by Cassia Meare
And Delian saw something which at once made him half excuse her and half want to break her nose against the table. Her purple eyes.
The girl was high as a kite on kona. On poison.
Which was why she had lost all sense of what was wise and talked to him that way. He glanced at her friends, and they all had the same feverish, crazy eyes.
"You're stoned," he said simply, all desire to banter with the enemy gone.
"And?" she asked.
"And I'm wondering whether you've given that stuff to Sefira." He hardly ever got this angry — this ice-cold furious.
"What business is that of yours?"
"Must be the business of her being my sister."
One of the women still standing around them opened her mouth to say something, and Delian shot her a look like an arrow. "Get away from the table," he ordered.
Despite being high, she didn't even glance at Sefira's friend to see whether she should. She just shuffled off with the other three.
"Listen, Titty, whatever your name is—"
"Thady," she said through lips stiff with anger.
"Like I said, whatever." Delian spoke quietly. "I'm thinking you started Sefira on this crap. And you're obviously not smart enough to know that kona would be the very last thing someone like her should be taking."
"And she's not smart enough to decide for herself, I guess," Thady observed. "Which means her brothers are the exact shit know-it-alls she said you were."
"My sister," Delian said, drawing the words out possessively, "has got so much rage and fear in her that taking kona can only turn her totally crazy. And now I'm beginning to understand why she has gotten worse lately. Good influence, my ass."
"She's happy now, and that's what you don't like. She doesn't depend on any of you for love because she has ours." Thady leaned forward, her wild eyes close to his. "She's a warrior. She'll beat all of you."
Now his hand shot out to grab the nape of Thady's neck, more quickly than she could move. The room fell silent.
"You're going to get her killed, you stupid bitch."
Thady might be stupid, but she was fast too. Could be the drug driving her, because all Delian felt was the burning of steel against his arm. He drew back, hissing, and Thady stood, laughing and kicking a stool at him.
With a roar, he swept the table aside, drawing his sword. She hadn't drawn hers yet, and much as he wanted to cut off that Medusa head, he only swung at her with the flat of his blade, slapping it against her thigh with a thwack so loud people winced.
Thady shrieked like a monster from the mountains, her face distorted by hatred. It was like the hatred, quick, extreme, he saw on Sefira's face all the time. And it made him sorry for his sister, and furious at the woman before him.
He kept advancing, not giving her a chance to draw her sword, until she reached the door and opened it with her elbow, stumbling outside.
"You'll be sorry!" she shrieked. "You'll be sorry."
Her sword came unsheathed now, and she staggered forward, holding it with both hands. What the hell did she think she was doing? The tip of Delian's sword pushed hers aside, and she stumbled again.
"I'll show you!" she screamed, her lips foaming. "I'll show you."
Everyone always walked out of the way of a Purple Eye. People who took kona went crazy, and everyone knew it. After inhaling that stuff enough, eyes never went back to normal.
Poor Sefira. With friends like these, what enemies did she need?
"Show me, then," Delian said, jerking his chin at her. "Let's see what you've got."
He would have shown her. Maybe taken her prisoner to stand before Nemours, so that he would know what she had done to Sefira. But the door opened again, and her friends jumped at him.
Delian socked the one who had climbed on his shoulder with the back of his hand and she fell to the ground with a thud. Another swiped a blade at him, which he deflected as he pushed her with his booted foot. The third charged, screaming, and again he moved his blade to get hers out of the way, more impatiently this time, even as he hit her nose with the heel of his palm.
The fourth woman hung behind, purple eyes widening. It was when Delian noticed that his sword had become stuck somewhere.
When he turned, he saw that it had become stuck through Thady's body. The idiot had run at it and impaled herself.
She stared at him for a moment before she parted her lips and blood came gushing forth as if she were vomiting it. It splashed his doublet and cloak.
Then Thady fell back, taking his sword with her.
There was silence from the other women and from the people who had gathered at the door of the inn as Delian's opponent let out one last shriek from the ground before her eyes glazed over.
Crap, Delian thought, pulling his sword free. And he had come on a peace mission with Ty … He had only gone into that damned place for a drink while he waited. Of all the inns and all the hours, she had to choose—
He and Ty should have left well alone. No one ever wanted peace.
Delian wiped the sword clean on his cloak, removing it to place it over Thady.
Nothing to say to any of the witnesses. Accident or no accident, here was another death — and it was better to find Ty fast and go back home. Nemours wouldn’t be happy. Sefira would go more insane, and Ahn more furious.
He walked away from the place. No one dared come after him.
20
"The lady will not receive you."
Ty was almost never angry, and pride was not one of his flaws. Yet he drew himself up to scowl at Lord Serle. And although the lord lifted his chin and spread his legs, hooking his thumb around his belt in the same vain, silly gesture of defiance he had made at High Hall, he was afraid.
The least combative of the immortals could still cut him down without much trouble, and Lord Serle knew it.
"Will she not?" Ty asked quietly.
Serle's eyes drifted left and right, and he shrugged, now seeking conciliation. "You have to understand — your brother has made it clear that she needs to go to Highmere with head hanging to beg his pardon. You're reasonable, and you know Lady Ahn. Do you think it possible?"
Trying to ignore the fact that they were standing in the hall of the castle as if he were a mere messenger or a tradesman, Ty said. "I do know my sister. And I also know my brother. Which is why I've come here, to see whether there is a compromise to be made before we start killing each other."
"Do you come with an offer from the Lord Protector?" Serle asked. "Some lesser demand?"
"If I do, it is an offer for my sister's ears," Ty insisted.
The Lord of Mistkeep pursed his lips, shook his head, and let a sarcastic look creep back onto his face. "I think there is no other offer. I think the Lord Protector still expects the Lady Ahn to go begging to him." He cocked his head. "And why would she do that, when she is going to win this war?"
It took a moment for Ty to ask. "Is she that certain?"
"Why would you be here, if not?"
"Because I love her? Because I love my other sisters too, and my brothers? Because I want our family whole and together, and no blood spilled?"
"I believe you. But that's the problem, you see." Serle shot a look up the wide stone staircase. "She won't see you because she can't agree to what you ask. And it will pain her to deny you. She begs you to understand that she has not changed her mind, and that there will be a price to pay at the end of all this — a price in magic which will be high to save our world, higher to save two. And she is not willing to let the Lord Protector decide how much to pay when he doesn't understand that."
"Tell me," Ty said, clasping his hands before him. "How do you like the Set-Tuii, Lotho Sils? Does he also enjoy your hospitality here?"
"No," said Serle, and it was his turn to scowl. "I have nothing to do with—"
Ty cut him short. "Funny how no one has anything to do with him. I suppose he just runs around of his own volition, poisoning women on their wedding night and preying
on the grief of fathers?"
"There's no proof—"
"Imagine what he could do to you," Ty continued softly, relentlessly, "for being in his place in my sister's bed. All that malevolence, that resentment, turned toward you."
Again Serle lifted his face, as if to show he wasn't afraid — but again, fear lurked in his eyes. "That priest will never harm me," he spat.
"Because of my sister's favor?" Ty asked. "Let's hope it lasts beyond the war. Malevolence doesn't forget — it doesn't forgive. And once you win, as you think you will, what use will you be?"
"You don't know how things are between your sister and me," Serle said, with a voluptuous sort of confidence.
"No, I've only known the very long list of disappointed mortals Ahn has left behind her." Ty's face brightened. "But who knows, maybe it's different this time."
The staircase was empty and silent, no sisters on it. He had failed — and although he could rid himself of Serle and his guards and climb those stairs, although he could even use Crossing now to reach Ahn in her chambers, he accepted, finally, that there was no point in trying.
Ahn was ashamed. She had suspected the things Lotho would do, and she had convinced herself that they must be done. She had told herself it was for the greater good, even knowing they were dark magic.
She didn't only want to avoid being admonished by Ty — to whom she had been almost like a mother. She didn't want him to see her shame.
She didn't want to be turned back from her course because she was sure that using such methods she would win.
"I'd like to think," he said, since his words would be relayed to Ahn, "that she has condoned certain acts believing that she is protecting her brothers and sisters, and our world. The loving Ahn I know might think so. But please remind her that being immortal doesn't mean we can't be hurt. It doesn't mean that a rift could not get so great between us that there will be no healing it." His eyes were grave as he held Serle's. "She might succeed in putting this world together only to find that it means nothing to her."
After a moment, Serle took a step back, although he was more somber now. "Perhaps the Lord Protector needs to realize that as well."
"The Lord Protector," said Ty, "is not holding an old man's mind hostage with magic."
"She's not—"
"Lord Tayne lived in the shadow of Dragonridge, fighting those beasts when the rest of us thrived in leisure. He is a warrior." Ty jerked his chin at Serle. "Do you think he deserves it?"
He expected no answer, and neither could Serle give him one. Ty would not be met by Ahn, Lamia or even Sefira, because they were all ashamed — and now Serle was ashamed. And shame did not necessarily lead to repentance. Sometimes it led to all the opposite.
It had been wrong of him to come; Nemours had been right, and Delian too.
"I would thank you to let me out through the back," he said. "I shall meet my brother that way, and we'll go home."
"Of course," the Lord of Mistkeep said, bowing. His courtesy had at last made an appearance.
They walked silently through dark hallways until they reached the courtyard and the drawbridge. Seeing Serle, the guards began pulling the large doors open and the bridge down.
"Would you not like transport?" Serle asked. "I can let you have a horse and send one of my men with you. He'll bring it back."
"Thank you — I could do with a walk, if you don't mind my being in your lands for another half hour."
Serle bowed once more. "You're most welcome. I'm sorry that—"
Again, Ty cut him short, but gently. "Please tell my sisters I love them."
"I shall," said Serle. "And I wish you good fortune."
"Oh,"—Ty shook his head—"no one shall have that."
21
Ty had not wanted any blood spilled, but blood had been spilled.
And for a while Sefira could not understand that fact, although she was looking at it — at a large, red pool, being soaked up by the earth; at her friend's face, red from nose to chin as if it had been painted for a masquerade; at Thady's chest, red and open like a fruit that had snapped from a tree and broken on the ground.
Sefira stared and could not understand. She had been with Thady that morning, and they had agreed to meet at the inn. They were going to have a drink, and perhaps move on to the bathhouse with their friends. They were just going to have some laughs, drink a bit. Tease each other.
How could she be gone?
The noise behind her, of their friends sniffling, was scratching the inside of her head. "Stop it," she said.
She knelt by Thady and turned her face so she could see it better. But Thady's eyes were open. They were green and clear, not like their friends' eyes, still purple. Surely that meant Thady was all right?
Yet there was no spark beyond the green. Her eyes: green as spring, dead as glass.
They were meant to win the war. They were going to fight together — save the world. Free the world of tyranny, of monsters.
Thady was so strong, what could have cut her down? Had a monster appeared, that far away from Witchsweep? Far, far from the mountains? Had it come from the sky, taken her by surprise?
"What did this?" Sefira asked. Her voice was strong, not wavering at all.
"Your brother," one of her friends answered.
Sefira rose; her hand, also red, hung by her side. The blood was thick, clotted. She wanted to wipe her hand somewhere. The blood of mortals smelled after a short bit.
"I don't understand ..."
"Prince Delian," the same woman insisted. "He was in there, having a drink."
"Why would he be here?" Sefira wondered. That itch in her hand, to get rid of the blood.
"We don't know. But he and Thady got in an argument and came outside, and he ran her through."
"And then he just walked away," their other friend added. She pointed. "That's his cloak."
From where she stood, Sefira could see the horse, Delian's emblem, embroidered near the neck of the cloak.
"He was having a drink, and they fought — and he killed her?" Sefira repeated.
The women nodded, and Sefira took a few steps, she did not know in which direction.
"But I was going to give her Protection," Sefira mumbled. "She could have defended herself ... This wasn't supposed to happen now."
The princess looked around, feeling that the inn was at her back, and some distorted noise was coming from it, although the door was closed. They would want nothing to do with this, she thought. People hide in moments of great trouble.
It was funny how her mind was working, as if it had split in many parts. She noticed Delian's cloak was dirty with mud from the ground as well as blood. And he was always so well appointed — except, of course, if he had been fighting.
The horse — Delian's coat of arms was stupid. A horse! A silly horse with a crown on it. He was so simpleminded.
"Which way did he go?" she asked, stumbling sideways this time.
Her friends pointed and she walked to her horse, her own steps deafening on the gravel.
"We'll come with you," one of the women said.
"Stay here," Sefira ordered. She could tell they had obeyed — they had frozen behind her. She had no need of them.
She unhitched her horse and mounted it, and with a cry she urged it toward the path they had indicated.
I'm going to kill Delian, she thought. I'm going to tear him to pieces.
Her horse went faster and faster and faster, and her heart soared with the knowledge that she was going to avenge her friend.
When, after a while, she saw the lone figure ahead, she knew it was her brother. It was her brother. It was her brother.
Her sword sang as she unsheathed it.
22
They had gone somewhere and wanted to hide it from him.
Nemours suspected that Ty, who had looked spooked when they set up camp near Ashrock with part of their army, would make some sort of last attempt at reconciliation. Delian, of course, would go along.
Those two were like each other's shadows, except for the brief time he had split them on Earth through Oblivion.
They might have gone to Ahn, or somehow gotten her to meet them halfway. Delian would not expect the meeting to work, and Ty would go with all the faith in the worlds. Nemours was presently their general and should reprimand them for talking to enemy forces behind his back. He was also their brother, and the enemies were their sisters. It would be enough punishment for them to come back empty-handed, as he could not fault Ty for loving the other side.
A commotion outside his tent called his attention. But the soldiers had been playing dice, singing, and generally making pests of themselves, and he didn't give it importance.
Except for the deathly silence that followed.
He put down his book and listened — and felt.
Something was very wrong. A heaviness in the air when he pushed the flap of his tent aside and looked out. No one was near him, but a crowd had gathered on the other side of the field, by Delian's tent. Throwing the book on the table, Nemours began to walk that way. Azure followed him, letting out a yelp and then a low, continuous whine.
What had they done?
It occurred to him that Delian might have been mad enough to kidnap someone — Sefira or Lamia. Or even that priest. Delian would do something like that, especially to Lotho Sils. That silence meant something; fear, perhaps, and nothing caused fear like mages.
"What is it?" he asked the first soldiers he encountered.
They looked at the ground and muttered, "Lord—"
Perhaps they did not know what had happened, or dared not say, and he kept walking.
"My prince!" a voice called.
Lord Tinashe was halfway through the line — he had been walking the opposite way, toward Nemours' tent. Lady Nyree stood next to him. Both looked pale and haunted.
"What is it?" Nemours repeated, but didn't stop to hear their answer. He would see for himself.
People along the line took off their caps as he passed and bowed their heads. Many were crying; none would look him in the eyes.