Indigo felt the healer working to ease her pain until someone else arrived, a commendable effort, though the agony was still enough that darkness continued to creep in at the edges of her vision. She almost let it take her, but Yiloch moved one hand to cradle her head, his face twisted with worry. For him, she fought to stay conscious.
More people entered the room. Siddael knelt next to her, unvoiced anger tightening the muscles in his jaw. Another healer knelt beside Yiloch to tend his wounds. He sent the man away. Caplin also arrived, a river of blood drying down his left leg. He was well enough to run off a substantial string of curses at Yiloch who resolutely ignored him. The dismissed healer ushered Caplin back, silencing his tirade for the moment.
Siddael placed his hands against her side. “I’ll position and mend the bones. You follow and repair the lung tissue.”
The woman nodded, placing her hands alongside Siddael’s. Then there was pain, lancing pain and white-hot heat searing through her as the master healer forced broken ribs into place with ascard. Yiloch wrapped his arms under her, keeping her head from striking the floor when she stiffened and cried out. At least she could now breathe well enough to voice her pain.
Siddael’s voice cut through a haze of exhaustion and agony. “She can be moved. Is there a room nearby where she can rest before we do more healing?”
Yiloch nodded. The wound in his head was bleeding a little less now. He lifted her with care, leaving his sword where it lay. Above them, bright stars winked down through a ceiling of faceted crystal.
“Beautiful,” she murmured.
He glanced up and then smiled down at her. “I’ll show you that and many other beautiful things when you’re healed.”
They passed into a hall and she closed her eyes, letting awareness drift. She looked at Yiloch when they stopped. The blood on his face wasn’t all his. Could she forgive him that?
Someone moved past them to open a door. When he turned to carry her into the room, she spotted Caplin standing behind Siddael. His eyes churned with a storm of hurt, worry, and anger. She had lied to him. It couldn’t have been different though, because she loved the man holding her. No matter who he was or what he’d done, she loved him.
Yiloch laid her on a bed.
“Emperor Yiloch.” Adran emphasized the title, an attempt to remind him of his responsibilities.
She shifted her hand enough to touch his arm. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“I know.” He stepped back and gave the healers a stern look. “Heal her well.”
“Yes, your highness,” Siddael hissed, his expression no less severe.
When Yiloch and Adran were gone, Siddael sent everyone else away and shut the door. He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t know what you’ve done, but no good is likely to come of it.” Fresh pain lanced through her ribs and Siddael sighed, laying his hands on her. “A little more healing and you can rest. There are too many injured for me to spare energy sedating you. I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip, tears streaming from her eyes as he worked on bone and tissue again. When he finished, he set a hand on her shoulder.
“Rest. I have a strange feeling you’ve earned it. Perhaps you can tell me about it later.”
A small smile took most of her strength. “Perhaps.”
*
Myac staggered into the night, slipping through the confusion of troops to where he sensed his father. How humiliating to have to seek help from the man, though not as humiliating as his own failure. For days, he’d searched the army. Not once had he sensed her, not until she stood in the same room blocking him. Yiloch’s presence in the palace should have been obvious to him as well, but she had hidden them both. He’d never put much effort into learning to mask because no one came close to matching his strength. She clearly didn’t share his arrogance.
He could see her in his head and feel the invasion of her ability as if she still held him. So much power within her and without…such perfection. Why did she deserve so much?
He spotted his father. “Lord Terral.”
“Not now.” Terral waved him away.
Myac grabbed his arm.
Terral turned and paled. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.
“I need your help.”
He glanced down at the blood on Myac’s hands. “Come with me.”
Myac followed him, the bolt in his side causing a stabbing pain that worsened with every step. They walked to a tent in the back of the camp. Inside, he removed his cloak and Terral watched him inspect the wound. The bolt entered below the ribs, the tip protruding in back. He considered burning it out, but he didn’t want to cauterize the hole. Healing he could manage. Removing the bolt without causing more damage was a different problem.
“Can you help?”
Terral took hold of the shaft with strong, steady hands. “I take it things didn’t go as planned?”
Myac started to snap a response, but the words vanished behind a burst of pain when Terral yanked out the bolt. He doubled over, falling to his knees. After his confrontation with the Caithin adept, he had little strength left. He would have to use it wisely. With deliberate care, he began to mend the tissues.
“Yiloch didn’t go for the immortality option?”
Myac bristled at his acrimonious tone. “He isn’t his father.”
“I might have told you as much if you would have listened.”
Myac might have lashed out if he weren’t struggling for energy to finish healing. “Let’s not be disrespectful, Father. I’m far from finished. I merely need to adjust my plans. In the interim, I need you to stay close to the new emperor and be as helpful and visible as you can.”
Terral was fingering the dagger at his belt. “Where are you going?”
Myac met his eyes and his hand moved from the weapon, still too afraid of his son’s power. “Caithin. I must speak with an old friend and I don’t think I should be seen here for a while.” His old friend needed to answer for not warning him about the Caithin involvement and that adept. If she survived her injuries then she had to be controlled or eliminated. He would be happy to help with either option.
“How will you get there?”
“I’ll manage. I need to rest. Is this your tent?”
Terral nodded.
“Wake me before daybreak. I’ll need a horse.”
“Fine.” Terral left him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sleep came quickly, but so did Terral’s return. The short rest restored a little of Myac’s strength. He took a few minutes to do a sweep with ascard. Was she alive? He found nothing. She was either dead or masked. It didn’t matter. If she lived, she would return to Caithin and he would be there waiting.
He turned to his father. “I’m counting on you to stay close to Yiloch.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Myac gave him a long, irritated scowl before leaving the tent. The somber gray light of dawn stretched over a surprisingly quiet landscape. Soldiers lay scattered about the fields, sleeping like the dead. Patrols marched the perimeter, but Myac used illusion to appear as one of them and mounted the dark bay tethered outside the tent. The horse wouldn’t have the training that his favored mount did, but it would get him out of Yiroth.
He turned the animal north, riding into the cover of the trees before spurring him faster. Cantering made pain flare in his side where the bolt had penetrated. The healing was incomplete, but he needed more rest to finish the job. At least pain would keep him awake in the saddle.
*
Indigo woke after dawn and Siddael healed her more. Exhausted by pain and overexertion, she slept, not waking again until afternoon. Siddael dozed in a deep chair near the foot of the bed in a well-furnished, but simple chamber that probably normally housed someone high in the palace staff, a steward or similar important individual.
She sat up. A deep, but tolerable, ache wrapped her ribcage.
The door cracked and Ian stuck his head in. �
��Good afternoon, my lady. How do you feel?”
“Well enough.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake. I’ve a little favor to ask. I thought I might bribe you with the offer of a hot bath and clean clothes.”
She smiled. “There is no favor too great, especially after your timely intervention with Myac.”
He flushed and helped her up then nodded to Siddael. “Should we tell him?”
“No. Let him sleep.”
Deferring to her judgment, he led her out and down the hall to a large room with faceted crystal windows along the outer wall overlooking the coastline. A lavish sitting area faced the windows and a large bed with sheer silver draperies matching those hanging around the windows sat on a raised floor near another run of windows. She stopped in the doorway and stared. The cool blues, grays, and whites used throughout the room drew in the majesty of the ocean beyond, creating a breathtaking solidarity.
Ian grinned. “Welcome to the emperor’s rooms.” He gestured to a set of carved double doors beyond the sitting area. “You’re bath is in there along with a selection of clothes that should fit well enough. When you’re ready, I’m working in a room three doors down from the one you spent the night in.”
She stepped close and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He turned a charming shade of pink. “Ah. It was Emperor Yiloch’s idea.” He left her alone in the luxurious chambers.
Perfumed steam rose from a round marble tub inset in the floor of the bathing room. Faceted crystal windows overlooked the ocean in that room as well. She shut the doors, shucked her grimy clothes, and sank into heated water to rest and wash. When she finished, she selected an ivory gown with a silver belt that hung loose at the waist from the selection hanging from a tall mirror in one corner. It had tapered sleeves and a V-neck embroidered in pale blue. Fancy as it was, it was the most casual option and the satin felt marvelous against her skin.
Dressed and refreshed, she strolled along beautiful pale marble halls to the room Ian indicated. When she knocked, the door opened a crack and Ian peeked out.
“Lady Indigo, I hate to bring you into this, but I think you may be more qualified than I to puzzle this out.”
“I’m happy to help.”
His doubtful look concerned her. Then he opened the door and stepped aside. A body lay stretched on a table in the center of the room. She entered and he shut the door behind her. Using a sparing touch of ascard, she freshened the air and approached the table.
“Nice trick,” Ian commented, following her.
She shrugged. The more she worked with it, the easier it became to adapt her ability to different applications.
The late emperor’s head lay positioned in its proper place, an effect almost more grisly than if it had been left off. When she looked at his face, she saw much of his son’s surreal handsomeness there, even in death. Tears stung her eyes.
“Emperor Yiloch wants to know what Myac was doing to control his aging,” Ian explained. “He looks younger than he did when I was last here over five years ago. I found traces of remarkable creation work all through his body. It’s extraordinarily detailed, but there’s more there and I don’t have the skill to make sense of it. I thought you might have the flexibility in your ability to figure it out.”
She walked to the other side of the table, pondering the fallen man. With the sweep of his own son’s blade, he had gone from a magnificent and powerful ruler to an empty gray shell. Did Yiloch regret taking his father’s life? Did it matter? More importantly, why did he want to know what Myac was doing? Was it curiosity or a desire to recreate the process for himself?
She touched the pearlescent white hair that kept its luster even as the rest faded in death. Then she met Ian’s eyes. The lanky youth watched her with reverent curiosity.
“I’m flattered you think so highly of my ability, but what point is there to prying into this?”
Unexpected fondness warmed his smile. “I thought you’d ask. Prince…Emperor Yiloch hoped it might help us understand Myac’s power. They’ve found no trace of him since last night, but he doesn’t think this is the last we’ll hear of him.”
She shuddered at the memory of that power. Steeling herself, she reached out with ascard as far as she could sense. Nothing. No trace of his ascard signature. Memories of the pain and helplessness she experienced before those pitiless black eyes made her shudder again and Ian reached across the table, hesitating shy of touching her arm.
“Are you well, my lady?”
“He won’t come around for a while. He was badly injured.” She turned her attention to the body. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Drawing on her power again, she sank it into Rylan to examine the signature and nature of the workings. What she found was an exquisite tapestry of skills laced into every fiber of his being. Bone, muscle, everything was woven through with Myac’s ascard signature. She searched for flaws in the working, admiring the precision and patience it must have taken. Layer upon layer of regeneration tied flawlessly together. Creation and healing fused to refresh life in a manner she would have never dreamed possible.
The door swung open and she started, jarred from her exploration.
“Ian, have you…” Yiloch trailed off, stopping inside the door to stare at her.
She felt like a giddy courtier before his favorable regard. A warm flush rose in her cheeks. He looked striking in the fine clothes he wore, freshly groomed with silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He smiled then and she automatically reciprocated.
“Indigo, you look well. Breathtaking even.”
Ian, who still faced her over Rylan’s body, glanced down. She caught a hint of approval in his smile.
“Thank you, my lord. You look rather remarkable yourself.”
He openly admired her for a moment more then, recalling his purpose, shut the door and approached. “I see Ian asked your assistance.”
He came to stand beside her and she breathed in the scent of him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a simple gesture infused with intimacy by the tenderness of his touch.
“Have you found anything?”
She glanced at Ian, not wanting to offend him by taking charge. He met her eyes and nodded.
“It’s a remarkable blending of creation and healing. Myac truly was regenerating the emperor’s body. I’ve never heard of anything like it.” Admiration and envy crept into her voice.
“Just Myac? You don’t think anyone helped?”
“No. His signature is on all the work.”
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Where would he have learned healing like that?”
“I don’t know, but he did it well. The work is seamlessly blended and woven permanently into his body.”
“And you can determine all of this from examining a dead body?”
She met his eyes. “Yes. Does that bother you?”
He kissed her forehead and Ian glanced away self-consciously. “Honestly? Yes. Your power intimidates me.”
“I believe this adept, Myac, is as strong,” she warned.
Someone knocked and Yiloch nodded to Ian who walked over to answer it.
“I’ve got people searching for him, but I suspect he’s well away.”
“He is.” She shivered.
He squeezed her shoulder, gentle and comforting.
“Lord Caplin.” Ian greeted loudly.
Yiloch removed his hand and took a step away from her. Ian opened the door for Caplin. Someone had also loaned him nicer, clean garments. When he looked from her to Yiloch, his weary expression darkened.
“Emperor Yiloch.” His greeting was curt. “I hoped you would cease taking inappropriate advantage of Lady Indigo’s skills once you had your throne. I suppose that was too much to expect.”
“You’re mistaken, Lord Caplin.” She spoke before Yiloch could put voice to the sudden anger in his eyes. “Creator Ian requested my assistance.”
Caplin met her eyes. She held
his gaze and he relented. “My apologies, your highness.”
Yiloch inclined his head, accepting the apology. “What do you need?”
“I wanted to discuss withdrawing Caithin’s troops. Although, I would speak with Indigo a moment first.”
She nodded. “Excuse me, your highness. Creator Ian.”
“Thank you for your help,” Ian said.
Yiloch inclined his head to her.
Her hand brushed the dead emperor’s shoulder as she walked around the table. The image of Yiloch delivering the final blow, his eyes cold and unforgiving, drove to the forefront of her mind. That image didn’t reconcile with the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her or the gentleness of his touch.
She followed Caplin from the room.
“Walk with me.” He started down the hall heading away from the throne room.
She fell into step with him. “Did we suffer many losses?”
“Very few, thanks to healers and Emperor Yiloch’s allies inside the city. I’m glad it’s over. He has much to sort out, but his support here is sufficient. We can head back.”
A dagger of sorrow twisted in her chest. Perhaps they weren’t needed here now, but no one in Caithin needed her either.
“So we’ll depart soon.”
“I’m afraid so.”
She stopped, puzzled by the apology in his tone. He faced her, pain and frustration shadowing his gaze.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand the connection you have with that man and his companions. Whatever it is, it’s ignited a fire within you. I would hate to see that fire go out, but you don’t belong here, Indigo. We both know it. I—”
“Caplin, please. I know where I belong, even if only problems wait for me there. I’ve felt needed here in ways I’ve never felt needed before. I may have taken too many risks along the way, but I wouldn’t do anything differently if I could.” She smiled gently. “You’ve been patient with me, Caplin, and you’re right. I know my place. Please trust me.”
He stepped in and put his arms around her. She let him hold her, sensing that he needed to.
Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1) Page 33
