Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  “I wish we didn’t have to do this.” Rory said.

  “Your rival will be removed from the field of play.” Layla shrugged. “Surely that only benefits you.”

  “We were rivals because of Nick, Layla. Lorcan never did anything to earn my enmity. You can’t help who you love.”

  “Nicholas must evolve if he is to lead us. He can’t hide in comfortable relationships such as he had with Lorcan. We must keep him off balance if he is to continue to develop into the person we need him to become.” She placed her hand on Rory’s arm. “You agreed to let us handle this.”

  Rory sighed. “And I will. You guys can do all the talking.”

  “Then we might as well get this over with.” Takeshi led them out of the security station and down the hall to the interview room, nodding to the two Armistice Security Agents standing guard to open the door.

  * * *

  Lorcan stood as Take, Rory, and Layla filed into the room. Focusing his attention on Takeshi, the Director of Armistice Security, he asked, “Have you found them?”

  “We caught five of the spellcasters,” said Take, still angry that their security precautions had been circumvented. “The other three escaped the Armistice Zone and most likely returned to the Court of Shadows to report. Knowing who they were and who they were impersonating, we were able to track down the access codes of the traitors who altered our security records. Those we captured alive were interrogated by Jeremy and gave up the identities of the rest.”

  “I trust they didn’t stay alive once they outlived their usefulness.” Lorcan’s voice was cold.

  “No,” said Take, equally as grim, “they didn’t.”

  Layla held out a tightly rolled scroll of paper, sealed with gold wax bearing the Triumvirate triskelion. “Prince Lorcan, this is written confirmation, on behalf of House Curallorn and House Jiao-long, of your lawful mastery over House Diluthical, according to Court of Shadows protocol. You will most likely have to secure the succession in person, however, and put down any challenges to your authority from Brion’s senior scions. We feel it would be in everyone’s best interest for you to leave the Armistice Zone immediately and see to putting your own house in order.”

  Lorcan stared at the scroll in Layla’s hands. “Will I be allowed to return?” he asked, his heartbeat faltering.

  “As a member of the Court of Shadows, we will, of course, review your application for admission, should you desire to visit the Armistice Zone in the future,” Take said in a frigid voice. “The distant future.”

  Lorcan took the scroll from the Daywalker’s hands and slipped it into his pocket next to the old security pass. He turned to Rory, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. “Can I say goodbye?”

  “No.”

  Lorcan swallowed, closing his eyes in defeat. “Does he know you’re sending me away?” he asked, clinging to a shred of hope.

  “Yes.” Rory’s voice was neutral, factual.

  Lorcan’s shoulders slumped and he fought back tears. He would not weep before these people. Opening his eyes, he met Rory’s steady gaze. “I will need to stay in contact with him to perform my duties as Primogenitor Luscian. If he chooses to visit me in person, will you prevent it?”

  “No.”

  “I will never stop loving him.” Lorcan glared at Rory. “Never. If he ever comes to return my feelings, will you stand in his way?”

  “Why would I do that?” Rory asked softly.

  “Nicholas has just a few years of experience in dealing with Nightwalkers on a personal level. Luscian saw such relationships as weakness; Nick doesn’t have any other basis to judge them on. I told him we fought because of the intimate nature of our friendship with him—a plausible lie. I never allowed myself to put the truth into words. He probably still doesn’t know, unless he reviews the memories we shared in the double bridge, seeking answers.”

  “And what is the truth?” Rory asked in the same soft voice, while Layla and Take watched silently.

  “Nightwalkers are most violently territorial when it comes to their mates.” Lorcan set his jaw defiantly. “We can control that instinct, as long as we know the other contender isn’t a valid threat. You and I fought over Nicholas because each of us sensed that the other desired to make a claim. You love him just as much as I do, My Lord Traveler.”

  “How dare you?” Take started angrily, then stopped when Rory raised his hand.

  “I love Nick,” said Rory, staring steadfastly at Lorcan. “I have loved him for years, but he isn’t mine, Lorcan. He will never belong to either of us, not until he lets go of his first love.”

  Take turned to Rory, surprise clouding his features. Even Layla raised her eyebrows slightly.

  “He said once that he told you,” Lorcan said, gazing at his rival with renewed interest. “Are you the only one who knows?”

  “I’m sure Jeremy knows; he certainly saw it in the Light. But to the best of my knowledge, Nick has only deliberately confided that information to the two of us, alone.” Rory stepped closer and put his hands gently on Lorcan’s shoulders. “Takeshi is my mate, Lorcan. I will seek no other while he wishes to stay with me. If Nick someday finds it in his heart to love you, then no, I will not stand in his way.”

  Lorcan swallowed, his mouth dry as he forced the words out. “Then I have a request of you, Lord, but it must remain secret, especially from Nicholas.”

  Rory stepped back, a slight frown crinkling his forehead. “What request?”

  Lorcan knelt at Rory’s feet and bowed his head. “Redeemer,” he whispered, “lead me out of darkness.”

  The three of them stared at Lorcan in shock. Rory found his voice first. “Lorcan, are you certain?”

  Lorcan looked up, his eyes earnest. “Yes, Lord. I have no doubts.”

  “Why Lorcan?” Rory demanded. “Why now?”

  “My true name is Ruarc, Lord. I make this request because I might die trying to secure the allegiance of my house; even if I do not, I might never again have the chance to kneel before you, Redeemer.” Lorcan’s voice strengthened. “I want to be worthy of him, if ever he chooses me.”

  “You will be alone, Ruarc,” Nemesis said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You may not be able to hide what you are from your house, and they will kill you if they discover your secret.”

  “I am well aware of that, Magister Curallorn.” He turned back to Rory. “Will you deny my petition, Lord?”

  “Stand up.” Carefully, Rory undid the clasp of the glove on his right-hand, sliding it off as Lorcan climbed to his feet. The harsh white fire of the brand embedded in his palm illuminated the room with the brilliance of the Pure Draw, casting everything into sharp relief. “Take off your shirt.”

  “What?’ Lorcan blinked.

  “It would be better for you if the sigil wasn’t in the usual place, in case the Court finds a way to detect it.”

  Lorcan nodded and pulled his shirt over his head before dropping it to the floor.

  “Ruarc Magister Diluthical,” said Rory, “do you swear to take no human life?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you swear to take no life except in self-defense, defense of another, or to defend your honor?”

  “I do.”

  “Ruarc, may God grant you safe passage through the Gates of Morning into everlasting light.” Rory reached out and laid his palm on the left side of Lorcan’s chest, over his heart. “I forgive you.”

  Lorcan’s eyes widened in terror, his irises glowing white. The light and the shockwave spread from Rory’s touch to fill the room with the power of the Grace as Rory’s hand fell away, leaving a white cross shining on Lorcan’s chest. Then it was over, and the light faded. Lorcan slumped to the floor, curled on his side and gasping, his hair white. Kneeling beside him, Layla laid her hand on Lorcan’s head and cast a spell. Gradually, the color leeched back into Lorcan’s hair until it regained its normal black, and the glowing cross on his chest faded from sight. When Lorcan finally opened his eye
s, his irises were green.

  “Brother,” said Nemesis, “walk in the Light.” She helped Lorcan rise unsteadily to his feet.

  “My Lord, what I said to Nicholas was true. House Diluthical will never acknowledge your authority over them,” he told Rory. “But if you have great need, call on me. I will answer, if I am able.”

  “I’ll remember that,” said Rory. “It’s time for you to leave, Prince Ruarc.”

  Lorcan picked his shirt up off the floor, and pulled it back on. “So be it.”

  “Good Luck, Ruarc,” Take said quietly, his earlier hostility forgotten.

  Lorcan turned to face him, his eyes crimson and his fangs showing. “Shadowhunter, the Court has destroyed the only moment of true happiness I have experienced in four hundred years. For that, I will grind them into dust and curse their remains. That is fact, not a promise. I need no luck.”

  “Prince Ruarc,” Nemesis said gravely, “we cannot openly offer you any aid, but if you have great need, call on us—and we, too, will answer, if we are able.”

  Lorcan turned to Rory. “I’m ready.”

  “Command Access,” said Rory.

  “Online,” said a voice from overhead.

  “Ambassador Lorcan’s entry privileges into the Armistice Zone are suspended. Teleport him directly to the New York City chapterhouse, emigration level, for immediate deportation. Authorization code Jiao-long three-seven-six-two, authentication keyword ‘sacrifice’.”

  “Champion clearance confirmed. Armistice Security entry records updated. Teleport ready.”

  Lorcan looked at Rory. “Tell Nicholas I’ll be waiting.”

  “I will,” Rory said simply. “Execute.”

  Lorcan disappeared in a flash of light and the members of the Triumvirate were alone.

  “Erase and overwrite the security monitor recordings from this room for the last thirty minutes,” said Rory.

  “The designated security records have been erased and overwritten.”

  “Release Command Access.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Take looked at Rory. “Do you think they’ll kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps they will,” Nemesis said thoughtfully. “But if I have learned anything in five thousand years, it is that one should never underestimate the vengeance of a man who believes he has nothing left to lose.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The members of the Triumvirate made their way back to the Council Chamber in silence, each lost in thought. As they stepped off the teleport gateway, however, all three immediately and simultaneously detected the intruder.

  “Is he gone?” asked Nick, sitting in Rory’s chair at the head of the table. A reply was not forthcoming, so he took a swig from the bottle of Single Voice in his hand before asking, “Well?”

  Rory stepped forward. “Nick, are you drunk?”

  “Yes,” slurred the Daywalker. “Now, tell me! Did you do it? Did you send him away?”

  “Yes,” said Takeshi. “He’s already been jumped to the Castle Night relay. He can make his way home from there.”

  Nick put the bottle on the table and laid his head in his hands. “You should have let me say goodbye. I could have given him that much.”

  “He was directly involved in his master’s assassination attempt, Nicholas,” Layla said sternly. “We could not show him any favors.”

  Stumbling unsteadily to his feet, Nick marched around the table. “It wasn’t his fault,” he yelled. “He was under a compulsion spell. You know that! This is your mess,” he accused Takeshi. “They wouldn’t have been able to get to him if you had just done your job!”

  Take’s eyes were hard. “I know.”

  Rory wrapped Nick in his arms. “He’s gone, Nick. Let him go.”

  “He loved me,” Nick said in a broken voice, slumping into Rory’s embrace as tears welled in his eyes. “How could I not have known that he loved me?”

  Rory held him tightly, ignoring the tears of blood that wet his shirt. Silently, he reached out to Takeshi over the link. “Let me handle this.”

  Take nodded and motioned to Layla, who followed him back to the teleport gateway. Rory ran his fingers through Nick’s hair. “He didn’t want you to know. He knew how to hide his emotions from you, and he did. If he hadn’t, you would have just pushed him away sooner.”

  “Maybe,” whispered Nick. “Maybe I would have found a way to love him back.”

  Rory sighed. “You don’t believe in love, Nick. You weren’t ready, and he knew that. Maybe you will be someday, but until then, you don’t have any right to bind him to you.”

  Nick drew back and stood on his own two feet again. When he finally spoke, his voice was level. “Do you think he’ll wait?”

  Yes, thought Rory. I know he will. And so will I. “I don’t know, Nicholas. You’ll just have to wait until you’re strong enough to ask him.”

  PART V

  BURNT OFFERINGS

  CHAPTER 21

  September 2040; Academy Assembly Hall, Spacer Guild Headquarters, the Citadel, Lunar Farside; Eight months after public exposure

  Sentinel Michael Danvers looked surreptitiously over his shoulder at the two interlopers. Nicholas Magister Luscian, he knew. Everyone knew who he was after Los Angeles, although for the life of him, Michael couldn’t understand why the Ambassador to Humanity was attending the funeral of a third-stage Cadet. It didn’t make any sense. He let his eyes drift to the other person who stood out from the crowd, the only other person in the room who wasn’t wearing the green uniform of the Spacer Guild—the civilian organization tasked with the administration of the Armistice space program. Tall and olive-skinned with short black hair, the man was dressed in a black suit with an ebony cross and circle, outlined in gold, pinned to his right breast.

  A psychic probe rapped lightly on Michael’s mental shields. “Eyes front, Lieutenant.” Captain Merrick’s thoughts were distinctly annoyed. “William was a classmate of yours. Show a little respect.”

  Michael snapped his head forward again, his face coloring. “Sorry, sir. I was just wondering what the Ambassador and that Nightwalker are doing here. This is a Guild funeral. Dirtsiders shouldn’t be part of this.”

  “The Ambassador is insane, if his actions are anything to go by. Who knows why he does anything? I didn’t see the Nightwalker. What does he look like?” asked the more senior officer in silence, not turning around.

  Michael passed along the image of the Nightwalker he’d seen sitting in the back row, while another of his old classmates came to the lectern to speak on behalf of the departed.

  The Captain’s eyes widened. Turning, he looked over his shoulder at the Nightwalker, before facing the stage again. “Oh, hell. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he came. He always does.”

  Michael blinked. “Do you know him, sir?”

  The other officer sighed mentally. “Rafael Tervilant.”

  Michael glanced back, noticing the winged arrowhead that signified the rank of Master Pilot on the Nightwalker’s left lapel.

  “Don’t stare at him, Icarus.” Merrick’s thoughts were cold, angry. “He deserves better from you.”

  Michael swallowed and focused on the stage again with difficulty. “But, sir, he’s a legend! I used to study the textbook he wrote on the physics of zero gravity maneuvering. It was brilliant. Why is he out of uniform?”

  The senior officer turned to him with a frown. “He’s not Spacer Guild, Lieutenant. He had an accident and dropped out of the last stage of the Academy training program. Now, leave him alone and pay attention to the service.”

  Michael knew an order when he heard one. Muzzling the rest of his questions, he turned his attention back on the memorial.

  * * *

  Nick watched the service in silence. He had hit the master teleport gateway to the Citadel as soon as Rapier informed him of the funeral; even so, he almost missed it. Luckily, he had some formal clothes in his apartment. If he hadn’t asked Rapier to keep track of ne
w victims, he would never have known how Cadet William Thompson had died.

  Recursion Dyssynchrony was a particularly bad way to go. Caused by an unknown genetic defect, it resulted in the nervous system destroying itself upon exposure to Recursion Drive—the standard mode of interplanetary propulsion on all Guild spacecraft. It manifested as intense pain, followed by uncontrollable seizures and death. At least, it did for mortals.

  The service finally drew to a close, and Nick stood awkwardly near the back of the room as the Spacers broke into small groups and consoled each other over the Cadet’s death. Ten minutes, he thought. That should be long enough to show proper respect, rather than bolting immediately. Most of the Armistice citizens on Earth were already pissed off at him after Los Angeles; he didn’t need the Fleet and Colonists on his case as well. He silently sipped from his glass of bloodwine as he stood alone, looking out of the flare-shielded windows at the sere landscape of sun-blasted rock, counting the minutes until it would be politically acceptable to leave.

  “Ambassador Nicholas.”

  Nick blinked and turned, taken aback that one of the Spacers would want to talk to an outsider. He was even more surprised to find that the speaker was not a Spacer at all but a Nightwalker in a black suit. None of his clothing bore even a hint of the green color that Spacers proudly wore to identify themselves.

  “Yes?” he asked cautiously.

  “I found it strange to see another Dirtsider at one of these functions, so I thought I’d say hello.” The Nightwalker looked past him at the rocky lunar plain and the glittering stars. “It’s difficult to be the odd man out, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” Nick said noncommittally. “I’m told Spacers keep to themselves.”

  “That’s true for the most part. I’m usually the only outsider in the room.” He turned his full attention to Nick. “I’m Rafael Tervilant, from Icehaven.”

  Nick tilted his head in response. “Nicholas Magister Luscian. Pleased to meet you.” He glanced at the winged arrowhead on Rafael’s lapel. “Why are you an outsider? That’s a Guild rank pin, isn’t it?”