by Carol A Park
“You don’t understand in the least—”
“I understand enough,” he snapped. “And you know, the rest of us have managed to get by without having to create an alter identity to murder people in order to cope. Because that’s somehow less monstrous than the occasional consensual fling?”
Silence. She locked icy eyes on his.
She was probably contemplating murdering him now.
Instead, she shoved past him and stormed down the tunnel, leaving him alone.
He sagged back against the wall. Smooth, Vaughn.
And yet, it was true. She’d turned herself into a gods-damned cold-blooded killer rather than have to face the pain of her past. He wasn’t going to pretend his way of dealing with life was great, but burning skies, it had to be better than that, right?
He swallowed. Sleep. He needed sleep.
“Because that’s somehow less monstrous than the occasional consensual fling?”
Infuriating, insufferable man! Ivana thought.
He had no idea. He had never understood. He—
She sank onto a bench on the streets outside the civic gates.
He was right.
Monster.
And a coward. A weak-willed coward who hadn’t been able to escape from her problems in any way other than to hurt other people to dull her own pain.
She could almost hear Aleena now. Give yourself more grace, she would say. You can’t go back. Only forward.
No, she couldn’t go back. But neither could she move forward. She was stuck in the present, a present in which she was still too keenly aware of her past, and a present that despaired of being able to ever have a future.
Why did Vaughn’s words hurt so badly? Why in the abyss did she care what he thought?
Because he’s one of the few who has ever tried to look deeper. Who has ever seen deeper.
And in the end, it turned out he saw her for what she really was, too.
That’s not what he meant, and you know it.
She clutched her arms around herself. She felt as though she were being suffocated. Would that she had died long ago on the trip to Cadmyr, or on the streets, or by her own hand.
“Miss?” a voice said from above her.
Ivana jerked her head up.
It was a random stranger, a woman, maybe fifty, sixty years old, concern on her face. “I’m sorry. But you looked ill. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Ivana said. “I’m just tired. Thank you.”
The woman nodded and moved away.
That was it. She was tired. Exhausted in every way imaginable. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Sleep would do her a lot more good than wallowing in despair on a bench.
She stood up. She had to pull herself together. She was sliding back into a familiar pit, and if she hit bottom again…
She didn’t know what might happen this time.
There was a moment of silence after Dal Vaughn and Da Ivana left.
Driskell swallowed and glanced down at his notes, some of which were written in a rather shaky hand.
He couldn’t believe they were going to take Ferehar. Just take it, just like that.
“Dal Yaotel,” Tanuac said, and Driskell looked back up. “Are you certain Dal Vaughn is the appropriate person for this? I understand his familial connections give us an advantage, but…”
“Yes,” Yaotel said without hesitation. “Despite appearances, I can assure you he’s competent and resourceful.”
Tanuac exchanged a glance with Nahua. “Not exactly what I meant. If you say he can get the job done, I trust you. He just seems a bit…”
“Insubordinate? Independent? Stubborn? Yes. He’s all those things and more besides. Which is what makes him especially suited for this.”
Tanuac tilted his head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Yaotel nodded toward Driskell’s notes. “Your attaché has the right of it. This could far too easily evolve into something neither of us intended. A grab for power. The start of a new Empire, perhaps? Donian—or Ichtacan.”
Driskell spread his hand over his notes, horrified that Yaotel had seen any of what he had written.
Tanuac held out his palm to Driskell without taking his eyes off Yaotel.
Driskell looked at Nahua, and she lifted her shoulders.
He swallowed and handed his notebook over to the Ri, raw, unfiltered opinions and all, and then bit his lip.
Tanuac looked down at his scrawl for a few moments. Then, he handed the notebook over to Nahua and addressed Driskell. “Concerns about how this makes us any better than Setana, Driskell?”
“Your Excellency,” Driskell said, “I don’t mean to imply that—”
“No. You’re right to ask those sorts of questions. Someone needs to.” Tanuac rubbed a hand over his face. “Yaotel, I’m going to guess at your meaning: this Vaughn will comply with what we want for now, but ultimately, he’s not going to be controllable.”
“Just so,” Yaotel said. “And more likely than not, he’s going to do this in a way neither you nor I would have chosen, and since I’ve cut him loose to do it…” He put fingers to his temples. “Gods help me, we’re going to have to live with whatever he does.”
Tanuac nodded curtly. “I think…perhaps you and my attaché are correct. Best not to tempt ourselves with putting someone who could too easily become a puppet in place.”
Yaotel inclined his head. “He’s a good man, Your Excellency. I promise you that. And if we both manage to pull off our respective missions…he’ll be a worthy ally.”
Nahua slid Driskell’s notebook back over to him.
Driskell let out a breath and flipped the notebook to a new page immediately as he chose another chair. “Pardon,” he said, “but are you sure…you don’t want me to go with him?”
Yaotel shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Dal Driskell. But you’re far too new to your powers to attempt that level of manipulation. You’ll better serve here.”
“And I need you here,” Tanuac said. “If for no other reason than to keep me on the right path.” He flashed Driskell a rare unfiltered smile. “How is your training with Huiel going?”
“I’d say well, Your Excellency,” Driskell said. “While I mean no offense to Danton and Thrax, Huiel’s obviously better at training. I feel more confident in my level of control now.” Huiel had started by working on his stamina and control. Driskell could maintain a constant burn of aether, just a trickle, for hours now before he began to feel even a little dizzy. He’d started taking Thrax’s advice and going about his daily life burning it. Not trying to do anything, just practicing letting it become second nature.
Even without trying to do anything, he could tell the difference in how people reacted to him. It made him uncomfortable, so he tried not to do it when he’d be around people.
Huiel said that was missing the point of his powers, but it still felt wrong.
Yaotel chuckled. “Danton and Thrax. Along with Vaughn, it’s like the trifecta of headaches right there. Shall we call for General Gyano and continue where we left off?”
Chapter Forty-One
Planning
Three days later, Vaughn sat in the room he shared with Danton in the new Ichtacan headquarters, along with Danton and Thrax. Danton sat on his own bed, Vaughn on his, and in the space between the door and the beds, Thrax sat wedged on one of two chairs they had dragged in.
The other chair was empty.
His potential team. The people he trusted with his life were few and far between.
Thrax jiggled his leg up and down. “So…who are we waiting on?”
“Ivana,” Vaughn said. “Maybe.”
Thrax raised an eyebrow. “Maybe? Is she or isn’t she coming?”
Vaughn had no idea. He had been to her room at the inn three times, and she hadn’t been there any of those times. Or at least, she hadn’t answered the door. The last time, he’d slid a note under the door with the details of the meeting and requesti
ng that she be there, hoping that she hadn’t decided to run. “I don’t know. Hence, maybe.”
Thrax gave him a smirk. “Lovers’ quarrel, eh?”
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “We’re not lovers.”
“No judgment here, friend,” Thrax said, holding up his hands.
“We’re not lovers.”
“Oh…right. You don’t do the whole long-term thing. Or mid-term. Or even short-te—oof.”
Danton had smacked him with a pillow. “Thrax, knock it off.”
Vaughn closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Was this how Yaotel felt sometimes? He ought to apologize sometime for being such a pain in the ass. It was a little different when the roles were reversed, wasn’t it?
A few nights of decent sleep in a decent bed had cured him of physical exhaustion, but mentally…
“I’m sensing an elevated tension level in this room,” Thrax said. “When do we get to find out what’s going on?”
Vaughn opened his eyes. “We can go ahead.” Ivana already knew most of this anyway.
There was a knock on the door. Thrax leaned his chair back on two legs to a precarious point, reached behind him, and tugged the door open.
Ivana stepped in.
Vaughn let out a silent sigh of relief. It would have been a prayer of thanks, but he hadn’t prayed before going to visit the gods. He certainly wasn’t going to start now.
Thrax nudged the empty chair. “Good timing,” he said. “Vaughn was about to enlighten us as to what all the mystery is about.”
She shut the door and sat down, her arms folded across her chest, her face blank.
Thrax pushed his chair back on two legs again. Danton leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, expression attentive.
Here goes nothing.
“So, you already know the present Conclave threat to Marakyn, which will ultimately mean a threat to Donia—and her allies. You already know about the Xambrian proposal. And you already know that Ferehar isn’t cooperating. To my continuing dismay, Yaotel has tasked me with dealing with the final problem.”
“Let me guess,” Thrax said, “you’re about to in turn task us to help you deal with the final problem.”
“Yes.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Danton asked.
“That’s partially what we’re here to decide. But the big picture is that we oust Airell and I take his place.”
Thrax’s chair came back down on all fours with a thud. “What?”
Danton blinked a few times, then comprehension dawned on his face. “That’s what all this business with Ferehar was about…”
Ivana remained silent, neither body language nor face betraying her feelings on the matter.
“Ferehar’s resistance has little to do with the people and everything to do with who’s in charge. Put a different person in charge, the whole story changes.” Vaughn sighed. “This is coming from Yaotel and Ri Tanuac. I have absolutely no desire to be Ri of Ferehar or anywhere else, but Yaotel thinks my family connections will make it easier for me to usurp the position and maintain my hold on it.”
“And then you’ll immediately agree to the Xambrian alliance on behalf of Ferehar, of course,” Thrax said, rubbing his index finger on his trousers, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“That’s the idea.”
“So, we’re what, some sort of strike team?” Danton asked.
“Sort of. Tanuac isn’t sending an army. He’s sending us. Well, he’s sending me, and I’m asking you to help me.” He looked around. “You can say no.”
Danton and Thrax exchanged a glance.
Danton spoke first. “You know I’m with you, Vaughn.”
“Sounds like fun,” Thrax said, grinning. “The coup here was getting a little boring, anyway. Too much talking, not enough action.”
“You just want to set things on fire,” Danton accused.
“Yes!” Thrax said, pointing at Danton as though he’d solved a difficult mathematics problem. “There has been absolutely no excuse to burn things here. Bor-ing.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Vaughn said. “I can’t guarantee kindling in Ferehar either, Thrax. In fact, I’m hoping to avoid a fight.”
Thrax groaned and slapped his palm to his forehead. “Shoulda asked before agreeing…”
“You think your brother’s just going to hand over the position to you without a fight?” Danton said.
“No, Airell won’t. But”—he glanced again at Ivana, who might as well have been a statue for all the insight she was giving into her thoughts—“Aleena’s been in Ferehar for three weeks now, gathering intelligence, and her initial report confirms what I already knew: nearly everyone except his own circle of friends hates him. I’m still personally dubious that they’ll hate a Banebringer any less, but those in charge are willing to take that chance.”
“So what do you need us for?” Thrax asked. “Have him offed.” He made a slicing motion across his throat. “Done. Simple.”
Vaughn dared to sneak another glance at Ivana. Still nothing. “I mean, that’s one option.”
“One option?” Thrax asked. “Without an army, what other option is there?”
Vaughn frowned at him. “Assassination is simple on the surface, sure, but it sets a dangerous precedent. I still have to hold the position without someone offing me in turn. It’s not like I’m someone already there who’s been groomed to gracefully slide into an open position, and as you noted, I’m not bringing an army with me.” He exhaled. In fact, he was certain that Yaotel had that first “option” exactly in mind. Especially since they were all acquainted with a former assassin who could do the job nicely. But after mulling it over the past few days, he’d decided that would be a last resort. “Besides that, I would prefer…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s contact Aleena. She should be waiting.”
He leaned over and picked up his qixli from the bedside table, held it between two hands, and waited.
A moment later, the impression of a face pressed up against the silvery aether. “Aleena. It’s Vaughn. I’ve explained the situation and everyone’s here.”
Aleena’s voice came through the qixli, metallic as usual. “Great.”
“So, let’s have it,” Vaughn said. “We know everyone hates Airell and things aren’t stable. What are we looking at more specifically?”
“I’ve been able to ingratiate myself to some key palace personnel, and ‘not stable’ is an understatement. Airell hasn’t even been back to the palace in weeks, and apparently that’s normal.”
“Confirms the rumors I heard,” Vaughn said.
Aleena made a sound that might have been a grunt of acknowledgment. “His Gan are furious. Less because they disagree philosophically with his policies and more because he isn’t doing anything and so they have to pick up the slack.”
“So what’s he been doing, if not Ri’ing?” Thrax asked.
A tinny cough. “Lazing about at his country estate spending Ferehar’s coffers on alcohol and women, if the accounts of him are to be believed. And making absurd demands when it suits him, like raising taxes for no reason—at least, no reason he’s explained to the populace.”
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “And with this extra money…?”
“I’ve managed to get a peek at his books,” Aleena said. “He’s been funneling a good bit of it to Weylyn City.”
Vaughn straightened up. “Now that’s interesting. More than the normal percentage?”
“Much more.”
Vaughn glanced toward Ivana. “So. It seems reports that Airell has thrown himself in with the Conclave aren’t without merit.”
“Oh, those are no rumors,” Aleena said. “Airell’s made no secret of the fact that he’s the Conclave’s favored Ri. He struts about boasting about the rewards he’s going to reap when ‘the rest of those disloyal dogs get what’s coming to them.’”
“Wow. What an ass,” Danton said.
That roused a mu
ttered remark from Ivana. “That’s an understatement.”
And he had been certain she was planning to sit there in stony silence the entire meeting.
“He’s almost universally hated,” Aleena said. “Worse than Gildas. Gildas was hard—but from what I could gather, he at least had a gift for administration. He kept things running smoothly.”
Vaughn nodded at that. “My father was…not a nice man,” he said, “but he was also competent.”
“Well, Airell is both not nice and incompetent,” Aleena said. “Though I’ve heard he can be charming when he wants to be.”
“Yes, he can,” Vaughn interjected, “and don’t be misled into thinking his ineptness is borne of stupidity.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering all the times Airell had deliberately gotten Vaughn and his other two brothers into trouble just to be malicious—and wheedled his way out of any responsibility himself. No, he was a snake. A selfish, indolent snake. “He’s just self-centered, arrogant, and cruel. He uses his natural charisma to get what he wants, but once someone’s no longer useful to him, he won’t hesitate to discard them—or worse.”
Ivana shifted. He supposed she understood too personally how true that was.
“That makes sense of some reports I heard of him, then,” Aleena said. “Initially, he persuaded everyone he’d be good for Ferehar. But it didn’t take long for that charade to be exposed. By all accounts, the affairs of Ferehar are in complete disarray, and it wasn’t hard getting people to talk. His own servants—right up to Gildas’ steward, whom Airell relieved of duty—are overflowing with frustration and are happy to have an understanding ear to vent to.”
Vaughn shook his head. “As long as he continues to get what he wants, he won’t waste effort pretending that he gives one whit about anything other than himself.”
“An attitude that works for breezing in and out of a town to charm all the young ladies out of their virginity and businessmen into bad deals,” Thrax said. “Not so great for holding a long-term position of power. How is he still Ri?”
“Fear,” Aleena said. “There’ve been some rumblings of protest, but from what I can gather, right now people are too afraid of what he and his lackeys might do if they tried to challenge him. He’s surrounded himself with like-minded people who tell him what he wants to hear and do what he tells them to do as long as he gives them what they want.”
