by Paul Smith
blush.
Kelsaro raised an eyebrow at Rivan, giving him a playful shove. “From what I hear it is a bit of a... handful. Not, perhaps, the best choice for first timers...”
“Hey!” Mikael raised a finger in protest, looking round wide eyed at the assembled. “I never said it would be my first time...”
“Oh!”
“Touché!”
“I’m sorry, what?!” This from Clarissa. At the far end of the table Rivan and Kelsaro started cackling at the scandalised look she shot her brother.
“Wouldn't be much of a spy if I couldn't keep a secret or two...”
“Kael!”
But he shook his head, grinning.
Across the table Lyse stood, waving away demands to referee, proffering the wine jug around instead.
He woke in the night to that familiar tickling in his ear that signified a bird. It had been so long since he'd had one it was a moment before he realised what it was, and where he was. Current circumstances slowly seeped through his sleep addled brain, arranging themselves in suitable fashion as his mind began to make sense of the world again.
He was lying on a cot, sharing the room with his sister who was snoozing in the bed by the far wall. Tomen and that woman Rina had left in the dead of night to check on their contacts throughout the city. Lyse was sharing space with Kelsaro, whilst Rivan and the Efljos had taken the room down the hall.
Sitting up, he shuffled to the edge of the bed, shivering as the covers slipped from his bare shoulders, goose flesh chasing across his skin. Placing his palms together he opened them book-like to reveal his cache, the light of the construct illuminating the room as if he held a candle cupped in his hands. Concentrating, he directed his ice to examine the seferik, satisfying himself that it held nothing actively malevolent. This done, he reached in to unpick the lock holding it together, a flash of surprise simmering down to wary caution as he pulled loose the sender's mark.
He stared for a minute at the intricate tail feather, wondering whether he wanted to continue. He should have realised from the onset where this had come from. Only the Kuan put such effort into their missive's construction, as if each were intended to stand as a subtle slap in the face to any Myson who might stumble across it.
Look, see what we can do…
He shook his head, dispelling the unworthy thought. Besides, it wasn't like his former Circle didn't deserve it.
Former Circle…
“Get a grip Mikael.”
Forcing himself to put aside that particular can of worms he placed the ident marker into the fantail of contacts his ice had unfurled, smoothing them away again before turning back to the bird still nestled on his palm.
So Dai Jocan, let's see what you have to say…
With a couple of deft twists he undid the bird...
...Felt the blood in his veins run cold as his eyes scanned down the words unfolding before them.
Rivan woke groggily to banging on the bedroom door. They'd not drunk a lot but sleep had been a foreign concept of late, and when he did manage to slip into her soothing embrace it was an uncertain coupling that frequently threw him prematurely up on the shores of consciousness.
At his side Galairel was an irritating picture of instant alertness. It was the man's one flaw in Rivan's eyes. The Wraethi glanced at him questioningly. Rivan nodded, stamping down on the desire to snap irritably as he hauled himself to the edge of the bed in search of clothes.
“Come.”
The door opened, silhouetting broad shoulders and a trim waist that could only belong to the Sailor. Rivan looked up from his fumbling, catching sight of the expression on the other man's face as he stepped into the room. The light of the half shuttered lantern he'd left on a table in the corridor caught the planes of his face, highlighting the clenched muscles of his jaw.
“Mikael, what is it?”
“The Myson?”
Mikael shook his head at Lair's enquiry, opening his palm. Rivan squinted, then realised of course he wouldn't see anything.
“The Kuan,” Mikael added, belatedly realising his tacit exclusion. “Sorry.”
Rivan waved a hand. “Don't worry. They sent you a bird?”
Mikael nodded. “The Imperials have your Wraethi: Haili and Barran, is it?”
“Yes.” The Efljos reached out a hand, shooting Mikael a look and receiving a tight nod of permission before reaching into the space above his hand to flick a claw upward. “No…!”
“They're...” Mikael's voice had gone thick “...they're to be executed at dawn. Before the Eastern Gates.”
Rivan blanched, a sick wave of adrenaline dropping through the pit of his stomach. “Is there anything they can do?”
Mikael's expression was grim. “That's what they ask: they place their Circle in our hands.” He chuckled hollowly. “Jocan assures me there was a vote and everything.”
Rivan laughed, but the levity was an alien feeling smothered quickly by the nausea gripping his insides. “Tell him...”
But Galairel was shaking his head. He turned to regard Rivan with eyes that were suddenly intense. Though his eyes bored into him Rivan could not meet them, though he tried. The immortal was suddenly staring through him to someone beyond, though there was no one else in the room…?
“You must do nothing.” The Wraethi's words were firm, broaching no objection. “Do not avert this, it is too early to show our hand. If you would help, if you would join our cause then you will let them burn...” Rivan watched the tendons in his lover's neck strain as Lair bit down on that word, face a mask of grim determination “...they knew the cost, and theirs is a sacrifice we must make. The Kuan must step into their place, coordinate the efforts across the island and add your strength when we move on the Starway.” He continued to hold Rivan by the wrists, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Your contacts are Lifaen Sarloscz, Karri Ann Kaisan, Jaeni Bluisan, Soria Bell, Shaera Kurokov, Ashran Callum and obviously Rupert Taiin. Mikael I will give you their contact protocols to pass on.”
“Okay...” The ex-wolf seemed as confused as Rivan by the Wraethi's sudden behaviour. Rivan had wondered whether there was some seferik sleight of hand going on here, but the Daiku's confusion suggested otherwise.
“Did Timo give you a copy of his homing signal?”
Mikael nodded, confident once more on this more certain ground.
“Please send him a missive asking that he approach Praesus for us. We may need her to take a more active role in the coming confrontation, if she's willing.”
“Certainly.”
Sighing, the Wraethi sat back, releasing Rivan's wrists. He found himself rubbing at the contact points, for all the other man had been as gentle as if they were making love. An odd tension filled the room, its form unclear. Rivan glanced at the man stood at the foot of the bed again, found Mikael regarding him oddly, a look of worried distaste touching his features briefly before he stamped it down.
“Mikael, would you go wake the others?”
The Daiku nodded to the Wraethi, something unidentifiable passing between them. He offered Rivan a tight “I'm sorry” before turning for the door, pulling it closed behind them.
“Lair...”
But the Wraethi had retreated to the far side of the bed. Would not meet his eye nor come to his outstretched hands. “Fill your pipe and make yourself a drink. I suspect you'll need it in a few minutes.”
“Lair you're scaring me...”
Galairel offered him a wan smile. “I'll take that any day over the disgust I expect to follow shortly.” He held up a hand, forestalling further questions. “Please Rivan, a drink and a pipe. For me as well. If ever there was a time for such courage, it is this.”
Rivan stood, pulling his trousers on to pad from the room, a worrying sense of premonition reaching chill fingers up through his soul.
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