Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1)

by Nikki Mccormack

  “What does that mean?”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his long fingers, gazing over his fingertips at her. “You lied successfully and, I would venture, guiltlessly to Captain Rezvan. A representative of your king, I might add. You’ve lied to me and I don’t sense remorse for that either. Both of us are people you should respect and defer to for our status if nothing else.”

  She held her silence. He’d mistaken terror and desperate evasion for moral versatility and lack of intimidation. It didn’t seem advantageous to correct him at this point.

  “See. You’re defiant still. I expect you’ll be difficult to work with, but I make the offer knowing that. Will you join the elite ranks of the King’s Order?”

  She considered the terrifying power hiding inside her. Could she ever control that? “If I say no?”

  “If you were to say no, and mean it…” his tone suggested he didn’t think that likely, “… then I would put you to sleep and you would wake remembering nothing of this conversation.”

  She shivered. “Can you do that?”

  “We have someone who can. We would have to watch you, however. That much power can’t be ignored.”

  She gazed past him at the shelves of books lining the back walls of his office. A deep inhale brought the soothing smells of old paper, ink, and leather binding to her.

  Jayce wouldn’t approve, but she suspected he could never know. Eldrian would encourage her to learn what she could. In spite of the brevity of their time together, she felt confident in that.

  Was this punishment or opportunity? She might learn things she had never dreamed possible, but if she couldn’t share it with anyone, it would be a lonely adventure. Yet, to control that power instead of fearing it might be worth that.

  “You can tell no one,” Serivar said, predicting her thoughts. “Once you finish training, you can lead a relatively normal life. Given the strength of your connection, I would advise that you also continue studying to become a healer. You can marry and have a family. The only stipulation is that you must be willing to drop anything and accept an assignment at any time. You must also become accomplished at lying to those you care about. I’m afraid there’s no way around that.”

  The hint of sorrow in his voice made her wonder how long he had been lying to his own family.

  “You must be confident in your decision. Should you change your mind later, we can’t allow you to remember this and there’s an escalating risk of mental scarring inherent in memory removal over time.”

  “I’m getting married in five months.”

  “If you accept, I’ll arrange to have the wedding postponed. You shouldn’t have that to deal with so soon after such an ordeal.”

  Even better. This might be her chance to change her place in the world and she could put off the dreaded wedding.

  Serivar wanted her to accept. She could see it in the gleam of his eyes and the faint curve of his lips.

  “What happens if I accept?”

  There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. A hint of a satisfied smirk. “You’ll spend evenings in therapy to try and trigger memories of the incident. Inquisitor’s orders of course. In reality, you won’t have to deal with more interrogation from charming Captain Rezvan or his ilk. You’ll also receive immunity from the Ascard Watchmen in Demin. I give them a list of special students who have permission to use the ascard outside of the academy for practice purposes. You’ll take accelerated classes in the mornings to stay up to speed on your healing and I will take over your training in the afternoons.” His grin turned wicked. “I intend to work you particularly hard, at least until you explain your disappearance. Then I may ease up and perhaps pass you to another instructor.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t remember.”

  “Not even a blink,” he remarked, appreciative. “Shall we start your training in three days, when you’re fully healed?”

  She felt like throwing up. “Yes.”

  He stood and walked to a table set against the wall then filled a goblet from the wine decanter there. He swirled the contents while he spoke.

  “There’s one thing I want you to do immediately. Your connection is strong enough to draw unwanted attention. You were masking it before. I want you to mask the majority of your ability at all times. The office is shielded so this would be an opportune time to establish that masking.”

  He paused to savor a sip of wine and she accessed a tiny portion of her connection. The process Hadris taught her for constructing the barriers returned slowly. This time she wouldn’t be fully blocking most of her ability from herself as well as the rest of the world, but simply hiding it from detection. After some nervous floundering, she figured out how to adapt the process to only masking externally.

  “I also want you to practice masking your actual workings so that you can eventually use your ability to its full potential without alerting anyone. We have several adepts who focus part of their ability on such masking. They describe it as a process of blending the ascard signature of their workings with the signature of the ascard around them. Practice until it becomes second nature. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll succeed.” It sounded like more of a warning than a vote of confidence. He returned to his chair and held his goblet up over the desk. “To the newest member of the King’s Order.”

  She lifted her goblet and the two touched with a soft metallic chink, like the sound of a lock clicking home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Yiloch relaxed on his bed, his back against the pale wood headboard carved to resemble a flourishing tree, its branches winding up and out over the high wall. Unlike the rest of the stronghold, he’d had his private chambers redecorated after he took over. Light marble floors and ornate pale wood furniture created a faint echo of the beauty of the royal palace in Yiroth.

  With an arm draped across one raised knee, he swirled his wine, thoughts lingering again on the last few days of his imprisonment.

  Adran sat cross-legged on the white chaise at the foot of the bed wearing a wounded look. “You made love to her?”

  Yiloch’s hand stilled, fingers tightening on the rim of the created glass. He gave his friend a long, level look. “I summarized seven months of misery and you fixate on that. It’s not as if I’ll see her again nor as if she’s the first woman I’ve taken to bed. We fornicated. After seven months of forced celibacy it was a welcome change.”

  Adran’s gaze darted to the graceful sword on its stand. The perfect blade gleamed in cool light shining through the windows. Indigo’s ring glittered at its base. “Obviously it was nothing. That’s why her ring sits beside your precious sword.”

  Yiloch’s hand tightened more. The created glass would never break. It was almost disappointing. “Why does it matter? Did you hope I‘d be so starved for attention on my return that I’d be desperate enough to want you?” Too cruel, perhaps, but the words were out. “You know I don’t do men. That’s never changing.”

  Adran clenched his jaw. His hands closed into fists. “You can be a real horse’s ass sometimes.”

  Yiloch laughed. He knew how to irritate Adran after so many years. “Sometimes? I’d have thought it chronic by now.”

  Adran snapped to his feet, a flush rising in his face. “I've had enough of your mockery.”

  “I’ll be here when you want more.”

  Adran stormed to the door and jerked it open.

  Yiloch softened his tone. “And Adran…” The other man stopped. Yiloch made him wait, taking a sip of wine before continuing. “You will come to Caithin with me, won't you?” He could demand it, but for the sake of their friendship, he made it a request.

  Adran stared into the hallway and Yiloch felt a pang of guilt. He’d been quick to anger since his return. Frustrated over the time lost in the prison. That wasn’t Adran’s fault, but familiarity made him an easy target.

  “If you go, yes.” He left, slamming the door behind him.


  Yiloch gazed out the window at the glacier spotted mountain peaks and sipped at his wine.

  He would meet his principal officers in the council hall soon, their numbers reduced by Kardyn and Renkle’s deaths. Their reports suggested Renkle’s dealings with the emperor might not have extended beyond enabling Yiloch’s capture. Most of his preparations were intact because Adran and the other captains refused to let things fall apart, courting allies, gathering resources, and training troops as if nothing had changed. Very little needed rebuilding, but he couldn’t assume his father knew nothing of his plans. He needed something more, some advantage that would catch the emperor unaware. It was time to present his new idea to the others.

  Ten minutes before the appointed time, he filled his wine glass and strolled to the council hall. The map table stood like an island in the center of the far end, a row of chairs lined up against one wall. He approached the table and traced a bloodstain on the map of Lyra with one finger, recalling the satisfaction of Renkle’s death and letting it soothe his frustration. Then he took a chair from the wall and sat, putting the heels of his worn black boots up on the edge of the table. He sipped at his wine.

  Hax nodded greeting on her way in and claimed another chair. She dressed like a woman on the hunt in tight fitting pants and a loose-laced shirt that revealed the ample curve of her breasts, but no one dared test her fierce loyalty to her dark-skinned Kudaness warrior, Cadmar. Unsworn though he was, the man’s fighting skill and his calming effect on Hax earned him a place in Yiloch’s army.

  Ferin and Eris arrived together, a stately bird and a wildcat strolling along in good-natured disharmony. Ferin transferred a chair over with a small expenditure of ascard and settled into it. In harsh contrast, Eris dragged a chair over and plopped down on the seat.

  Hax grimaced. “Honestly, Eris, could you try not to grind the legs off on the slate in the process?”

  Eris rolled her eyes.

  It was refreshing to see them behaving normally. The two women reminded him of stallions posturing over turf, but they worked efficiently together when it mattered. A few days spent gathering information from them regarding events during his absence and they were relaxing into business as usual.

  Dalce and Paulin joined them, entering through the back of the room and pulling up chairs around the table. Dalce added his feet to those on the table, a small cloud of dust puffing off his boots when he slapped them down. They waited several minutes more before Adran arrived. He walked up and bowed to Yiloch with sarcastic flourish.

  Yiloch ignored the gesture. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

  Adran grabbed a chair.

  Yiloch considered them, letting them wait under his scrutinizing gaze. They were his top officers, the people he relied on most. Did he still trust them after Renkle’s betrayal?

  Eris bit off a torn nail, spitting it on the floor. Hax sneered in disgust and Dalce shook his head at both of them.

  Yiloch stifled a smile. “Based on your accounts and the reports from Leryc, the Emperor is alienating nobles and peasants alike at a rather perilous rate. It can’t be long before the populace revolts or one of our neighbors declares war. We need to act decisively before either of those things happens. We need something extra. A little something my father can’t be expecting, even if Renkle told him everything. We need to court a powerful ally. Given Rylan’s offensive disregard of trade agreements with Caithin and their strategic position across the Gilded Straight from Yiroth, I’ve decided to seek an alliance with King Jerrin.”

  Hax and Dalce sat up.

  Eris fiddled with the laces on her leather vest, feigning disinterest, though he knew she would be attentive to the reactions of the other captains. She never missed a word and was skilled at deciphering body language. Too skilled sometimes.

  Paulin was already starting to nod. Adran picked industriously at dirt under a fingernail. Only Ferin managed a complete lack of reaction.

  “You said nothing of outside alliances.” Dalce’s flat tone suggested disapproval.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea.” Paulin glanced around at them with his cold gray eyes, inviting challenge. “We have no power on the seaward side. At the very least, Caithin could fill that need.”

  “The Caithin have always disrespected our people,” Adran grumbled.

  Yiloch gave him a warning glance and he smirked, enjoying the chance to get some payback.

  “Caithin has a formidable military,” Yiloch stated. “They will insist on continuing the slave trade, but if we’re flexible there, our victory is practically guaranteed. In the aftermath, we would have their support to dissuade opportunists from moving against us while we clean up my father’s mess. Once we’re stable we can reconsider the relationship and see to ending the slave trade.”

  “Makes sense. I’m in.” Hax put her feet up again and leaned back in her chair, lifting the front legs off the floor.

  Eris gave the unbalanced chair an opportunistic smirk.

  Yiloch tapped the table once, enough to cue her and she exhaled a soft put-upon sigh, reining in mischievous inclination in response to his warning glance.

  He gave a tiny nod of appreciation before turning back to the conversation. “Thank you, Captain Hax and Captain Paulin, for your support.” He nodded to each in turn. “What about the rest of you? Captain Ferin?”

  Ferin lifted his slight shoulders in a shrug, creating a cascading ripple in the blue satin tunic he wore. “If we can convince King Jerrin our chances for victory are good and his slave trade will continue, he won’t have much cause to disagree. The emperor has abused his relationship with Caithin enough that all we should need to do is offer them a better option.”

  Eris nodded. “And we best do something before Kudan does. That border’s growing restless.”

  Yiloch caught the many sour looks that met her comment. The Kudaness were usually too preoccupied with bickering between tribes to pose a threat, but they were lethal when joined against a common enemy. If they were angry enough to consider unification, things were dire indeed.

  “Adran?”

  “I stand behind you as always,” Adran relented.

  “Thank you.” That left only one. “Commander Dalce, you’re my second, I must have your support. What say you?”

  Dalce scowled. “I don’t like dealing with Caithin. The slave trade is an affront to all of us.”

  There were a few subtle smirks around the table. It was an odd comment coming from the shaggy bear of a man whose traditional Caithin looks overpowered any trace of Lyran blood, but no one dared remark upon it. He was sensitive about his mixed blood and a blow from him could leave a person reeling for days.

  “The only way the trade will end is if we get Prince Yiloch on the throne,” Paulin countered. “It might be necessary to make some concessions now in order to effect greater change later.”

  Dalce pinned the pale man with his stare for a second before turning to Yiloch. “I say we try it then.”

  Yiloch smiled. “I knew I could count on you. Do we still have our creator in residence? I need a secure missive created.”

  Eris shook her head. “Ian’s here, but you know the Caithin are terrified of creators. Sending a created document may not be the best way to open negotiations.”

  “You’re partly correct. The general populace is conditioned to fear any ascard user who doesn’t dedicate their ability to healing, but I believe King Jerrin has his own specialized adepts. He just doesn’t tell his subjects about them.”

  “Really?” Eris leaned in, her interest piqued.

  “We know they allow teaching of ascard use for healing. No kingdom practicing ascard manipulation is going to pass up its military advantages. Excepting Kudan,” he added when Hax opened her mouth, “but that’s a religious issue. Caithin is hiding something. Besides, we can’t afford to have the missive intercepted. My father may not know I’m free and I would prefer to keep it that way as long as possible.”

  “I’ll get Ian.” E
ris popped up and strode from the room.

  When she returned, a tall, lanky boy in plain brown pants and a tan, shapeless tunic scuffed along behind her. His shoulders hunched and his white blond hair hung down around a long, skinny face trained into deliberate neutrality. He tried to fade into the background, but his remarkable aptitude for creation at such a young age made him impossible to overlook. Because of that, his cousins, Eris and Adran, brought him into Yiloch’s service to keep him out of the emperor’s hands.

  “Creator Ian.” Yiloch gestured for him to sit in the chair Eris had been using.

  “Your highness.”

  Ian’s awkward bow became a graceless slump into the indicated chair while Eris dragged another chair over and plopped down in a new spot by the table.

  Ian began to trace one of the bloodstains on the map with a finger, his brow furrowing. “What happened here?”

  “It’s Renkle’s blood,” Dalce grumbled.

  Ian paled. He pressed a palm down on the map. “I can get rid of it.”

  Yiloch snapped up and shot his arm across the table, pinning Ian’s hand. The youth stared wide-eyed at the hand on top of his, his light skin draining of what little color it still had.

  “Thank you, Ian, but I’m rather fond of it this way.” Yiloch tried to keep his expression gentle to balance the edge of warning in his tone. He released the slender hand and coiled back into his chair.

  Ian drew his hand back from the table. His hands shook as he brought a rolled parchment up from his lap and unrolled it, placing his palm over the blank surface.

  “You needed a missive created, my lord?” His voice also trembled and his gaze stayed riveted on the parchment.

  “Yes. To be read only by those at this table and King Jerrin Duvox of Caithin. It will read as follows. Most Respected King Jerrin Duvox of Caithin.” Ian closed his eyes. Words formed on the page in elegant script. “I, Prince Yiloch, rightful heir to the throne of Lyra, formally request an audience—”