Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  It was Symvalline who spoke first, her tone urgent and demanding. “Tuzhazu can’t be trusted, Akeeva. You’re putting the entire realm in danger if you allow him to take over.”

  Akeeva approached the table but didn’t sit. “He will never rule,” she stated simply.

  Her mum cocked her head, surprised, but recovered quickly. “You’re going to release your Verity from the bonds your Order created, then? You can’t think to rule as a false Verity forever.”

  Thoughtfully, the woman raised the book and opened it, as if she hadn’t heard Symvalline. She paged through a few leaves, then said, “I see you found my book. You’ve read it?”

  Her mum’s lips drew tight before she responded with her own question. “It’s yours?”

  “Vinnric, for some reason, you have the impression I’m less clever than you think you are.” Akeeva’s tone was tinged with impatience. “Do you believe I would allow something like imprisoning my own maker to occur without first completely understanding what might happen, and how to undo such a thing? I’ve studied the Verities for hundreds of years. And”—she glanced toward the door that the servants had closed—“I know full well that Archon Tuzhazu is not fit to rule. Measures will be taken. Drastic measures, if needs be. Hence, my research, which you’ve read, into how to free Mithlí.”

  “Then you are the maker of this cage?”

  “No.”

  “But…” Symvalline glanced at the book. “It says ‘only the maker can unmake the cage.’”

  “Tuzhazu spoke the words to bind Mithlí inside the Fenestros prison at the last Equifulcrum, and it nearly killed him. He burned…” She trailed off, looking without focus into the distance, and Isemay thought of the ruined wings on Tuzhazu’s back. That’s what had happened to him?

  “But he prevailed,” she continued. “He was too misshapen after that to be seen by the people of Minoth for some time, while I took up the role of the vessel, and rule of Arc Rheunos. For three hundred years my people have feared only a memory of the Great Waste. I have made them feel protected, and I will continue to serve them as the mother to all if I must. As Mithlí failed to.”

  Isemay wasn’t sure what they were talking about exactly, but she didn’t miss the look that crossed Symvalline’s features, that one she gave Isemay when she could barely believe how foolish something Isemay had said or done was.

  Her mum said accusingly, “Tuzhazu made this cage…and he will never retract it. You must see that. You know it’s he who spreads the Waste, don’t you? Whatever deal you think you all struck with Balavad is only half the story. I’ve come to see that Tuzhazu is Balavad’s puppet, and for whatever reason, he is plotting against the people of this realm. Balavad wants one thing: dominion. And he’ll do whatever it takes, lie to whoever is most vulnerable or most corruptible, to have it. Balavad is probably where the plague came from in the first place, to frighten the Archons into listening to his poisonous promises and cage Mithlí to give him freedom to reign.”

  Akeeva looked startled, and Isemay worried Symvalline had said too much.

  The Minothian’s colorful eyes found her then, and she shrank a little to Symvalline’s side. “I was told you were near death, little one. But you look well to me.”

  Isemay glanced at the mum, who looked back at her with concern. “I was healed by the barrow tender, Agatha.”

  “And she is now dead.”

  “But she wouldn’t be if Tuzhazu hadn’t—” She broke off, uncertain she should give voice to the accusation, and uncertain if it was even true. The Minothians valued life above all else. Even though her mum had come right out with her belief that Tuzhazu was spreading plague and killing his own people, Isemay wasn’t quite as brave. To say one of their most esteemed was a murderer might be taking it too far and fray the woman’s patience—even if it was true. It could equally be true that Isemay herself was to blame for Agatha’s death. If she hadn’t been so sick, if she hadn’t let the woman heal her…

  Akeeva looked back to Symvalline. “He is too powerful while he holds the Battgjaldic Verity’s Fenestros. If we cannot catch him unaware”—Isemay didn’t miss the word “we”—“only the Cosmoculous can strip him of it. I believe you were sent here to help me, whether you know it or not. Between us, we can change the future Tuzhazu might otherwise bring about and keep the peace in Arc Rheunos.”

  “Why would I help you?”

  “You serve the Verities. And I can tell by the fact that you freed the Zhallah prisoners that you are compassionate. Despite the oath we all take to serve our makers, you and I have this in common—we will do what we must to aid our people. Despite our oath. I think you’ll help me, for the sake of the Zhallahs, or Tuzhazu may—”

  “What about me?”

  All heads turned to the edge of the balcony, where Tuzhazu now stood, aided by two stout Deathless Guards. Symvalline rose in alarm, and Isemay followed, taking an involuntary step behind her mum.

  “Archon,” Akeeva said, facing him, unflustered. “I gave you your orders already. Find the Zhallah prisoners. You haven’t been recalled.”

  The brutish Archon ignored her clear command to leave and paced to one side, then back, keeping his eyes fixed on them. His silvery gaze rooted to Isemay’s face for a moment. Though his expression didn’t change, she had a strong impression he was assessing her, suspicious of her improved condition, concluding that she would be dealt with when he was ready.

  He spoke again to Akeeva. “What were you saying about the Zhallah pests?”

  Akeeva turned away from him impatiently and paced slowly past Isemay and Symvalline. As she passed them, she raised the book she still carried and held it out in front of her with the spine against her stomach, out of Tuzhazu’s sight. Just as she went past Isemay, she bent the pages slightly, catching Isemay’s eye. As the leaves pulled away from each other, Isemay clearly saw an image take shape along the pages’ edges, one that would only be visible completely if the pages were riffled in an exact way. A fore-edge painting, she realized.

  Akeeva reached the end of the table, which was set out with bowls of fruits and nuts and a pitcher. She laid the book aside and began to pour herself something, speaking with her back to Tuzhazu. “Our Vinnric guest was telling me the most surprising, even unbelievable thing, Tek Det. You’ll want to laugh when you hear it.” She turned back and took a slow, deliberate drink from her cup. Her skin’s colors swirled madly, as if tossed by a tempest. “She thinks the Waste is not being spread by those beyond our borders. But rather, by you. That is, indeed, came from Balavad to begin with and you wield it to his—and your own—advantage. Just like you do the elixir that creates our Deathless Guards.”

  What Tuzhazu said next shocked Isemay.

  “So what if that were true? What if Balavad brought the Waste to Arc Rheunos? Tell me this, Akeeva, does it matter? The fact remains, Mithlí did nothing to stop it. Half our world died. Half!” He slammed his fist on the table. “Balavad gave us the means to save those who were left. At least he chose to grant our wish, instead of leaving us to wither into dust. And why? To show us what mercy looks like. Isn’t a Verity who can be reasoned with, who asks for so little in return, better than one who doesn’t even care?”

  “You’re deranged,” Symvalline breathed. Her hands were clutched into tight fists, her body trembling with anger.

  Isemay held her breath, fearing what was coming.

  “And you, Vinnric,” he spat, “are quick to find fault in something you should understand better. When you live as long as we have, and have seen as many fall into the shadow, you come to realize an important truth. That death is the natural order of things. You think me mad, but am I not just a tool of our creator herself, and all the other creators? Are you not, and her?” His arm rose and he jabbed a finger at Akeeva, who stood silent and horror-stricken.

  “The Verities ‘gave’ us death. It is one of their ‘gifts’ to us, as a means to ensure we earn our lives and the choice in how we live them. And I shall ensur
e the Minothian way of life continues.” He began to walk toward Akeeva. She took a step backward, caught short when she struck the food-laden table. “No matter whom I have to stop to do it,” he finished, his voice black with menace.

  Akeeva’s arm rose, a dagger she’d withdrawn from somewhere in the folds of her robe clutched in her hand. Symvalline began to lunge toward them, but Isemay grabbed her.

  “No, mum! Wait,” she cried, pointing to the two Deathless Guards who stalked toward them, weapons drawn and held out. “Take these.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew what she’d taken from Tuzhazu.

  Three of her mum’s klinkí stones.

  Symvalline’s eyes widened at the sight of them, and she swiftly grabbed them and put them in her own pocket before the Deathless could see them. “Shh,” she whispered and shoved Isemay behind her, forcing them backward away from the soldiers. “Stay behind me.”

  “But the stones, mum. You can hel—”

  Her mum shook her head emphatically, then turned and faced the two misshapen Minothians. “We are not going to resist,” she promised them, as she extended her arms out submissively. “We surrender to Tuzhazu’s will.”

  Isemay heard a groan and looked to Tuzhazu and Akeeva. Akeeva had had no chance. Tuzhazu grasped the wrist of her dagger hand, and even from where Isemay stood, she could see the veins popping out on the back of his hand at the force of his grip. Akeeva dropped the knife and clawed at Tuzhazu’s eyes with her free hand, but weakly. The Fenestros, a ball of black and gray amorphous swirls whose pattern was strikingly similar to Akeeva’s skin, was at work in the Archon’s other hand. As Isemay watched the woman’s life draining from her like water down a gutter spout, she wanted to run over and stop him, to scream that he was killing her, but most of all, to ask her mum why she wasn’t helping the woman.

  She did none of those things. Symvalline’s cool hand closed on her forearm, and she slowly backed the two of them toward the wall, away from the Deathless and Tuzhazu, who dropped Akeeva and turned toward them. His face was a mask of malice—and promise.

  “What will I do with you, now?” he wondered aloud.

  “If you’ve killed her, Tuzhazu, how will you be able to make the people of Minoth believe you’re the next vessel?” Symvalline asked. “They’ll see through your ruse. They’re not fools.”

  He smirked. “You speak as if you know us. Are you Minothian?” The question was delivered sarcastically. “Or is that you’ve been here for some time, spying for someone else?”

  Symvalline didn’t answer for a moment, but Isemay felt her arm slide down until her hand hung close to her pocket, to the klinkí stones. Isemay watched the dangerous man the way one watched a snake about to strike.

  Her mum spoke, her voice calm, reasonable, the voice of a lecturer in the Conservatum sharing centuries of wisdom. “Why not stop this now, Tuzhazu? Can’t you see Balavad is using you? You can reunite with the Zhallahs. Revive the Archon Order and end this pointless and harmful charade by freeing Mithlí. Return your world to balance, and to your maker. Arc Rheunos doesn’t have to remain fractured like it is now. You have the power to heal everything. You simply have to choose your world over Balavad’s lies.”

  “Did you hear nothing I just said, Vinnric? Balavad gave us a choice. Mithlí gave us nothing at all.”

  Symvalline’s tone lowered. “There is always a reckoning. You’ve lived a long time, you must know that. Even if you do kill Akeeva, the other Raamuzi Archon has a Fenestros and the Scrylle. With those, she will put an end to your corruption.”

  The permanent sneer on Tuzhazu’s face deepened as he approached them. “I may yet have use for Akeeva, but I believe I am done with you, and your daughter, Vinnric.”

  Isemay’s eyes shot to his hand that held the Fenestros. It was alight with its gray and black center already whirling. Her mum’s arm tensed and her hand slid into her pocket. For some reason, she’d hesitated to use the stones before, but now they were the only thing standing between them and Tuzhazu. As Symvalline’s closed fist emerged, a new Minothian landed on the balcony.

  “Archon! The labyrinth has been breached! The Zhallahs approach!”

  Isemay could have fainted with relief when Tuzhazu whirled around to address the messenger, taking his baleful silver-green stare off her and her mum. “What do you mean they breached it? The Aktoktos Gate is unbreachable.”

  “The Churss, Archon, it’s…on the move. It broke through the gates and is coming through the labyrinth almost as fast an urzidae runs. The stones shield the Zhallahs, and none of our troops can get through or stop them. They’ll be through by nightfall or morning at the latest.”

  Isemay looked up into Symvalline’s face, seeing her disbelief—and relief—reflected there. The Churss forest was coming. There was nothing that could stand up to something so mighty. And that meant her da and the Zhallahs would be there by the Equifulcrum.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The book. Symvalline knew she had to get her hands on it. There was something important in it that Akeeva hadn’t been able to say before Tuzhazu’s attack.

  Judging by the way Tuzhazu had ignored it, he didn’t realize that it contained anything important. It shouldn’t be hard to slip it past his notice when he wasn’t looking—provided, of course, he didn’t kill her and Isemay before she could get to it.

  Symvalline had seen the way Akeeva had riffled the pages before setting the book down. A fore-edge painting. How could she have missed it before? What it might say was another mystery, but it seemed that it was relevant.

  And Ulfric was close, and getting closer. She could barely conceive of what the guard had described—what was a Churss?—but had no intention of puzzling it out now. Now, she needed to hold Tuzhazu here, distract and stall him from taking any action that could prepare him for Ulfric and the Zhallahs, even if it meant he would make her suffer some new agony. The longer she held his attention, the better chance they had of carrying out whatever plan they’d devised. She trusted Ulfric to have come up with something.

  “In the name of…” the guard who’d brought the news of the coming Zhallahs breathed. “Is that the…the Everlight?”

  Everyone’s eyes followed his, and Symvalline realized at the same moment Tuzhazu did that the guard should not have seen his false Verity in such a state. She opened her mouth to warn him to run, to fly, away, but Tuzhazu crossed the floor and grabbed the guard by the throat. With unnatural strength, he pushed the man to his knees. The guard struggled, but the flailing of his hands didn’t last long. With his breath cut off, he weakened quickly.

  “Mum, can you…” Isemay whispered, but Symvalline shushed her with a brief shake of her head. She might be able to slow Tuzhazu, but she could not stop him, not while he held the Fenestros. And then Isemay would be alone.

  “Take this, Kaneas, and join the ranks of the ever-living Deathless Guard.” Tuzhazu had pulled his cobalt-blue glass vial of elixir from his bag and yanked the cork free with his teeth. He spilled a single drop past the limp guard’s lips. He then closed his hand over the man’s mouth and nose, forcing him to swallow or choke. The man began the same gruesome transformation Symvalline had witnessed happen to the two in the healers chamber.

  She dropped her glance to Isemay’s face and saw horror there. “Turn away, Crumb. Don’t look,” she urged. But Isemay didn’t look away.

  As the guard’s transformation took place, Tuzhazu turned back to them. When he spoke, it was to no one in particular. “Why would they come here now? What does Deespora think she’s up to? She can’t mean to interfere in the Equifulcrum…”

  He contemplated the turn of events coldly, staring at Akeeva’s body, speaking to her limp form. “Your sister has always been a troublemaker, Akeeva. And now she’s back, almost as if she wants to make this easy for me. I’ll relish putting an end to her for good. But I may need you”—his cold stare rose to Symvalline and Isemay—“all of you, before this is over. Guards.” He gestured to the three Deathless, th
e newly transformed guard already emulating the empty, slavish behavior of the other two perfectly. “Re-bind the Vinnrics and watch the three of them. Don’t let anyone in or out of this chamber before I return.”

  Symvalline stated calmly, “You can’t possibly hope to stop Deespora while she holds a Fenestros and the Scrylle. She’ll defeat you.”

  He scoffed. “Deespora is a coward, she ran away before. She will again.”

  Symvalline was surprised when Isemay blurted, “She’s stronger than you are and cares more about life. She won’t let you do…whatever you’re trying to do.”

  Tuzhazu didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Isemay, which Symvalline was grateful for. “Arc Rheunos has not seen a battle in an age. I wonder what Deespora will do when faced with a force that doesn’t cower behind sentiment and cringe at the sight of a little blood. She’s as limp and weak-willed as a burial shroud. I may kill her first, actually.” He smiled at Symvalline then, the smile of a cunning but deranged wolf. “I am going to relish this. It’s too bad, isn’t it, Vinnric, that you didn’t simply make the sleeping agent I requested of you. Instead of bringing the exiles gradually into submission, it will be by force. The Zhallahs’ blood will now be just as much on your hands.”

  With that, he turned and paced to the chamber’s doorway, waving the newly created Deathless Guard to follow. When the doors were shut, Symvalline heard the sounds of something heavy being dragged and then shoved into the doors from the other side.

  But the book remained where it was.

  The remaining two guards approached, gathering the bindings that had been discarded earlier.

  “Remain compliant, Isemay,” Symvalline whispered. “Just let them tie us.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. It will be okay.”

  They were bound painfully tight, and Symvalline nearly fought back when she heard Isemay’s gasp of pain. But they just had to wait, just a bit longer.