by Laura Kaye
“Bringers. They are still Bringers,” Rhys growled. He turned to Luc. “I don’t like this. One of us should be in the chamber with her.”
Her anger flared. She was tired of Rhys expecting one thing, then disputing her every action. Expected to train but not allowed to fight. Expected to be a Bringer but only when it suited him. Willing to take her to his bed but not willing to take a chance on them.
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you holding my hand every step of the way.”
“You already underestimate the Council, even after I’ve told you not to.”
“I think I’ve done well taking care of myself so far, or have you forgotten the little incident two nights ago?” She regretted the words the second they spilled from her lips.
He bared his teeth at her. “I haven’t forgotten. There’s a huge hole in the deck of my ship to remind me.”
“Why you ungrateful son of—”
“Enough.”Luc stepped between them. The vehemence in his voice shocked Ravyn into silence. “This is neither the time nor the place for this argument.”
She crossed her arms and gave Luc a single nod, even though she wanted nothing more than to rail at Rhys. Was he actually angry about his ship, after she and Jade had saved the entire crew? Rage seethed just below the surface. What a fool to believe he could feel anything more than duty and obligation. What a fool to hope he’d been falling in love with her. Good thing she found out now that it took so little to fall out of his favor. With a stiff spine and her head held high, she marched out of the room.
Rhys fell in beside her while Luc and Siban posted themselves at her back. Some of her anger cooled as they passed through the halls of Illuma Grand. She could only imagine the spectacle they made. One small woman guarded by three imposing and strikingly beautiful men. People lined the walls, stopping to stare, openmouthed.
Rhys led her through what looked like a huge gathering room and down a wide marble staircase. As they descended deeper into the earth, the crowds of people thinned. Soon, all trace of the morning sun disappeared and only the flickering light from mounted braziers lit their way. By the time they reached the last step, nobody remained but the four of them.
“This is rather uninviting.” Her voice echoed in the polished marble hall. A chill ran up her arms.
“The Council loves drama,” Luc said.
Two arched doors loomed at the end of the passage. Rhys’s hand touched her waist and guided her forward. She didn’t pull away, needing any warmth and comfort she could get, even though she was still angry with him. Maybe she wasn’t as brave as she thought. Torches burned in the wall sconces, but the stark space lent a cold, unwelcoming feel to their golden light.
The huge, black doors of the Council chamber remained closed and forbidding. Ravyn and the men stopped and waited without speaking. Words seemed too harsh in the chill of the silent chamber, as if speaking would shatter the bond between the four of them.
She studied the carved design on the door. Mythical creatures swirled across the polished wood. The same dragon as Rhys’s healing pendant stretched along the panel of one door, and on the opposite side, a phoenix twisted in an aerial dance.
“Incredible,” Ravyn whispered. She ran her hand over the phoenix’s tail. Warmth seeped into her chilled fingers and across her hand. She rubbed her thumb over her fingertips and looked at Rhys. “What do the carvings mean?”
“Nobody knows. They’ve been here for as long as anyone can remember. Most believe they are nothing more than beautiful craftsmanship.” His hand glided across the dragon, and he smiled slightly. “But I think they have more significance.”
Ravyn noticed how his fingers caressed the ridge of the dragon’s back in an almost loving manner.
He lowered his hand and looked at her. “Ready?”
She released a heavy breath and squared her body. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Siban and Luc braced their hands against a door and waited. She took a deep breath and nodded. As Rhys’s hand slipped around her side, the other two shoved against the doors. Hinges creaked as the massive panels swung inward. Ravyn’s stomach roiled, and she silently counted to ten as the doors opened like the parting curtain of a play, slowly revealing the cast. Nine Council members faced her, each seated behind a long table that stretched across the back of the chamber—four women and five men.
Her instinct was to tighten her shields and protect herself. Instead, she lowered her barriers a little, opening herself to the vibrations of the room. She sent feelers of awareness outward, searching for information that would give her the edge.
A mixture of animosity, curiosity, disbelief, and even hopeful anticipation greeted her. At first touch, she couldn’t tell who exuded which emotion, but by the looks on their faces and their body language, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure it out.
Rhys pressed her forward. Four soaring arches intersected at the center of the room’s ceiling, directly above a large circle laid into the stonework of the floor. A buzz ran up her legs and out the top of her head when they stopped in the middle of the sphere. She shivered and mentally shook herself.
She glanced at Rhys and, by the look on his face, knew he also felt the power. The energy made her giddy, and she struggled to focus on the Council.
In each chair sat a Council member, and behind each member hung a portrait with his or her likeness. Most were tastefully painted and simply hung, but a few of them had been so ostentatiously posed and ornately framed they surpassed the boundaries of good taste.
Rhys bowed and tugged at the back of Ravyn’s skirt. She curtsied but said nothing.
His voice resonated through the chamber, deep and confident. “May I present Lady Ravyn Mayfield of Menda Abbey.”
A couple of the members smiled, some appeared bored, while the remaining few scowled. She didn’t need her Bringer intuition to know where the animosity emanated from. A large, bald man swathed in deep maroon brocade rose from the center seat at the table. Silver fox circled the collar of his robe, making him look like a lion. Ravyn bit back a laugh and cleared her throat, trying to subdue the room’s effect on her. She narrowed her lids and focused on him.
The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when he spoke, and he ignored Ravyn. “Welcome, Lord Blackwell.”
The urge to laugh bubbled up again and nearly spilled out. What was wrong with her? Ravyn pinched her thigh. Hard. The pain brought back her focus, and she realized she should be insulted by this man’s rebuff.
He stared at Rhys in challenge.
Silence rang through the chamber. Three of the Council mem-bers shifted in their seats while the two closest to the man who’d just spoken smiled.
Ravyn bit the inside of her cheek.
“We will be waiting outside if you need us.” Rhys’s statement echoed through the chamber and she had no doubt he’d said it as a warning to the Council. He glared at the standing man for several seconds before leaving the room.
Hinges squeaked, and the soft swish of the doors sounded behind her. She stood alone and silent. Let him insult her. What the Council thought of her didn’t matter. This introduction was a courtesy Rhys had extended to them.
The large man leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Lady Mayfield, how interesting to have you here.”
It was neither a compliment nor an insult. She could play this game. “Thank you, Lord…?”
A few of the Council members cleared their throats and Jacob Le Daun chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. The two watchdogs next to the speaker scowled, their disdain pouring over her like a cold bucket of water.
“I am Fromme Bagita, but you may call me Lord Bagita.”
She inclined her head but said nothing more.
Lord Bagita folded his hands on the table in front of him, oozing superiority. “Do you know why you have been summoned?”
“You did not summon me, Lord Bagita.” She would let him know from the start that he wasn’t i
n control. “I believe you were informed of our impending arrival and Lord Blackwell requested this meeting.”
Fromme puffed up and opened his mouth to argue, but Jacob Le Daun cleared his throat. “She is correct,” Jacob said. “My son notified us of his arrival and requested an assembly on Lord Blackwell’s behalf so that we might meet Lady Mayfield.”
Bagita’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he turned a strained smile to Ravyn. “Well then, Lady Mayfield, why have we assembled? It must be a matter of significance to take us away from our important duties.”
“To warn you of the Bane threat. To tell you of my encounters with the demons.” She sifted through Rhys’s endless lecture from last night. Not to show my abilities, she reminded herself. The energy inside the room was making her body hum like a huge tuning fork. “Rhys offers this as a show of his willingness to cooperate with the Council.”
Fromme opened his arms wide. “So, Lord Blackwell has condescended to grace us with his presence and share what I am sure will be fascinating new information.”
Ravyn remained silent.
“That is so very like Blackwell.” Bagita folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Running on the assumption that the Council waits with bated breath for any tidbit of information he sees fit to share.”
“Lord Blackwell is concerned with the progression of the Bane.” She struggled to keep the accusation out of her voice. “And the lack of response from the Bringers of Illuma Grand.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of Blackwell’s inflated views of the Bane.” Lord Bagita relaxed into his chair and splayed his hands over his broad stomach, his chins pooling against the wide fur collar. “Has he not shared the fact that our ancestors annihilated the demons over a thousand years ago? Since then we’ve lived in peace.”
“Annihilated?” It was her turn to scowl. The thick energy pulsed, elevating her sensitivity to the thoughts and expectations in the room, and heightening her emotions. Her anger expanded by an illogical amount. She rubbed the spot on her shoulder where Icarus had speared her. “I can assure you, Lord Bagita, the Bane are very much alive and growing in numbers. I have the scars and the memories to prove it.”
Mutters rippled through the Council. Perhaps they finally understood the growing peril.
Fromme gave Ravyn a patronizing smile. “I see Lord Blackwell has swayed you to his way of thinking.”
“No, my lord. Hanging twelve feet off the ground in the clutches of a demon did that.”
The smile tightened on his round face as murmurs from the other Council members swelled. Fromme held up a hand. “We will convene privately and take this new information under advisement.”
Like a pile of dirt conveniently swept under a rug—that’s how Lord Bagita treated her.
“Are you putting me off?”
Snickers tittered from the left side of the table.
“Think well before you dismiss me, Lord Bagita. This may be your only chance to understand your peril.”
“Really?” Something in the way he looked at her made her wary. This was a man with secrets. “Well, Lady Ravyn, rest assured that the Council is not as ignorant as Blackwell would have you believe.”
A thin, rat-faced man sitting at the left side of the table glared at her. “What are you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand your question, sir.”
“What are you, girl?” He squinted as if to see her better. “A Redeemer, or perhaps a Tell?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
The man grunted. “Blackwell deems it necessary for us to meet you, yet you can’t answer the simplest question?”
The woman to the left of him laughed.
Pompous ass, as Jade would say. A line of fire burned down Ravyn’s arms, taking her by surprise. She fisted her hands. No, this was not the time or place for her powers to flare. Energy danced around her, calling her, answering her need to defend herself. The hum running through her body nearly overwhelmed her.
“I’m a Bringer,” she bit out.
“Yes, yes, girl, we are all Bringers, but where do your talents lie?” he pressed.
Little by little, she wrestled her fire under control. Why now? It wasn’t possible for a Bane to be inside Illuma Grand. Was it? Desperation pulled at her. Rhys had said the Council was blind to the demon threat, but she hadn’t actually believed him. She’d thought there would be some acknowledgement that the Bane still existed beyond the walls of Illuma Grand and were actively stealing souls. There wasn’t. They’d turned a blind eye for their own selfish agendas. These people needed to understand the severity of the situation. The Council had to listen to Rhys. His group wasn’t just a band of misguided rebels.
“Can you heal people,” asked the rat-faced man.
“Or tell the future?” the woman added.
“Are you at all gifted in the art of battle?”
They bombarded her with questions, not giving her time to answer. Her control slipped. The fire pushed her to prove herself.
She shuddered against what she was about to do. Rhys would kill her. Slowly lowering her mental shields, she allowed the rat-faced man’s essence to pour into her. He crowded her spirit, taking up space inside her body. She adjusted to the oily feel of his aura as he slid against hers. Her awareness shied away, repelled by his self-centered presence and the way he consumed everything he touched, even the very space occupied by her soul.
She probed his life force, her own personality shifting to enfold him. Greed, lust, and bloated self-righteousness eddied around her. She was Deputy Master Byrnes.
“Perhaps you can help me discover the answer.” She glided forward and stopped in front of him. He stared, not breaking eye contact. “Deputy Master Byrnes.”
“Lord Blackwell has obviously instructed you on the members of the Council.” He looked at the pinched-faced woman, who sat to his left, and back to Ravyn. His body leaned, his shoulder nearly touching the woman’s. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
She could feel his obsession with the woman sitting next to him. Not his wife. He was a man of some importance and deemed himself more important than others did. He felt slighted in many areas of his life.
“You’re a leader but not followed. A lover but unloved.”
The woman gasped. The Deputy’s face purpled. “Blackwell’s lies.”
“Perhaps,” Ravyn said. She moved to stand in front of the woman beside him. As Lord Byrnes’ essence drained away, the female’s essence flowed in. Ravyn sifted through it. Desire for Byrnes swamped her. Desire but not love. It took all of Ravyn’s control not to vomit. She smiled at the woman. “Tsk, tsk, Lady Grimes, you’ve been a very bad girl.”
She slid her glance toward Deputy Master Byrnes. Lady Grimes stiffened and pointed at Ravyn. “She’s a Tell.” The woman’s glare burned into her. “And a rude one at that.”
Ravyn raised her eyebrows. “Am I?”
An insidious elation crept through her. Knowing the sins of people gave her a sense of power. Each bit of information she gleaned was like a link in a chain that bound them to her. She was in control. Heat spread across her shoulders like a fiery hug. Ravyn shook herself, recognizing her descent into the forbidden territory of greed. What was it about this room that made her want to dominate every member of the Council?
She moved to stand in front of the man to the left of Lady Grimes. Lord Grimes. Gentleness flowed over Ravyn. He was a kind man and loved his wife, much to the detriment of his happiness. Ravyn’s feet and legs began to ache as Lord Grimes’ essence slipped further inside. Pain traveled up her calves. She sensed his daily discomfort and placed her palms on top of his hands.
Lord Grimes convulsed at first touch but didn’t pull away. The desire to help him swept through her. She tapped her well of power and visualized the warmth traveling through her hands and into Lord Grimes’ body, mending tissue, strengthening bones, and burning away the sickness.
She sent light into him and silently recited
the ancient words Rhys had used to heal her at the inn. The familiar breeze brushed against her as she asked the spirits to restore Lord Grimes to health. After several minutes, she drew back her energy and removed her hands.
Lord Grimes sighed. “She must be a Redeemer.” Whispers of amazement echoed around the chamber. “I have no more pain in my leg. None at all.” He smiled at her. “Even after healings they still usually pain me a bit.”
A heady superiority coursed through her as heat pulsed in the palms of her hands, wanting more, demanding to heal again. “Yes, maybe I’m a Redeemer.”
She stopped in front of the last man at the table. He’d tucked his chin-length black hair neatly behind his ears and sported a trimmed goatee. Except for the gold hoop dangling in his ear, he was dressed all in black. He appeared much younger than the other Council members, and stared at her with eyes the color of silver coins. His gaze unnerved her, as if he saw and could read her easily.
She opened herself to him, nervous about receiving his essence. Nothing flowed in. She searched, but found only a solid wall.
He watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips. This man was more than he pretended to be. A crack in his consciousness opened and a name drifted to her: Sir Gregory James.
She realized he had fed the information to her. Her anger fumed. She controlled this meeting, not him. She pushed against his barrier but felt no give.
His expression turned wary.
“What do you think, Sir James? Am I a Tell or am I a Redeemer?”
“I have no idea, Lady Ravyn.” His gaze remained steady, his essence locked behind impenetrable barriers. “Perhaps you have extraordinary powers. You might even have had a run-in with the Bane.”
A few of the members snickered.
“Or maybe you are a girl who has no idea what she’s talking about,” he said.
Fire pooled in her hands. She squeezed her fingers together; knowing the urge to blast Sir Gregory James wasn’t rational. The indignation consuming her challenged her control. She returned a tight smile and stepped away from him. Her control slipped. They were all fools, weak and ignorant. The need to dominate the Council consumed her.
