who stood in a quiet circle, unloading packhorses.
How long has it been since I saw a horse? D’Naa thought with amusement. Vae Annitor’s streets were often too full to allow animals; besides, those with enough money or importance rode Corpates.
Ala’D turned as soon as D’Naa stepped out of the building, smiling broadly. He was a handsome man, broad of chest after the fashion of the east. He was young, barely two years D’Naa’s senior, but people had grown accustomed to the youth of their ruler years ago. Ala’D had ascended to the throne when he was eight years old, after his parents had died in the same raid that had taken D’Naa’s own.
“D’Naa!” Ala’D said, stepping forward and clasping her on the shoulders, then pulling her into a hug. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his skins—in Vae Annitor, it had been common to bathe daily in the Corpate-heated palace bathing rooms.
Ala’D finally released her, still smiling broadly, flecks of snow sticking in his beard.
“Shadra and the twins?” D’Naa asked.
“Stayed in Dareen,” Ala’D explained. It was odd to hear people speaking with a Kavir accent again. She had grown accustomed to the smoother Aedinor dialect. “I’ll be heading back there soon. I just wanted to stop by here and check on things. You…came back with the Bud?” he asked, his eyes intense.
D’Naa nodded. “It’s inside, cousin,” she informed.
Ala’D’s smile broadened and several of his guards—who also served as Kavir’s ‘military’ leaders let out whoops of excitement. Beside Ala’D the aging Kaaln, the man who had acted as regent until Ala’D formally took the throne on his fourteenth birthday, nodded. “Amberite and Verdant,” he said quietly. “That will give us the edge we need when the Imperium falls.”
Ala’D nodded. “The barbarians are in for a surprise.” He agreed. “They assume that when the Imperium is no more, we’ll be easy to pick apart.”
D’Naa stood quietly for a moment. “Maybe the Imperium won’t fall,” she said.
Ala’D and Kaaln both turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “You have news, cousin?” Ala’D asked with interest. “Last I heard the creatures were within a few days march of the capitol.”
“They were,” D’Naa agreed. “But, the Emperor might be able to stop them.”
Kaaln
snorted. “Hern?” he mumbled, scratching his gray-speckled beard. “Not likely, from what I hear.”
“The Aedin have been cast down,” Ala’D agreed. “It’s sad, actually. I’ll curse them to my final days for not sending us the help we need, but at least the threat of their armies kept the Harrmen from completely overrunning us. Still, it’s D’Lum’s will. Aedin callousness and haughtiness has finally earned its fitting reward.”
D’Naa shivered in the cold, but she felt herself growing angry. “And what if the creatures come after us next? What if they’re not satisfied with Aedinor, what if they want Kavir too? What will we do then?”
Ala’D and Kaaln turned toward each other, frowning slightly. They had obviously considered such an option.
“Look,” D’Naa finally said, still shivering. “Can we continue this discussion inside? It’s so cold out here!”
Ala’D burst into laugher, clasping her on the shoulder. “One month in the lowlands and you’ve already grown weak. Why, it’s not even cold out tonight. It’s practically summer!”
D’Naa grumbled her reply, pulling her shawl closer and retreating into the relative warmth of the entryway. Ala’D and his men laughed at her retreat and continued their unloading.
I’ve haven’t gotten that mad at him in years, D’Naa thought, frowning to herself and controlling her temper. It’s not my job to defend Hern or his countrymen. Why do I care? Especially after what he did to me.
However, the more she thought about it, the more she worried that her actions had been a little rash. It wasn’t as if Hern had promised to choose her—he’d simply eaten dinner with her a couple of times. Nothing more had even been intimated. Rationally, she should have known he’d never be able to choose her. Weren’t Kavir supposed to be practical in temperament?
She had been there in the Senate building, she’d seen the corner the Senators had backed Hern into. He’d had to denounce her, hadn’t he? Political support, and the future of the Imperium, was far more important than a silly girl from Kavir.
It was just too much. Hadn’t she seen Nahan nude in his arms? Hadn’t she heard him deride her as being no more attractive than a peasant boy? Hadn’t she listened to him tell the entire Senate that there was no way he would even consider her as a bride?
Why, then, couldn’t she stop feeling that she’d betrayed him somehow?
“Come, cousin,” Ala’D said, “I want to see this Bud we’ve all been anticipating for so long.” The king stepped into the entryway, shaking the snow off his cloak. Kaaln and two of the king’s guards followed, the others moving to carry luggage or lead away the horses.
D’Naa nodded, following the four men as they clomped down the hallway, moving toward Ala’D’s conference room. The royal house-steward, who watched the palace during Ala’D’s many absences, met them on the way. It was odd—D’Naa kept expecting him to be Shorriken, even though he was far too tall and broad-chested.
Inside the room, Flent, the steward, removed a key and unlocked a small chest on the broad table. The men all watched eagerly as the lid fell open, revealing the small gem-like Amberite Bud inside.
Ala’D exhaled softly. “I debated for a long time who to send to do this task, D’Naa. It seems I choose correctly.”
“You could have told me what you wanted me to do in the first place,” D’Naa said testily.
Ala’D shook his head. “I left that decision to Hlin and Shaad. Where are they, anyway?”
“Sleeping,” D’Naa said. “And you’re not to wake them. These last few weeks have been very stressful for them.”
Ala’D smiled slightly, turning eyes back on the Amberite. “No, cousin, I couldn’t tell you. Not when there was a chance that the Emperor might actually choose you. If that happened, then we wouldn’t have had to resort to such…dangerous methods.”
“We’re traitors now,” Kaaln said quietly. “Even if our betrayal isn’t known, we’ve committed the act. We’ve assaulted the Emperor himself and stolen his power. We didn’t want to commit to stealing the Amberite if there was even a slight chance we’d be able to get help another way.”
“We knew the Emperor wouldn’t choose a Kavir bride,” Ala’D said. “But, we were willing to give him the option. A kind of ‘last chance.’”
“A dangerous one,” D’Naa said curtly. “What if he’d chosen me? What about my Aether.”
“You’ve always been one Kavir’s most competent resources, cousin,” Ala’D said. “You would have found a way to keep it hidden.”
You have too much confidence in me, cousin, D’Naa thought with a turn of her stomach. I didn’t end up marrying him, but I still let him know our secret.
“He didn’t make his choice, you know,” she said out loud. “There’s still a chance he would have picked me.”
Kaaln snorted. “Not when Hern is the one doing the choosing. Vaetayn we could respect, almost trust. Not his son. I visited the northern border several times during the last five years. I know what kind of man he is.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that man, cousin,” Ala’D said truthfully. “I hear he’s barely as civil as cow and twice as dumb.”
“That’s our Emperor,” D’Naa snapped. “Speak of him with respect.”
Ala’D blinked in surprise. “I’m…sorry,” he said, slightly confused.
“Not our Emperor for long,” one of the guards mumbled from the other side of the table. Ala’D, however, shot him a firm look, and the man quieted.
“Anyway,” the king said, “we might as well do something with this Bud. The longer we wait, the weaker it will Bond.”
“It came from Hern,” Kaaln said. “We probably have little to worry about. He’s supposed to be as powerful as he is arrogant.”
Ala’D nodded, then turned to the guard who had spoken earlier. “So, Brign, it will be you then?”
“Yes, my lord. I am ready.” The warrior pulled off his glove and held out a callused palm.
“It’s supposed to be painful to Bond an Aether as an adult,” Kaaln warned. “Or, at least, so we hear. Our sources aren’t exactly the most reliable.”
“I understand,” Brign said. He had a hard, square face and a large body, not unlike the Emperor’s brother.
Kaaln reached in with a pair of tongs, picking up the shard of rosy Amberite. Brign steeled himself for the pain, then nodded.
Kaaln dropped the Amberite onto his palm. Brign flinched slightly, then paused, then frowned.
“What?” Ala’D said.
“I don’t know,” Brign said. “I don’t feel a thing.” He turned his meaty hand, and the piece of Amberite rolled off onto the tabletop.
Ala’D frowned deeply. “That’s not supposed to happen, is it? Shouldn’t it…stick to the hand or something?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” Kaaln admitted, scratching his beard. “The Verdant we’ve Bonded always reacted somehow to human flesh—it stuck even during the weakest of Bonds, though the process wasn’t completed for an hour or so.”
Brign shrugged and picked up the Amberite, placing it in his palm again. Nothing happened.
Two hours later, they had made little headway. D’Naa was growing drowsy, and the other men irritated. They had passed it amongst all four of them, and nothing had happened. Finally, Brign had taken it and put it in his palm, determined to wait until the Bond occurred.
“Do you feel anything?” Ala’D asked hopefully.
Brign shook his head.
“The Bud is no good,” Kaaln said with a sigh. “It’s dead.”
All eyes turned toward D’Naa. “I did everything you told me to,” she defended. “I don’t know why it isn’t working.”
Ala’D shook his head sighing. “And so our great schemings end in quiet disappointment.”
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Kaaln said, not for the first time. “It came from one of the most powerful Amberite Bonds in Aedin history. You’re certain you took it from the Emperor?”
“Of course I am,” D�
�Naa replied. “You can go check his hand if you want.”
Ala’D shook his head, pushing back his chair. “No, we believe you. We weren’t meant to have this Aether, it appears. D’Lum has made it clear. Brign, Lin, thank you for your help. Let us turn in for the night. Tomorrow we return to Dareen to continue preparations for the Imperium’s collapse. There isn’t much time left.”
They stood, leaving the traitorous Amberite Bud on the table. D’Naa sat quietly for a moment, staring at the crystal shard.
And so I betrayed you for nothing, she thought. I didn’t even end up helping my people.
She stood, bidding good night to her cousin and walking to her room. There, despite the cold, she found herself pushing open the shutters and staring out into the darkness. Looking west, again, as if looking in his direction would somehow reconnect her with Hern.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“The evacuation will still happen,” Raeth explained to the collection of drowsy generals. “However, we won’t start it until later than originally planned. Have the people ready on the Sending platforms for when the Vo Dari arrive.”
“But,” Gaedin said, frowning, “where will the Vo Dari be?”
Raeth paused. “I’ll be using them,” Raeth said.
“You don’t intend to tell us,” Gaedin said flatly. The comment provoked frowns of displeasure from around the room. The generals were not in a good mood; not only had Raeth awakened them hours before sunrise, he also refused to explain his strategy.
“Generals, I don’t have much choice,” Raeth said, speaking frankly. He stood at the head of the conference table behind the closed doors of the Counsel Building. He and the dozen men of the War Counsel were the only ones present, but Raeth feared that even those numbers would be too much. “We know that the creatures anticipate our strategies somehow. I can’t risk the chance that there is some leak amongst our numbers.”
“That is preposterous,” Gaedin scoffed. “You think one of us might be a traitor?”
“No,” Raeth said carefully, “but what if the creatures have some means of listening in upon our conversations.”
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