“My lord?” A servant appeared in the doorway behind them. “Donovan Kellar has returned.”
“At long last.” Cassius thanked his servant, then looked Carian over speculatively, his colorless eyes dazzling behind the silver smoke of his siqaret. “You shall have your answer soon, it would appear, vran Lea.” Then he excused himself, ostensibly to greet the newly arrived Kellar.
Watching him go, Carian muttered an oath under his breath.
In the yard, Fynn was taking overly large steps while marching a circle through the group of wide-eyed children.
“Who’s Donovan Kellar?” Alyneri asked the pirate.
Carian blew smoke away from her. “Nodefinder from Myacene. The head of their dark guild and Cassius’s best buddy in the black market trade with Eltanin. About as trustworthy as a pit viper and rich as sin.”
“Sounds like quite a guy,” she remarked with a frown.
“Kellar is the butt side of the Cassius coin, Princess. He’s a scoundrel on principle—which ain’t me calling the kettle black, it’s just a fact that bears mentioning. If Cassius wants a truth bled, bludgeoned or otherwise dredged up from the muck of someone’s intimate affairs, Kellar’s the one he turns to.”
Carian gave a derisive grunt and shook his head. “But it’s good that he’s back, even if he is a festering boil on Tethys’s left tit. We’ll have our answer now, one way or another.”
As it turned out, only a few minutes later, the same servant returned with a summons from their host. They extracted Fynn from the froth of children and followed the servant through the maze of Cassius’s mansion to a large drawing room with a wall of glass doors standing open to the morning.
An expansive view of the surrounding hills greeted them, along with Cassius, who stood beside a man with shoulder-length blond hair and dark eyes gazing beneath the stripe of his brows, each of which sported three silver hoops at their outward edge. Another hoop glinted in the man’s flaring right nostril. He wore traveling leathers in shades of charcoal and a large dagger at his hip.
Fynn came to an abrupt standstill and arrowed a stare at Cassius. “Why’d you invite this no-good horse trader? None of us need poisoning or robbing, so what use is he?”
Cassius waved idly with his siqaret. “Donovan has news I think you will want to hear, Fynnlar.”
Fynn scowled at the man in question. “Any news Donovan Kellar would bring, I guarantee I do not want to hear.”
Donovan tugged at his nose, perhaps to cover a dark smile, then offered Cassius a look that Alyneri couldn’t read. Finally, he hooked thumbs into his belt and razored a smile over the three of them. “Who’s the dish?”
“The Duchess of Aracine, you noxious bastard,” Fynn grumbled.
“Manners, Fynnlar.” Donovan looked Alyneri up and down with renewed interest. “What impropriety to speak so crudely before the virgin ears of such a sweet young thing as the Lady Alyneri d’Giverny.”
Alyneri tightened her gaze upon Kellar. He hardly seemed the kind of man to spend his days memorizing the lineages of every house of merit in the Middle Kingdoms. She wondered how he’d known her name.
Cassius took another drag on his siqaret. “Your Grace, may I present Donovan Kellar.”
Donovan said politely, “What a pleasure to make Your Grace’s acquaintance,” but his brown eyes said something perilously impolite.
Cassius set down his siqaret on a dish of gilded crystal before taking up his goblet. “Pray tell the others what your investigations uncovered, Donovan.”
Donovan rocked back on his heels. “Oh, it’s been quite the journey of discovery, I assure you.”
Fynn protested, “For gods sakes, man, spit it out before the sun falls. I don’t want to be around to watch you shed your human skin.”
Donovan leveled him a predatory sort of smile that in no way convinced Alyneri that Fynn had been joking about shedding his skin.
“Carian’s pals in the Rebellion are having a rough go of it.” Donovan cast the pirate a knife-edged grin at this. “Devangshu Vita says they’ve lost a half-dozen nodes back to Demetrio Consuevé while you’ve been cooling your heels here, vran Lea.”
Carian turned an accusing glare at Cassius, who replied with a casual, what-is-one-to-do? shrug that made Alyneri’s hands itch to strangle him.
“Vita told this to you,” Fynn remarked, sounding dubious.
Kellar grinned at him. “The strand’s become a rat’s breakfast up and down the Middle Kingdoms. Anyone attempting to travel a Guild node without a ring faces imprisonment and large fines. The nodes under private ownership are becoming battlegrounds between Carian’s rebellion and Consuevé’s goons.”
Carian blew smoke at him. “It ain’t my rebellion, Kellar. It’s for the good of the strand.”
Donovan regarded him archly. “But you seek to profit as much as anyone if your little rebellion wins, vran Lea, so don’t try to sell me on your sudden altruism.”
“Says the man who lives by Eltanin’s golden rule,” Carian snorted.
Donovan gave him a shark-toothed smile. “He who has the gold makes the rules.”
“I recall the wording somewhat differently,” Alyneri murmured.
“What else, Donovan?” Cassius retrieved his siqaret from its dish and took a long draw upon it.
Donovan’s gaze sliced across Carian and Fynn again. “Consuevé is on the hunt for the rebellion leadership and has enlisted D’Varre’s help in tracking them down.”
“D’Varre,” Fynn hissed. “I’d like to make sausage out of his portly arse.”
Alyneri well remembered the Guildmaster from Rethynnea, whose betrayal had resulted in the attack on their party in the Kutsamak, where Trell had been taken hostage and Fynn grievously wounded.
“D’Varre’s got his panties in a wad over losing the Vestal Codex, which was stolen from his Guild Hall,” Kellar continued. “He’s on the warpath for Devangshu Vita and an unnamed, red-headed accomplice—says he has witnesses they’re behind the thievery. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the realm,” he added with an enthusiastic grin, “Nodefinders suspected of being loyal to the rebellion are being hunted down, taken hostage or killed by Consuevé’s goons—rings or no rings—and D’Varre is supporting his efforts. The nodes in the Middle Kingdoms are as dangerous these days as traveling the Seam.”
“How unfortunate,” Cassius murmured. “I suppose the Guild doesn’t take kindly to insurgents.”
Carian glowered at him. “You know Consuevé works for Niko. Sure as silver that smug blaggard is trying to eliminate anyone who could vote him down.”
“That’s one theory,” Donovan remarked with a smirk that set Alyneri’s teeth on edge.
Carian flicked ash in Donovan’s direction. “It’s a bloody fact, Kellar.”
“One must be careful never to confuse the theory with the facts, vran Lea,” Cassius pointed out. “Otherwise one must fashion one’s theories to fit the facts, which rarely ends well for those without the facts on their side.”
“Whoever has the facts on their side?” Fynn complained.
“My point exactly Fynnlar. You are the pinnacle of logic.”
Alyneri blinked. “But...that makes no sense whatsoever.”
“Only because you’re fixated on the facts, Your Grace.” Cassius gave her an infuriating smile. “If we were to arrange the facts to fit another theory, say, we might observe that Niko van Amstel was well within his rights to order all Nodefinders to become trained in their craft; whereupon vran Lea’s rebellion may be viewed as an infantile tantrum from spoiled children who think themselves entitled to anything they can see or lay their hands upon.”
Carian grunted derisively, “You just painted your own self-portrait, mate.”
Donovan said, “If we allow unringed Nodefinders to use our network, we’ll be inviting Niko’s ire.”
“True,” said Cassius. He exhaled smoke in Carian’s direction. “What compensation is the rebellion offering against this eventuality?”
; Donovan held his shark-eyed gaze on Carian. “Surely the rebellion isn’t expecting our help out of the kindness of our hearts.”
Carian snorted. “We all know your heart’s locked away in a demon jar, Kellar.” He settled himself onto a table and swung his long legs. “First off, the fact is,” and he eyed Cassius tetchily, “it ain’t within Niko’s rights to enforce anything over the strand, ‘cause the Alorin Seat withdrew her support for Niko’s candidacy and nominated Franco Rohre in his stead.”
Alyneri stared at Carian. It was the first she’d heard of this.
Cassius must’ve read the truth in Carian’s words, for his expression instantly sobered. He asked, low and tight, “How did you come by such information?”
Alyneri couldn’t help but hear the unfinished sentence hanging in his intimation, which demanded, when I didn’t know it myself?
Carian gave him a toothy grin.
Cassius exchanged a voluminous look with Donovan.
The Myacenean crossed arms. “We’re going to need proof of this, vran Lea.”
“What kind of proof?”
“The kind that answers to the name of Franco Rohre,” Donovan returned, “but as far as I can tell, he’s vanished.” He addressed everyone as he added, “Rumor has it Niko arranged that circumstance himself, which means you may never see your Admiral again.”
Carian blew a smoke ring towards Cassius’s head. “Nah, the Admiral ain’t dead.”
“Be that as it may,” Cassius remarked from atop his towering skepticism, “we can’t risk involvement in your little melee without proof that Franco Rohre is alive and promoting his candidacy. Bring him to us, vran Lea. Let us hear him declare Niko as the laughable imposter and rescind the latter’s edicts. Should he do so, your rebellion may use our network until such time as Consuevé and his ilk can be brought to heel—albeit, for a price, of course. We can debate those terms should you actually succeed in finding Rohre alive and well.”
Carian removed his smoke from his lips to glower at Cassius disagreeably. “He could be anywhere.”
“You appear to have the resources to track him down.” Cassius’s crystalline gaze was mirror sharp. “Your companions can remain here as my guests pending your rapid return with the Vestal-to-be in hand.”
Alyneri could practically read the agonized But his wine has bubbles! in Fynn’s expression. Forever after she wasn’t sure what possessed her in that moment, but she felt a sudden bout of altruism coming on and said quietly, “I’ll stay.”
Fynn turned her a startled stare.
“That is acceptable,” Cassius said. “Fynnlar goes, the duchess stays. Left to his own devices, the pirate will try any manner of knavery to get what he wants. Knowing Her Grace remains here will help him honor our arrangement, and Fynnlar can do his best to keep the pirate in line.”
“Then we have an accord.” Carian pushed off the table and ambled out of the room. He called without looking back, “Coming, Fynnlar?”
Fynn followed, but he turned a grimace over his shoulder to Alyneri, his gaze both pleading permission and apologizing, perhaps for so readily accepting her offer.
Then he ran after Carian like a pack of darkhounds was chasing him.
Eighteen
“There’s no more valid reason for doing anything
than to prove to yourself that you can.”
–The Fifth Vestal Björn van Gelderan
Cephrael’s Hand hung midlevel to the horizon, nearly eye to eye with where Trell lay wedged among the gorse on a narrow precipice overlooking the warlord’s stronghold.
The night was clear and chill, as even summer in the mountains can be, and the moon was a slim crescent falling in the west. Trell and Loukas had been holding their vigil since the early hours of darkness, a long night of lying very still for long stretches of silence—long hours for reflection, for stargazing...for counting the hairs on his arm.
Do you see the stars even now? Alyneri asked across their bond. Her mental voice lacked its usual vigor, for his calling had awoken her in the wee hours of her morning, but her thoughts were never lacking for warmth. Verily, Alyneri’s radiating affinity was the only warmth he felt right then.
Trell clenched and unclenched his fingers to work some blood back into them while his eyes studied the stars on the far side of the valley. The constellation is directly across from me, in the east.
And you saw the constellation also at Darroyhan?
At Darroyhan, it rose in the west and passed in its arc directly in line with my tower window.
And at Khor Taran you saw it too?
Trell heard the wonder in her tone and smiled. In the south.
Alyneri sent him a mental laugh. I might not believe it if I hadn’t seen something similar myself. Fynn swore that those stars were following us the entire trip from Calgaryn to Cair Rethynnea. I didn’t believe him then, but I think now that they were watching Ean.
I don’t know that I’ll ever live it down, Trell told her amusedly. My men think I’m having conversations with the angiel.
Are you?
Trell gave a mental chuckle. Not that I’m aware of.
Alyneri’s smile radiated across their bond. I asked Vaile about the constellation once.
What did she say?
Well...you know Vaile. Alyneri sent him a mental sigh. Ambiguities not quite as infuriating as Phaedor’s. She told me nothing that would undermine their magic or the mystery. It’s not her way.
How do you mean?
In the thoughtful silence that followed, Trell pictured Alyneri fingering the end of her braid, which she often did when contemplating. Vaile is...sad. You’ve noticed this, surely?
Yes, he cast a mental sigh which he hoped conveyed his concern for the zanthyr.
She’s lived a long time and has lost many people she cared deeply for—too many, I fear. Life holds no magic for her any longer, no mysteries, nothing unexplained. She says there’s no marvel in the world when one knows even the secrets of the stars. She maintains mysteries for us because she doesn’t want us to lose...
Our illusions? Trell offered when Alyneri seemed to be struggling to find the right word.
Something like that.
Trell gazed at the constellation, thinking of the day he’d first met Vaile, when he’d watched her fight a Whisper Lord and then strolled with her in the woods, remembering how he’d found her so dangerously alluring...
And thinking of the day she’d rescued him from Darroyhan, his avenging dark angel, and of the kiss she’d given him, which he still somehow felt fluttering in his core whenever he sought its memory.
Do you think Vaile knows the secret of these stars, Alyneri?
He felt her smile. Definitely.
Do you think she’ll ever tell us?
Trell sensed Alyneri yawning as she answered, Probably not.
He cast her a mental smile. I should let you sleep.
You’re not sleeping.
You’ll have to sleep for both of us then. Dream sweetly, my love.
Of you, I hope. She yawned again.
Trell chuckled. How long, did you say, before you’ll be able to weave me into your dreams?
Vaile says soon. But soon has a different meaning to a zanthyr.
Then may you dream for both of us, too. He gave her a mental kiss, which she echoed as their contact faded.
Trell exhaled a slow breath and focused back on his surroundings, which comprised sharp, woody branches topped by a preponderance of yellow flowers mostly unseen in the darkness.
“What did she say?” Loukas’s voice was soft enough to be a bare breath of wind.
Trell glanced to him. The combat engineer was stretched out beside him beneath the overhanging gorse with his arms folded, chin resting on his hands.
Trell asked in an equally soft voice, “How did you know I was talking to Alyneri?”
“Your breathing changes.”
Trell smiled lopsidedly. “You’re studying my breathing patterns now?”
/> “There’s not much else to do. I’ve already calculated the trajectories of twenty-seven stars and three planets tonight.”
Trell chuckled. “Does my breathing get faster or slower?” Faster seemed somehow...embarrassing.
“Slower. Much slower.”
Trell caught the innuendo in Loukas’s tone. “We weren’t doing what you’re implying.”
“No?” The engineer turned his head to grin at him.
“Had we been, I imagine my heart would’ve been moving at much the opposite speed of slow.”
Trell worked through a quick assessment of his body, tensing muscles to keep off the inevitable stiffness of long hours of motionlessness. “In any case,” he said as he was clenching and releasing his shoulders, “she’s not up to weaving us into dreams together yet. It’s just...communication.”
Loukas grinned meaningfully. “We’re communicating and your breathing hasn’t changed at all.”
Trell rolled his eyes. “Yes, Loukas, I admit my interaction with Alyneri was more intimate than my interaction with you.”
“I feel so spurned, Trell.”
A glow had begun limning the mountains. They could now differentiate the dark hulk that was the fortress from the midnight-blue sky behind it. Dawn was approaching just beyond the horizon, but the night remained as still as the stars, and silent, save for the sound of their own quiet breaths.
“What’s it like, being bound to an Adept, Trell?” Loukas’s question was barely a whisper, yet still Trell heard the wistfulness in it.
It might’ve been the most personal thing Loukas had ever asked him. “It’s fascinating...exhilarating,” Trell replied in the same intensely quiet voice. “It certainly aids our understanding of one another. And being able to reach her mind by merely thinking towards her is...” Trell closed his eyes, seeking words, but how could he express the ineffable?
“How does it work? Do you always know what she’s thinking, or...?”
“Our minds remain our own, but occasionally I’ll pick up a strong thought or emotion from her. These wouldn’t necessarily have context unless she intentionally shared the idea with me.”
The Sixth Strand Page 30
