Adran shook his head, scowling at the persistent fog in his head. How had he gotten here? Where was here? Why was he tied up? He tried again to shift his arms, but the rough rope had no give.
“Awake are we?”
Adran tensed. His breath started to come in short, panicked gasps as he remembered boarding the ship, remembered Myac taking control of him. Despair flowed through him like a poison, twisting his stomach into knots, driving muscles to tense, pulling futilely against the bonds holding him. An image of Yiloch, a handsome and happy young prince before his mother died, popped into his mind and his throat constricted with the bittersweet memory of his beloved friend. He felt an icy certainty that he wouldn’t be seeing him again. Of all the people he had ever known, Myac was at the bottom of the list of those with whom he wanted to spend his last moments. Too bad fate rarely paid attention to such lists.
Myac chuckled and a candle on a nearby table sparked to life, drawing him out of the darkness. His now pale eyes and hair brought out a traditional Lyran beauty in him that made him more terrible somehow. Adran yearned for the black eyes and hair that he had before. The strange contrast that made him look like the abomination he was.
“I wouldn’t give up hope yet, Lord Adran. Someone might still save you.” Myac took a few steps closer, his gaze dripping with disdain as he scowled down on his captive. “Then again, you have no ascard power or special trinkets to alert someone to your presence, do you? The odds may be against you after all. Of course, we could fix that.”
“What are you doing, Myac?” His confidence boosted by the steadiness of his own voice, Adran managed to glare up at his captor.
Myac chuckled again, a sound that threatened to undermine Adran’s fragile show of courage. “Playing.”
Panic swirled up through the sticky web of thought again. He expected Myac to claim this was an act of vengeance or perhaps that he planned to ransom Adran for something. That one word, spoken with such dark pleasure, left him feeling chilled and nauseous. He searched within himself, seeking to rediscover that brief taste of boldness he had experienced, but it was gone, shattered and drifted away in the dark fog that filled his mind. There was only panic, nausea, and a terrible thirst.
“I need some water,” he said, hoping to get a better feel for the situation through the adept’s reaction. If Myac intended him for some greater purpose, than he would probably try to keep him alive. Although, even that prospect carried with it as much terror as it did hope. There were so many levels of alive.
Myac knelt on one knee by the chair and brushed his fingers across the back of Adran’s hand with a lover’s gentleness, but the light in his eyes was cruel. Adran tried to pull away from the touch, but he couldn’t get any movement. The pale eyes sparkled with dark amusement.
“Savor it. That gentle touch will be a fond memory when I’m done with you.” Myac reached into a pocket and withdrew a ring. The lovely pearl piece was unpleasantly familiar. Yiloch had given the ring to Indigo. How had Myac gotten it? A shudder went through Adran. “I see you recognize this. It’s been tuned to Indigo’s ascard signature. I could feel her coming through this. She arrived in Demin perhaps ten hours after we did.” He slid the ring on Adran’s little finger. “It is my hope that she will feel your suffering through it, but it will be faint, so we’ll have to be sure your pain is truly exceptional.”
“Why are you doing this?” Adran asked, hoping to stall him, or even make him reconsider. If Indigo was his target, then there was a chance, however small, that he might get out of this alive, assuming she arrived in time. The process of getting her there, however, didn’t promise to be a pleasant one and, since he was only bait, Myac wouldn’t be worrying about how much damage he inflicted on him.
Myac rested his hand on Adran’s arm. He instinctively tried to flinch away again, but the tight ropes only made the movement hurt. The other man gave no indication that he noticed, or perhaps he simply didn’t care.
“You see, I never wanted much. I only wanted to destroy Yiloch and take everything he had—his power, his empire, his happiness—from him. Not a lot to ask, considering what he took from me.”
Adran started to protest, but Myac gave him an icy glare.
“Don’t interrupt.”
Hating himself for it, but afraid to do anything else, Adran held his silence.
“But all my plans kept falling apart, largely due to the intervention of a certain lady adept. At every turn, Yiloch has managed to keep everything and gain even more, including a few things I didn’t realize I even wanted. I was prepared to tuck my tail and return to Caithin to sort things out. Then…” and his eyes sparked with an eerie pleasure that made Adran’s stomach turn, “…then I saw you board the ship I was booking passage on and it all became clear. I’ve been trying to take too much too fast. I needed to narrow my scope and take a little at a time. So, I’ll start with you, his dearest friend. Unfortunately, he isn’t here to witness your suffering, but I think it will be even better if his beloved Indigo goes through it with you and is forced to break the news to him, don’t you?”
So Myac planned to kill him regardless, only he meant to do it in such a way as to hurt both Indigo and Yiloch. Adran struggled against the terror churning his stomach. Bound in this position, all he would do was throw up on himself. He wasn’t about to give Myac that satisfaction.
Myac smirked and stood. “Now…”
His pause made Adran look up. Myac’s head tilted a fraction to one side, as if he were listening to something Adran couldn’t hear. A slow, delighted smile spread across his lips and Adran broke out in a cold sweat.
“Even better. Your precious cousin, Ian I believe, is about to join us. You see, I left a working at the door of the building, something I came up with on my own to alert me of anyone entering or leaving. A clever little something I doubt even our darling Indigo will figure out.”
Adran struggled to focus. Ian was strong, but was he strong enough to fight Myac when the demented adept was ready and waiting for him? Did Ian know Myac was here? He must know something or he wouldn’t be in Demin. He ground his teeth, frustrated with the sticky fog that still tangled his thoughts.
Focus on Myac’s words. His tone.
There had been something more than bitterness in his voice when he mentioned Indigo that time, something that whispered of spurned affection. Myac was walking away from him now.
Ian.
“You’ll fail again. You always have. Why would this time be any different?”
Myac paused, turning just enough to glance at him and said, “I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“Indigo is stronger than you are. She will defeat you.”
He turned around the rest of the way, a dangerous spark lighting his eyes. “Do you think so? Perhaps she is, but she has a weakness. You see, she cares about Yiloch and his companions. I dare say, she cares about you as well, and your cousin. What would she do to save you? Shall we find out?”
The index finger of Adran’s left hand split open, blood surging out to hide the brief glimpse of white bone. Adran went rigid against his bonds. He screamed. Agony blasted through him. Myac walked over and put his hands over Adran’s on the arms of the chair, his palm pressing down on the gaping wound. Adran tried to shrink away, terror and pain eradicating all coherent thought as he pressed his back into the chair. Myac leaned over him.
“Eager to get started, aren’t you? I learned a few things about torture in my time with the Grey Army that I’m looking forward to sharing with you.” Myac ground down on the damaged finger with the heel of his hand and Adran screamed again, pain stealing his dignity and dragging tears from his eyes. Myac leaned closer still, putting his lips beside Adran’s ear. “Yes. Scream, Lord Adran. Scream all you want. No one will hear you outside of this room.”
With those words, he walked away and Adran sagged against his bonds, his blood running down the chair leg. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked. Any glimmer of hope drained away with them.<
br />
•
“Serivar.”
The headmaster hopped to his feet and turned. His eyes widened when he saw Myac standing by the open secret door in the back of his office.
“How? When did you…” Serivar ran a shaking hand through his short, dark hair. “How long have you been here?”
“It’s good to see you too.” Myac sneered at him. “I arrived yesterday. The journey was taxing, but not without reward.”
“What of Indigo and Emperor Yiloch?”
“We’ll talk about them later. Right now, Yiloch’s young creator prodigy is on his way to your office.” Myac walked over to the side table that always held a decanter of wine and four goblets. Reaching into his robe, he drew out a small pouch. With extreme care, he opened the pouch and tapped a tiny bit of the powder within into a goblet. “Stall him. Tell him you don’t know where I am, but you can send for someone who might. Offer him a drink while he waits. Once he’s had a bit of this, I’ll handle the rest.”
Myac walked back to the hidden door. He glanced over his shoulder at Serivar who was staring at the goblet as if it might attack.
“What is it?” the headmaster asked, tension rippling off him in such powerful waves it made Myac uneasy.
“It’s a little mixture of some things from one of the store rooms. It’s slow acting, but lethal. I strongly recommend that you don’t mix the cups up,” he added with a smile. Serivar was staring at him as though he had gone mad. Maybe he had. It didn’t matter at this point. One way or another, Yiloch would suffer. “Oh, and don’t come back to the training room tonight. I’m working on something important. I won’t be forgiving if you disturb me.” When Serivar blanched, he nodded his satisfaction and closed the door behind him.
Now it was time to see what it would take to get Indigo’s attention.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You would have been wrong to attack Lyra,” Indigo stated. “Yiloch didn’t order the assassinations and the man you call Lord Edan is not who you think he is. Do you remember when we helped Yiloch take the throne? There was…”
She stopped speaking and winced when a strange pain speared through her. It felt distant, yet it came from within, as though someone had jabbed a needle into the core of her inner aspect. Worry boiled up from her gut and she turned her attention inward, to her links with Yiloch and Ian.
“Is something wrong?”
Concern flared. Following along her link to Ian revealed that he was in the city, but a closer investigation showed no signs of distress from him that might explain the pain. Yiloch was in Demin as well, though his presence was faint, partially blocked by the protections on the ring she had given him. She would have to adjust that if she got a chance, but she could tell enough to know that he wasn’t in distress either.
Why had they come here now? They were needed in Lyra. Did they have that little confidence in her ability to deal with the situation?
But what if it wasn’t about her at all? What if something else had gone wrong?
Scowling, she turned her attention back to Caplin. This was important and neither of them appeared to be in any immediate danger, so they would have to wait. “You remember Emperor Rylan’s adept, the one who almost killed me when Yiloch took the throne?”
Caplin’s jaw tightened and his mouth hardened into an angry line, his old protectiveness toward her overriding the new uncertainty for a moment. Though, whether it was anger with Myac for almost killing her or anger with Yiloch for putting her in the situation she couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.
“His name was Myac, right? He escaped after Captain Adran shot him with a crossbow.”
Indigo nodded. “Lord Edan is Myac.”
Caplin shook his head, but Indigo could feel the reluctant trust born of years of friendship creeping up through his doubt. “But Edan is Caithin.”
“Myac is a Lyran adept and creator, an incredibly strong one. He came here after he fled Yiroth and has been hiding behind the disguise of Edan, a young Caithin adept.”
Caplin waivered. The doubt was still strong, reinforced by his wariness of the little power she had shown him, and there was something else there, worry perhaps, or fear. “What happened with Jayce, Indigo?”
She lowered her gaze and drew a deep, stabilizing breath. Now wasn’t the time for a crisis of conscience. “I didn’t want to hurt him, Caplin.”
“You killed him.”
She nodded. “He came after me with a dagger. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew he would never stop trying to get back at me for escaping our engagement. I wish it hadn’t ended that way, but I would be the one lying dead otherwise.”
“You should have come to me. Burning down your residence made it look like you were trying to hide what you had done. Then you set free the people accused of assassinating the king and his family. The resulting picture isn’t a good one.”
She shook her head in earnest. “I know, Caplin, but the fire was my attempt to escape from Myac. Listen to me for a moment. Really listen.”
He sat at the edge of his seat now, impatience in his posture, but he finally nodded.
“Myac was living with Serivar. They worked together to have King Jerrin and his family assassinated and framed the Lyran adepts for the crime.”
Disbelief exploded with an almost tangible force. “Lord Serivar would never do such a thing. He’s been a friend to the family for years.”
“He’s been a friend to your father, Caplin. He never got along with King Jerrin.”
Caplin snapped to his feet, glaring down at her. “My father had nothing to do with this.”
“Calm down.” She held up a placating hand, resisting the temptation to calm him with ascard, and focused into him while he glared at her, sifting through his emotions. Deep in the mix, she found uncertainty. Something made him willing to consider her words and she needed to build upon that. “I don’t believe your father was involved. He was merely a better option. Serivar always had marginal influence with King Jerrin. With your father on the throne, he stood to gain much greater influence because of their long-standing friendship.”
Caplin sat down again, but his hands gripped the arms of the chair like he meant to tear them off, betraying his agitation. “If that’s true, it hasn’t worked out as well as he planned. It would explain some things about Lord Serivar’s behavior of late, but…”
She nodded as his brow furrowed with thought. “I suspect Serivar grossly overestimated Gavin’s trust in him. He hoped to gain political influence and guarantee his continued control over the King’s Order. They framed Yiloch, counting on the fury of the Caithin people to force a quick and final judgement.”
“And how does all of this help Myac?”
She could feel more willingness in him now. He wanted to believe her, either because of his lingering feelings for her or because of something he had seen in Serivar. Whatever it was, she needed his support and she wanted to gain it without using ascard power to sway him.
“The next in line for the Lyran throne would be Yiloch’s cousin, Lord Terral, who also happens to be Myac’s father.”
Caplin’s eyes widened and she could almost see the puzzle pieces slipping into place behind his eyes. She swallowed a smile.
•
Most of the academy buildings were quiet at this hour. Only the two medical buildings remained relatively well-lit and active to care for existing patients and deal with emergencies. The administration building between them appeared mostly dark, but the doors through which Ian had entered were unlocked, hinting at some presence.
The situation didn’t feel right. Tension built within Yiloch like a growing bonfire. It consumed his patience, burning away at his nerves as he waited. There was no change in his link to Indigo that he could tell. Anything could be happing to Adran or to Ian while he sat here deaf and blind to them or as good as. His ascard ability simply wasn’t strong enough and trained in the right skills to help him out in these circumstances. He hated feeling useless while
people he cared about were in danger.
He reached for the handle of the carriage door, then hesitated. It would be foolish to risk being seen. Even the carriage driver might recognize him without any of Ian’s workings in place. Ian assured him that he would send an alert with ascard if there was trouble. Still…
What if he can’t send the alert off in time?
A pulling sensation struck him, as though someone were trying to drag him toward the building by his guts, then it went away as suddenly as it had come. Was that Ian’s summons? Then why had it gone away so abruptly? Perhaps it was a false alarm. Alternatively, the creator might be in such grave circumstances that he couldn’t maintain the contact.
Yiloch ground his teeth and clicked open the carriage door. He could see the entrance to the building from here. It was a good distance away, but he had conserved his strength so far. Drawing on his power, he swapped himself with the ascard in the air by the door. Without hesitation, he stepped quickly and quietly into the building before anyone could see him. A hallway stretched off to either side of the entrance and another continued forward with additional halls branching off further in. The halls were sparingly lit with an occasional wall sconce and nothing offered a hint to where he might find Ian, Adran, or Myac.
Cautiously, he reached into the building with tendrils of ascard, searching for the signature of Ian or either of the others that might point him in the right direction. He found nothing. Wherever Ian was, the room was either protected or too far away for his ability to detect him. Given the nature of the building and those who tended to spend time there, he was willing to bet on the former. Either way, it left him lost like a hound with no scent trail.
With no other options, Yiloch cursed under his breath and chose a direction at random to start his search, knowing that every second wasted might cost one of his companions their life.
Apostate: Forbidden Things Page 23
