Andrea’s smile crumpled as Caplin led her around the corner of the building and Yiloch took the opportunity to join Indigo and Adran.
“Is the king giving you what you wanted to fight your war?” Indigo said, staring after Caplin and Andrea with disturbing intensity.
His answering silence got her to look at him, her deep blue eyes demanding an answer.
Adran shook his head. A warning.
Yiloch glanced away, unsettled by the cold calculation in her gaze. What had happened since last he saw her? “The king is providing naval support. He’s also sending a troop of 500 soldiers and 50 healers. Lord Caplin will be leading them.”
“They’re giving you healers?”
He faced her. “I would take you, given my choice.”
Her gaze pierced him, breaking into his soul. “You would put me in danger again?”
Those words yanked the ground out from under him. He had no answer.
“I think I understand you now, my prince. You are all ambition. You cannot see the sun past the fire that burns so bright within you.”
The lack of anger in her rather accurate assessment surprised him. Only a sorrowful adoration showed in her eyes. Everything around them ceased to exist. He brought a hand up to touch her face and she pulled back, catching his wrist with one hand. She searched his eyes for a long moment, then nodded and released him. Turning away, she walked toward Caplin and a teary-eyed Andrea returning from their talk. Yiloch stared after her, feeling like a man who’d fallen down a bottomless pit.
Indigo embraced the other woman.
“I’ll never be married,” Andrea sobbed, burying her face in Indigo’s shoulder.
Caplin, looking deflated, trudged over to join Yiloch and Adran. They looked on silently while Indigo stroked the other woman’s hair to comfort her.
“It’ll be all right, Andrea. My wedding’s postponed as well.”
“Yes, but Jayce isn’t going to war,” Andrea wailed and sobbed harder.
Indigo turned her head, pinning Caplin with her gaze. Fierce determination blazed in her blue eyes. “No, he isn’t.”
Unspoken volumes passed between the two in that look. Caplin didn’t look pleased. He and Indigo shared a far deeper relationship than Yiloch had first thought. How had he missed it and how deep did it go?
Indigo gently pushed Andrea away. “Go inside and have some tea brought. I’d like to have a word with your fiancé.”
Andrea nodded, giving Indigo a grateful look that assumed she would somehow make it better. Indigo watched her vanish into the castle. With dragging strides, Caplin walked over to her and she turned, meeting Yiloch’s eyes for a long moment. He thought she might ask them to leave, but defiance flashed in her eyes and she faced Caplin. The stubborn set of her jaw made him feel a twinge of sympathy for the young lord.
“I want to be on the list of healers.”
Caplin gave them both cross looks, correctly blaming them for her knowledge.
Yiloch shrugged.
Caplin assumed an indulgent tone. “Indigo, even if you were a full healer, I wouldn’t want you in the middle of a war, but you’re not. You’re still in training. They might let me take some third year students, but I can guarantee they won’t let me recruit second years.”
She didn’t vacillate. “The headmaster has me taking advanced classes. He says I’m good enough now to be working in the field. Figure something out and put me on that list.”
“Indigo, it’s not…”
She stepped closer to him, cutting him off with a severe look. Yiloch admired Caplin for standing his ground. Then she drew back her hair, showing a dark bruise along the edge of her jaw.
Rage coiled in Yiloch, a deadly viper eager to strike, but this wasn’t the time or place to act on emotion. That same rage rose in Caplin’s eyes.
“This is the fastest way to get me away from Jayce before one of us kills the other.” She spoke so soft that Yiloch had to strain to hear. Then she let her hair fall over the bruise and stepped back, her gaze now beseeching. She knew how to play him.
“I’ll do what I can.” Caplin’s voice was thick with fury.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes met Yiloch’s for a second, but her expression was unreadable. When she walked away, he and Adran went to Caplin. A swirling breeze lifted a spiral of dust in the sparring ring as the door thumped shut behind her.
Caplin shifted his feet. “I don’t know what to do about her.”
He was speaking to himself, but Yiloch responded anyway. “In what way?”
“She wants to be among the fifty healers. Ignoring the other complications of putting her on the list, such as the fact that she hasn’t graduated yet, I would opt to keep her out of harm’s way, not drag her into it.” Caplin still stared at the door through which she had departed.
Some things were too easy.
“It looks to me as if she’s already in harm’s way.”
Caplin’s jaw tightened. He nodded. “I suppose she is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Yiloch strode to the bow of the ship. Ian and Adran lingered by the portside rail, looking back on Caplin and Cadmar who watched from the dock. Hax wouldn’t be happy about the latter, but Cadmar knew the territory coming up from the northern edge of Kudan. He was the sensible choice to lead Caplin’s force to the rendezvous.
A chill south wind blew through the Gilded Straight, catching his hair and blowing it back from his face. It brought with it the salt smell of the sea. The wind would slow early progress, but the winds changed often on the straight. They would make up time later. The ship Caplin secured for their return was small, built more for speed than carrying capacity. Without the wine casks, they could travel faster.
He had the promise of a naval distraction and the healers he wanted. He would also have a powerful Caithin adept. Indigo had made her decision and he didn’t doubt she would find a way to get what she wanted. Her training might be incomplete, but that didn’t matter. He could get her to divulge what they were teaching, if not through willing disclosure, than through her actions.
He would have his war and his throne. The emperor commanded a strong army, but troops were running rogue and lords were deserting, fearing the emperor’s growing unpredictability. As long as they didn’t rally when Yiloch’s army marched on the capital, he could contend with them after he secured the throne.
“I’m surprised they gave you healers.” Adran leaned back against the rail next to him, his gaze still on the city falling behind them.
“I suspect Lord Caplin put in a word on my behalf.” Yiloch watched the open water ahead.
“Befriending him was a clever political move.”
A bird dove into the water, emerging with a fish in its claws.
“It was hard not to.”
He wouldn’t mind having Caplin watch his back. The man wasn’t a master swordsman, but he learned fast and was largely blind to their racial disparities. He would select good men and good healers. If Yiloch read the situation right, he would also be an ally in getting Indigo added to that roster. Caplin’s concern for her would drive him to keep her close rather than leave her in the hands of a man who was an obvious danger to her. A situation Yiloch would have liked to do something about, but the risk was too great and Jayce would eventually pay if he pushed her too far. It seemed appropriate to leave her that option.
Ian still leaned on the portside railing, staring back toward Kilty and Demin. Gesturing Adran to wait, Yiloch walked to the young creator.
“One should learn from the past and look to the future,” he said, quoting a childhood tutor.
“I am looking to the future, my lord.”
“Meaning?”
Ian kept his voice low so Caithin crewmen wouldn’t overhear. “Have you considered that, if they have others like her, they have power as great as or greater than anything Lyra has?”
“Do you think they have more like her?”
“I don’t know. I think she may
be an anomaly, like Myac, but I don’t know that.” Ian’s knuckles whitened from his strangling grip on the railing.
“And that scares you?”
“Shouldn’t it?”
“Ian.” The creator faced him. He glanced away and Yiloch waited silent until his gaze shifted reluctantly back. “I’ve considered this and I have a plan, but first we take the throne.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Yiloch left him and returned to the bow where Adran stood in thoughtful contemplation.
“He’s changing,” Adran observed.
“Ian? He’s still timid, but he’s gaining confidence.”
Adran nodded. “When you have your empire, what then?”
Yiloch waited until no one was in earshot. “Then, dear friend, we take our dignity back from Caithin. The slave trade will end one way or another.”
Adran smiled and turned to gaze out to sea.
*
With the authority the emperor gave him, Myac steered the troop southwest, angling away from the capital. Now he gazed down into a cloud-shaded valley upon a grand manor and the verdant lands surrounding it. The holding of Lord Terral, Emperor Rylan’s nephew. A holding Myac would inherit if Terral were to acknowledge him as his son, something he only recently offered to do.
Too little offered much too late. Myac no longer wanted the property. Beautiful and secluded though it was, it was a flawed gem next to the magnificence of the imperial palace. Besides, time spent serving the Emperor taught him that he liked being in the thick of things.
Squeezing his legs, he urged his mount down the hillside. Two hundred soldiers followed.
As the unit reached the valley floor, two soldiers from Terral’s guard intercepted them. His military might was formidable when gathered and a large percentage of that force now occupied the grounds. Terral expected to need his soldiers soon, which meant someone must have contacted him.
Reining in his mount, Myac waited for the soldiers to close the distance.
“Lord Myac.” One of them bowed his head, recognizing him and he felt a tremor of alarm ripple through them both as the other followed suit.
“I would speak with Lord Terral and my soldiers need rest and refreshment.”
They swept wide eyes over his followers, recognizing a force strong enough to challenge their numbers. Their hands twitched tight on their reins, their mounts shifting restlessly in response.
They knew Myac had the emperor’s favor and they knew with whom Lord Terral had been treating of late. What they didn’t know was that Myac knew of Lord Terral’s alliance with Prince Yiloch. He had even encouraged it.
The first man gave a jerky nod. “Please follow me, my lord.”
Myac fell in beside the soldier. The second soldier galloped ahead to alert Lord Terral to his unexpected visitors. They didn’t know much. They didn’t know he was Terral’s son, and the lord hadn’t ever intended for anyone to know. Once Myac had been naïve enough to think ties of blood would matter, but Terral wanted nothing to do with him. Terral also feared him and now, with power and an elevated status in the palace, Myac held the advantage over his father. His lineage would be acknowledged, but on his terms.
Myac’s unit dropped back outside the courtyard of the towering manor house to await further instruction or offer of hospitality. He dismounted within and handed his reins to the groom. The usher met him at the door, a glass of wine held in offering. Myac accepted it and swept into the grand entry, a swirling sea of blue marble holding afloat twin spiral staircases that led to the second floor. He turned to a sitting room to the right of the entry, locating Terral with ascard and tossed open the door with his power, leaving the usher fumbling along behind to announce him belatedly and shut the door.
Terral’s arms draped over the arms of a deep chair. Pale gold hair hung long around a face that reminded Myac unpleasantly of Prince Yiloch, if a touch less perfect for the sharpness of his nose and thicker brow. Pale gold eyes narrowed at Myac’s abrupt entrance, but he managed a pleasant enough smile until the usher was gone.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” An icy tone contradicted the polite words.
“Can’t a son miss his father?”
“Keep your voice down,” Terral hissed. “Someone might hear you.”
“Please, Father.” Myac relaxed into another chair, the light violet brocade showing fade with age. “Do you think me a fool?” He held up a hand. “Best if you don’t answer that. I created a sound barrier on the way in. No one will hear a word we say.”
Terral shifted in his seat and sipped from one of several glasses of wine sitting on the table next to him. “You make me nervous. You’re too young and reckless to have such power at your disposal.”
Myac shrugged off the comment. “I take it the prince is preparing to march?”
“I’ve been advised to be ready. He’s up to something. Captain Paulin said it would be a few more weeks at most. You should have taken Yiloch out when you had him trapped rather than to allow them to go to war like this. It’s too costly.”
Myac shook his head. The idea of a war had a certain appeal. “It might work in our favor. People are angry. The conflict between Rylan and his son will further destabilize the country and leave the populace starving for any leadership they can find. Besides, I'm curious to see who wins. Once one of them kills the other, I can arrange the death of the survivor in the aftermath.”
“And what do I do?”
“Continue supporting the prince. He’s the more popular of the two at this point. Even if he fails, supporting his cause may improve your standing with the majority. Just don't get killed.”
Terral frowned into his wine, his unsteady gaze suggesting he’d had a fair amount already. “I don’t want the throne.”
Myac wrinkled his nose and sniffed the wine as if it and not his father triggered his disgust. “That’s the difference between you and me. You’re content to follow any fool who will leave you be. I would rather lead the fools.”
Terral fussed with a rumpled cuff of his silk shirt. “What about Kudan?”
“They have no particular love for Rylan or his son and until they stop killing each other they pose little threat.”
“Would you care for something to eat?”
“No, thank you.” Myac gestured to the glasses on the table. “Do you have something there with more spice?”
Terral sniffed several glasses and traded him one.
Myac tasted this wine and nodded approval. “Did you ever love her?”
Terral traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “Who?”
“Don’t be an obtuse bastard,” Myac snapped.
“I’m not the bastard here.”
The air thickened with the amount of ascard Myac drew on then.
Terral froze, blanching. He swallowed.
Myac laughed without humor and released the ascard. “My mother.”
Terral’s gaze turned inward, his face softening. “She was so sweet. A gentle woman. I wanted her love, but I was young and impatient. I took her body instead.”
“That’s an indirect no.” If only he didn’t need this man. “So you don’t care that Rylan’s greed and Yiloch’s temper killed her? You don’t care that they disfigured your only son?”
“Your scars are gone,” Terral observed.
Are they?
As a naive youth, covered in seeping burns, his home and mother destroyed, Myac had come here, hoping against hope that the man he’d been told was his father, a man he’d never met, would take pity on him. All he’d seen of Terral that day before the guards dragged him off the holding, had been a disgusted sneer on his handsome face in the window, the window to this room, in fact.
That day he’d sworn he would come back and claim his birthright. Now he knew he was destined for more than that.
“Healed enough I’m allowed in your home now, not that you could stop me.” He smiled false pleasantry. “I suppose we should be on our way. It’s a long ride to Y
iroth from here.”
Terral escorted Myac to the courtyard. His relief made Myac wonder, not for the first time, if his father might betray him. When it came down to it though, Terral feared him far too much to betray him.
When they emerged, several of his soldiers were in the courtyard, chatting with some of Terral’s officers. They snapped alert, saying quick farewells before hastening to their mounts. As Myac swung into the saddle, the words of one officer caught his attention.
“Good travels, Leryc, though I don’t see how you can follow that abomination.”
Myac turned his horse and the officer met his gaze, defiant.
Leryc shook his head and sidled his mount out of the way.
Had the youth said something to provoke this disrespect? He wouldn’t waste time investigating now, but he would keep it in mind.
Myac smiled at the offensive man, a grizzled officer who likely had seen enough conflict to think he knew how to handle a fight. Moving his horse close so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice, he met the older man’s eyes. “You’ve chosen the wrong enemy this time.”
He created a thick bar of steel in the air, blazing red hot as if pulled from a forge, and plunged it through the officer’s chest using a thrust of power. The man screamed, a long agonized howl, and dropped to his knees, the stench of scorched flesh corrupting the air. Then he fell silent and toppled forward. The bar vanished, leaving behind a large, cauterized hole in the officer’s torso.
Myac turned his mount to Terral, ignoring the raging emotions and startled stares around him. “Always a pleasure, Lord Terral.”
Terral bowed stiffly and said nothing.
Myac spun his mount, catching Leryc’s carefully neutral expression as he left the courtyard. Imperial soldiers fell in behind him, leaving the valley at a swift trot.
Myac long ago repaired the disfigurement from those severe burns he suffered in his youth, but many still called him names—freak, monster, abomination—because of his odd colored hair and eyes as well as the extraordinary strength of his inner aspect. Today, after his talk with his father, was the wrong day to do so.
Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1) Page 21
