Her face waited in the darkness. Not Andrea’s, not the face of his fiancé that should linger in that special place within his mind. If he tried to picture his fiancé, he could pull up her image for a moment, but her green eyes always turned a deep blue, her reddish hair morphing to a luxurious golden brown. Indigo’s lips filled his thoughts, begging for a kiss, offering a smile that could drive away the deepest sorrow with its sweet sincerity.
Why hadn’t he listened? He might have heeded the ache in her voice, the desperation. She might be here now, not run away to Lyra, not wanted as a traitor to her own people… like her father before her.
Indigo, what have you done? Where have you gone?
His memories of her were so vivid, so intense, that he could smell her and feel her smooth skin under his fingertips. With a soft exhale, he slid further down in the chair, resting his head against the plush back. The room rocked, given motion by the intense weariness that dragged at him. There was somewhere he was supposed to be soon, but he couldn’t dredge up enough interest to remember where that was. Opening his eyes, he gazed into the dark red liquid, swirling it in the glass. The glass was created. Imported from Lyra where using ascard for such things wasn’t a crime.
Only it wasn’t a crime here. Not for everyone. They had creators of their own in the palace. There weren’t many creators, but they were there. He knew that now. So many of the things he thought to be true had been revealed as false since he became prince of Caithin. They had their own secret group of creators and adepts, but all of the created glasses in the palace were still imported from Lyra. The creators of Caithin didn’t use their power for benign purposes, like the creating of unbreakable glass. They were weapons for the king.
He swirled the wine again, his eyes refocusing on the glass that contained it. It’s clear, flawless curves embraced the fluid. As perfectly beautiful as the pureblooded Lyran people themselves. Was that what drew her to Yiloch, that unbearable perfection? The man moved like water flowing, flawless and beautiful. Eyes of pale silver-blue, like daggers of ice, a sweeping cascade of silver hair, the man almost made him wish he were interested in his own gender.
Caplin swallowed the rest of his wine in a bitter gulp and threw the glass. It struck the marble mantle and bounced away, not even having the decency to shatter. The glass protected by the power woven into it. How much did such a creation cost?
The glass rolled in a smooth arc back toward him, coming to rest at the toe of his boot. It left a trail of red drips behind, like small droplets of blood. Rage flooded him then and he stood, kicking the glass with all the power he could muster. It flew across the room and struck the doorjamb as the door opened, still not breaking. His father frowned at him. His father the king.
Dizzied by his abrupt rise and a few too many glasses of wine, Caplin wavered and dropped back into the chair, staring sullen into the empty fireplace.
“I’m pleased you got that out of your system,” Gavin remarked, his gravelly voice rumbling out in its customary growl like the purr of a huge cat.
Caplin dropped his forehead into his hand and closed his eyes.
“You are aware that we have a council meeting in less than an hour.”
Caplin waved a dismissive hand toward the door. “Whatever.”
The door slammed. He opened his eyes to see his father scowling at him as he strode into the room, stopping on the other side of a center table. He averted his gaze, finding it less uncomfortable to stare down at his father’s feet. There was a long silence while Caplin waited for the scolding to rain down on him, but when Gavin finally spoke, his tone was gentle.
“You have to let Indigo go, Caplin. There is no way she could ever be yours. Not now.”
“I don’t… I…” Caplin sputtered and fell silent, staring open mouthed at his father.
“Don’t lie to me. I’m your father. I know your feelings for her have changed over the years. Her past would have made her a poor match for you before, but now she is well beyond redemption. You need to turn your attention back to the woman who is here now. Andrea loves you. She is warm and willing to be yours.”
Leaning forward, Caplin rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the toes of his boots, fighting the ache within. “I can’t let her go,” he whispered.
“You can and you will. Even if she came back, she chose to betray her country. No matter what her reasons, she can never be a part of this family.”
Wringing his hands, he muttered, “What if she was right? What if Emperor Yiloch wasn’t behind the assassinations?”
“She should have spoken to someone in charge instead of acting on her own.”
“She tried.” His voice cracked and he swallowed, struggling for control. “She came to me, but I refused to hear her. I wanted him to be guilty because I thought that would end her love for him. I let my jealousy drive her away.”
Gavin nodded. “Perhaps you did, but she should have tried another way. She could have requested an audience with me or spoken to Lord Serivar.”
“Considering how fast we put the first three adepts to death, she probably didn’t think she had time.”
Gavin stepped around and sat on the table. His simple attire, the same sedate colors and inexpensive fabrics he had always worn, made it easy to forget that he was now the king. Caplin met his deep brown eyes. Eyes full of patient understanding.
“They all signed confessions. Without any proof to the contrary, we can only believe that our course was the right one.”
Caplin searched his father’s face for a moment, seeing the tight line of his lips, the faint circles under his eyes, the worry etching lines in his brow. “You doubt too. You haven’t declared outright war on Lyra, haven’t attacked them while they’re vulnerable.”
Gavin exhaled now, lowering his gaze. He rubbed one thumb with the fingers of the other hand as though it pained him. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t know Indigo as well as you, but I know her well enough to have a hard time accepting that she would do something so drastic unless she truly believed she was in the right.”
They sat in silence for several minutes more, the king rubbing his thumb, Caplin massaging his temples. Somewhere in their conversation, a headache had snuck up on him.
Lyra had never been more vulnerable. With the upheaval from Yiloch’s takeover on top of the distress that Rylan’s madness had placed the empire in prior to that, the once invincible country was disorganized and crippled, a shadow of its former self. This was the perfect time to retaliate for the assassination of Jerrin and his family. The actions of one woman stayed their hand.
“If she’s here, if she comes to me, I won’t place her under arrest,” Caplin stated.
Gavin regarded him with the thoughtful look that meant he was considering how best to tell his son that he was being a fool. His lips pressed into a tight line within the frame of his neatly trimmed beard and moustache. “You realize that you would not necessarily be doing her a favor in that circumstance. If you arrested her, you could at least ensure her good treatment and see to it that she got a chance to explain herself.”
Caplin ground his teeth, staring into the empty fireplace. How could the man always be right? It wasn’t natural.
Abruptly, Gavin placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. “Sober yourself up for the meeting. I’m planning to send Lord Theron to Yiroth to gather information and to speak with Lord Terral and Lord Captain Adran about the situation.”
Caplin sat up. “Indigo’s Uncle?”
Gavin nodded. “He’s the most reliable and effective emissary we have and he’ll bring Indigo back alive if he can find her.”
“If she even is still alive,” Caplin muttered.
Gavin scowled.
Ignoring the look, Caplin rose. “Don’t worry, Father, I think I’m sober now.”
The gruff man’s expression softened again and he squeezed Caplin’s shoulder. “Good, I have need of your support.”
•
“Yiroth has
requested a temporary stay of hostilities. They haven’t heard back from the group they sent in search of Emperor Yiloch and they now have a foreign army marching on the capital city leaving a path of destruction—”
“An army?” Lord Davrick interrupted, winning himself a cold glower from the king. “From where? Kudan?”
Gavin wetted his lips with his tongue and looked down at the table. A gesture Caplin was familiar with. It meant, ‘I’m too annoyed with you to look at you right now,’ and it was always pleasant to see that look directed at someone else.
“The army comes from beyond the Rhuakhine. It matches up with information we received from Lord Edan before he too vanished without a trace. We have no word on his current whereabouts or those of Lady Indigo Milan. Without Emperor Yiloch to face the accusations against him or Lady Indigo to explain her actions, it makes sense to me that we should give them some time to deal with this new threat. I—”
“We should crush them. Make them pay for their crimes while they are at their weakest,” Davrick interrupted again with an arrogant toss of his dusty blond hair.
“I think I like these meetings better when you send a representative to sit in your stead, Lord Davrick.”
Davrick’s face went red and Caplin rested his chin on his hand, hiding a smirk behind his fingers.
Gavin nodded approval of the resulting silence and continued. “Under the circumstances, they have shown the presence of mind not to request aide from Caithin. Given that they seem to be cooperating, I think it makes sense to give them time to deal with their problems and try to track down some of our growing list of missing people.” Gavin paused for a few seconds, apparently long enough to invite another interruption.
“Perhaps we should offer them aide,” Serivar said.
Caplin suspected his stunned expression was much the same as that on his father’s face. “I seem to recall you being adamantly against aiding Emperor Yiloch in taking the throne from his father. Why so eager to help now?” Caplin asked, an edge of annoyance sharpening his tone.
Serivar glanced from Caplin to his father.
Gavin lifted his brows. “It seems like a reasonable question, Lord Serivar.”
The Academy Headmaster sat back in his seat with a pained expression as all eyes turned to him.
Think quickly. Caplin offered him an uncharitable sneer.
Serivar’s brown eyes flickered up in controlled recognition of the look. He took a moment to clean something out from under one fingernail then set his hands out, palms down on the table and met the king’s eyes. “Lyra could still be a powerful ally under proper leadership. This foreign army might not be so congenial. It seems that the wiser move would be to support the power we’re familiar with rather than risk a hostile force taking over.” There was a soft grunt of consideration from Gavin and even Caplin had to agree that there was a certain sense to the argument. “Such a gesture, if executed properly, would also put us in a position of considerable influence in any future negotiations with Lyra.”
“There is a certain logic to what you suggest,” Gavin stated, “but we must not appear to take the crimes they have committed against us lightly. I will think on this and discuss it with the council in two days. Right now, I’m going to advise that our next action be to send an envoy to Yiroth to meet with Lord Terral and Lord Captain Adran in an effort to assess the situation.”
There were murmurs of assent around the table at that. There was little to argue with in such an action. Anything they considered doing now required more information about the foreign army and the status of the search for Yiloch and the others in Lyra.
“I recommend Lord Theron.”
Caplin had been watching Serivar intently since the headmaster suggested aiding Lyra. Now he saw the flicker of something, panic perhaps, or maybe irritation, flash across his features. The emotion was carefully smoothed away an instant later, but his curiosity was piqued. There was something going on with the headmaster.
“Given the situation with Lady Indigo I think someone more impartial to her would be a better choice,” Serivar suggested now, his tone reasonable if one ignored the faint tremor in his voice.
“I must disagree, Lord Serivar,” Gavin countered. “Lord Theron is now, and always has been, a most successful and loyal representative to the Caithin throne. I have no doubt that he can handle this delicate situation better than anyone.”
The king’s expression was stony as he regarded his old friend. The long friendship between the headmaster and Gavin was less amiable since they argued over Indigo after she set Yiloch and Ferin free. Serivar’s less than complimentary comments about her during that argument won him no favor with Gavin. Gavin had never been open about his affection for Indigo, not even with his own son. His confession in that particular argument that he thought of her as a daughter had been news to Caplin as much as it was to the headmaster.
Caplin watched with interest as Serivar struggled against the downward curve of his lips, trying in vain to maintain an expression of neutrality. Many other members of the council shifted in their seats, none of them blind to the tension in the room.
Remembering his father’s request for support, Caplin cleared his throat and said, “Lord Theron’s record of service is flawless. Even when his brother was declared a traitor for his sabotage of the slave trade, Lord Theron continued to manage diplomatic missions for the kingdom without issue. His loyalty didn’t falter then. I see no reason we should expect anything less from him now.”
There were grunts and nods of agreement around the table. Gavin caught Caplin’s eye and he gave the slightest of nods to show his appreciation.
“When will he return from his current mission?”
Caplin had been too busy watching Serivar and his father to catch who spoke, but Gavin responded quickly, not allowing room for more arguments.
“Lord Theron returned yesterday. He is not averse to heading out on this mission immediately. I have suggested that he go in the company of two warships, a gesture to remind Lyra of whom they are dealing with in this. I do not think he will have any difficulties, but a small display of strength is not out of line in this situation I think.”
There were nods around most of the table, though Serivar still looked somewhat petulant. The headmaster appeared to understand that he wasn’t going to win this. Theron’s reputation was impeccable. He would be hard pressed to find any fault that would convince them not to send the man. Something in the headmaster’s behavior bothered Caplin, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. It was like a bad itch he couldn’t quite reach. Whatever it took, he intended to find a way to scratch it.
CHAPTER SIX
Wild dogs sang Indigo to sleep every night in the desert, but it was cries of war that startled her awake this morning. Pulling on a Kudaness wrap, she managed to be on her feet and heading out of the hut a few strides behind Suac Chozai. Outside, in the near blackness of early dawn, she could see nothing but a sea of dark-skinned warriors spreading in all directions. So many tribes, many of whom spent much of their time in conflict with one another, were coming together to honor the rite of the Dursik un Kar, a gathering of the many tribes’ warriors into one army to face a common enemy. Pride filled her, warming her in the chill of the desert morning. Her actions had set this Dursik un Kar in motion. It might have been a crazy thing to try, but it had worked.
The new arrivals regarded her with surprise and disgust when she walked out among them, at least until they spotted the still healing tattoo, a delicate rendition of the symbol of the un Ani, on her cheek. Then the disgust in their dark eyes was pushed aside by surprise and they inclined their heads in a show of respect for her rank, reluctant as the gesture might be in most cases. No one questioned the wishes of the gods it seemed, and she couldn’t help marveling at the conviction of their beliefs. They kept to their tribal groups, but their shared faith bound them together more strongly than ties of blood. If they believed the gods willed something so, then they would accep
t that, no matter how foul a taste it left on their tongues.
It took a powerful leveraging of self-control for her not to jump when a hand rested firmly on her shoulder. A quick touch of ascard told her it was Suac Chozai. The suac adjusted her direction of travel with the pressure of his hand.
“This is our army, but it is your spirit journey,” he murmured, speaking in the Murak Kudaness dialect. He had been drilling her on it relentlessly since their return to the village, speaking less in the Lyran trade dialect and forcing her to learn through context. “You will join the suacs.”
She allowed the high priest to guide her to the center of the village near the watering hole. The suacs of the other eleven tribes waited there, an ornate display with their tattoos and the beads in their long braided black hair, copper eyes alert to everyone and everything around them. All turned toward Indigo and Chozai, none of those metallic eyes failing to take note of her fresh tattoo. Most stared at the symbol with a calculated lack of expression. A few even nodded to her, including Suac Kipith of Denilik whose expression was the most welcoming. Suac Therah of Farid offered a feral grin and she had to struggle to keep from shuddering in response. She nodded back to those who acknowledged her and reciprocated the indifference of the others.
Chozai collected a cup of water from the well. This he held out in the center. Every suac drew their blade and she tensed at the hiss of steel sliding free of leather sheaths. Then they drew the blades across their palms in turn, each man allowing a few drops of blood fall into the offered cup. When the cup stopped in front of her, it was all she could do not to step back from it. Suac Therah offered her the hilt of his blade and she could see the gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Apostate: Forbidden Things Page 5
