Chapter Twelve
“Passion rules reason; lust rules everything.”
—Vizean Lagour, Izarian philosopher, 349 AG
“He was quite pleased when I pulled it out of him, as you can imagine.”
Tevek let loose a baritone laugh, and Krystia joined in with him as she dangled from his left arm. He had a reputation for being stiff and straight-laced to a fault, she knew, but the reality couldn’t have been father from the truth. Paladins were allowed to have a sense of humor, and Tevek enjoyed a good joke as much as any man she’d ever met.
“Sometimes I wonder if anyone in Solaria ever suffers a normal injury,” he said, shaking his head. “A cut hand, a broken toe...”
“That’s what acolytes are for,” she replied with a wink. “Actually, most days at the temple are boring; you just wait long enough between visits that I build up plenty of good stories. It’s quite considerate of you.”
He grunted, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. “Well, you do make me glad I decided to take the field rather than remain a healer at the Citadel. Soldiers suffer less interesting injuries in actual combat.”
“Probably,” she admitted, still smiling. “Are you sure you can’t stay for another day or two?”
Tevek sighed then slowly shook his head. “You know we can’t. The timing here is critical, especially if Lord Alistan’s reports are accurate.”
Krystia glanced around the corridor to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I still don’t trust him.”
“His timing is certainly convenient, but there’s no way to confirm any of this without going to Lyebel ourselves.”
“Well, you had better come back once you’re finished,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll even cook you dinner.”
Tevek cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t—that’s how much I want you to come back.”
He chuckled. “I’ve already ordered the Citadel to send backup in case we find something. A dozen knights should be here by the time Elade and I return.”
“A dozen knights, huh?” she asked, smiling coyly. “Are any of them cute?”
Tevek made a face. “You know, I meant to ask you about Darius. You two seem quite happy together. Has he offered you a betrothal bracelet yet?”
Krystia groaned. “Now that really does make you seem old.”
“You haven’t even talked about it?”
“We’re busy people,” she insisted. “He’s only here a few days a month at most.”
“But you do love him?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll whip him into shape for you, don’t worry about it,” Tevek promised.
Krystia stood on her toes and craned her neck and could still barely reach his cheek to kiss it. “I actually wish I could go with you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t. Your people need you here. His Majesty in particular.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just…” He trailed off and sighed. “The situation is tumultuous. All this talk of war will make people anxious. They will need spiritual guidance.”
“I suppose so,” she whispered. That wasn’t really what he was concerned about, of course. He had just met privately with King Areekan, and Tevek obviously knew how weak his old friend had become. He also knew the Rite of Ascension would be an open invitation for the Crell to invade.
What Tevek didn’t know, of course, was that Ethan Moore was still alive…and that he wanted Krystia to overthrow Areekan and take control of Solaria. As the days went by, the solution became more and more attractive. What good was an Ascendant king if he was too weak to protect his own people? No matter what else happened, the Alliance had to stand firm against the Imperium. If they fell, the rest of Torsia would fall with them.
Krystia shook away the thought. Now definitely wasn’t the time for idle ruminations…
“His Majesty is considering performing the Rite of Ascension,” Tevek whispered after a moment, “but he wishes to wait until the winter.”
She stopped in place. “The Voice hasn’t told the priests about this.”
“I doubt he will,” Tevek admitted. “I’m only letting you know because you can handle it—and because you need to appreciate your importance here.” He smiled. “Solaria must remain strong these next few months. There is fortune in the true nature of your power.”
“I’ve never thought otherwise,” Krystia said, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice. “If only the rest of them would appreciate that.”
“In time they will. But for now, just be grateful for the opportunities you have—and stay strong for me.”
She grabbed both of his hands. It was odd feeling the coarseness of his skin rather than the cold steel of his gauntlets. “I will.”
“Then I leave you with that,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, my dear.”
She held him tightly for almost a minute. “Good luck in Lyebel.”
He tossed her a salute as he walked back to his own chambers to retire. He and Elade would likely set out before first light, avoiding any kind of diplomatic bustle and making the most they could of the waning autumn daylight. Krystia watched until he turned the corner and left her sight, then sighed to herself and stepped inside her chambers.
She stepped to the locked nightstand aside her bed and concentrated on the keyhole. It had no actual key; instead, she reached inside the locking mechanism with her mind, brushing against the metal latches and gently maneuvering them into place. With a sharp click, the drawer slid open. Inside was a blue crystal shard about two inches long inset into a green metal plate. At a glance, it could have easily been a random decoration, but the “calling crystal” was actually a highly useful device that allowed channelers to communicate with distant individuals outside their own mental “Link,” such a Bound in one nation speaking to a Bound from another. It was also the only way for any channeler to communicate with someone who couldn’t manipulate the Aether at all…just like her shadowy partner. It might not have been quite as elegant as direct telepathy, but it was still immeasurably better than mailing a letter and waiting two months for a response.
Placing her hand against the crystal, Krystia took in a deep breath and waited for Ethan to respond. His own crystal should have been glowing; hopefully he was nearby and able to activate it. After five minutes she started to worry, but eventually the crystal shimmered and a translucent image of a an aging man formed in its center, almost as if she were looking at him through a small, distorted mirror.
“I trust you’ve made progress?” she asked coolly.
Ethan’s expression was unreadable through the distortion, and the downside of being so far away was that she couldn’t read his thoughts or even surface emotions. “We’ve found a suitable target for possession within the Crell garrison,” he told her.
“Good. Tevek and Elade will be leaving tomorrow morning. You have three days to prepare for their arrival.”
“That will be enough. They’ll sniff the demon out easily enough and blame the Crell for harboring warlocks.”
Krystia nodded. “On that note, Lord Alistan came to visit us today: apparently his contacts have picked up the infestation rumors, and he was concerned. He suggested that if Tevek can provide proof of a demonic infestation, the Council will approve an intervention.”
“An interesting coincidence,” he murmured.
“The timing is fortuitous,” she agreed soberly. “But I don’t think he was lying. He’s a political opportunist, if anything. And regardless, it will probably only work to our advantage.”
He didn’t reply, and she straightened up and glared at him as hard as she could. “Just make certain you don’t actually harm the knights.”
“I can’t promise anything,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You’re going to have to accept that you can’t control everything. Sooner or later, people are going to die.”
Somehow, Krysti
a managed to keep a straight face even as her stomach twisted. “I know that.”
“Do you?” he asked, his voice cooling. “Do you really? This Crell lieutenant and his unit will die as a result of his plan. Once news reaches the Council, thousands more will follow. You will ultimately be responsible for setting that in motion.”
“Another war is inevitable. We’re just speeding up the process.”
“Rationalizing it is not the same as accepting it, Krystia. You have to be willing to live with this.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “Without me, you wouldn’t be able—”
“Without you, this is all for nothing,” he reminded her. “That is what I’m concerned about. I have to be certain you’re as capable as I hope.”
She ground her teeth together. “You know exactly what I’m capable of.”
“I know you can plot and scheme and seduce men to get what you want,” he said. “In other words, I know you’re a woman. What I don’t know is whether you’re a killer.”
“If you doubted me, you never would have approached me with any of this.”
Ethan snorted. “I don’t have a choice. I’m a desperate old man with no options. That doesn’t mean I have faith in you.” He paused a moment, his image leaning forward. “I need to know that when the war starts, you will be capable of making the tough choices. The king is too weak to fight, and we both know it.”
“Even he knows it.”
“Indeed. So in the end, this is going to come down to us—to you. No one else has the strength to do what must be done. I have to know you’re capable of murdering a man in cold blood.”
“I never agreed to kill Areekan,” she said. “I agreed that it might eventually come to that.”
He grunted. “The longer you deny it, the harder it’s going to be. One man’s life versus the thousands he has imprisoned—one man’s life versus the safety of your entire country.”
“I’ll do what I have to, when and if it comes to that. Right now I’m more worried about your men fucking this up. If Tevek and Elade trace the demons back to the Resistance…”
“They won’t,” he assured her.
“Good,” she said. “Keep me posted on your progress. I’ll contact you again tomorrow.”
Krystia released the crystal, and the image faded. The moment it did she clenched her teeth and forced back the welling of tears threatening to burst forth. She wasn’t a murderer. If she was, she would have killed Ethan months ago for his insolent tongue. People were going to die, but not because of her; this was inevitable. Ultimately, the only way to stop the Crell was to destroy them. A few of their soldiers dying here was not an issue.
But sacrificing a few soldiers was not the same as fighting a war, and deep down she knew he was right about Areekan. The longer this went on, the more obvious it would get that this withered king was incapable of doing what was necessary. Worse, he was simply unwilling to let the Unbound free.
Krystia took a deep breath and steadied herself. Her hands were shaking. She counted to ten before walking to her liquor cabinet and pouring herself some Borden vodka. What she really needed was someone else to talk to, but Darius naturally didn’t know anything about Ethan. Even if she did eventually become queen, he would never learn about what she had done. The High Generals and the Lord’s Council would never accept her as ruler if she ascended via a coup. She would have to convince them that everything had happened naturally.
But the bigger issue, the one that was gnawing at her stomach right now, was that Ethan was right about her. Up until now, she had never been forced to bloody her hands. He had no reason to believe that she could deal with the pressure. If his plan completely backfired and Tevek traced the demons to the Resistance, it would end any support from the Council and ensure the Crell remained unchallenged. Ethan would either sink into hiding or maybe just do the world a favor and kill himself. Whatever happened, there was no way she would be implicated. The worst she had done was dupe an old man into thinking he’d slept with a young woman—some would probably call that charity.
All of this had been her plan from the beginning, of course. She wasn’t foolish enough to work with a desperate man—and a warlock at that—without carefully insulating herself from him. But that was also her greatest burden; she had yet to be tested. She didn’t know how she would respond when the walls inevitably started closing in around her.
Grimacing, Krystia set down her glass and looked at her hands. They were soft and smooth, the hands of a priestess who had never worked on the field, let alone lifted a weapon. And yet she could still see the blood on them, spreading from her palm to her fingertips. Eventually they would be drowning in it. She might have been the most powerful channeler in Celenest and possibly even the Alliance, but her powers alone wouldn’t get what she needed. She would have to make impossible decisions…and then learn to live with them.
She sighed and reached back to her glass, finishing it with a single gulp. It burned its way down her throat, but the pain helped her focus. It was late, and she needed to sleep. For now the first decision had been made, and she had to accept it. She was placing a man she loved—a man to whom she owned everything—in mortal danger to advance a political agenda. It was the right thing to do, and fretting about it wouldn’t change anything.
Krystia slammed the glass down on an empty stand and then strode over to her bed. She was almost undressed before a cold prickle in her hand caused her to flinch and freeze in place. Glancing down, she bit her lip at the sight of the warm crimson liquid spreading from her palms to her fingertips.
***
The doors to Sovereign Damir’s chambers slid open, and Onar Tenel strode briskly inside. As usual, the enormous, mirror filled room sent a chill down his spine. “I have finished my analysis, Your Eminence.”
“Excellent,” the Sovereign said. Her chair was facing away, and she didn’t turn. “So enlighten me, Admiral. What are your thoughts on General Moore’s heir?”
“He’s a dangerous man. I would be concerned about him even if he wasn’t in possession of this cube.”
“And you agree that he will most likely flee to Lyebel?”
“Absolutely,” Tenel said, glancing back down to the reports in his hand. The Zarul’s agents had been quite thorough in their collection of personal information about Jason Moore and his accomplices. “However, his personal history is different than I expected. He fought with his father during the early stages of the war but then fled shortly thereafter. It seems that as he got older, he appreciated his father’s blind patriotism less and less. He became more of a scholar and less of a soldier.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Frankly, I think that makes him even more dangerous.”
Damir finally pivoted around in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. “In what way?”
Tenel smiled. He had been wondering if this task was some type of test all along, and she clearly already knew the answers to her own questions. The Sovereigns may not have been truly omniscient, but Damir had obviously reviewed all of this information before. She just wanted to see if he could assemble the pieces on his own.
“At a glance, Moore appears to be a man dragged into a fight against his will by an overzealous father,” Tenel explained. “Then as he matured, he broke away. There is ample evidence to suggest that he and his father didn’t get along.”
“Go on,” she prompted.
“But if you look more closely, you realize that Moore still harbors intense anti-Crell sentiment. He has spent years scouring the countryside for rare artifacts, and his expeditions were nearly always funded by a wealthy Crell citizen who was, at best, a tepid supporter of the regime. He has never worked for anyone with more than circumstantial ties to the military or government, and I doubt that is an accident.”
Damir’s eyes glimmered for a moment. “Do you feel his research was directed explicitly at artifacts he could use against us?”
Tenel shook his head. “No. I think much of his work is genuin
e intellectual curiosity. But I do think his choices are important—he is a man living in denial. He regrets leaving his family’s legacy behind, and while I’m sure he still harbors plenty of resentment towards his father, he nonetheless supports the general goals of the Galvian Resistance. Eventually, he will reach out to them again…and when he does, he will make a powerful ally.”
“And you believe that time is now.”
“Maybe,” Tenel said. “But if not now, he will soon. It’s still possible he doesn’t know precisely what he’s found yet, but once he figures it out, I would bet almost anything that he will hand it over to the rebels.”
“Very good, Admiral,” Damir said, reaching out to take the reports from him. “I trust you have completed a similar analysis on his companions?”
“It’s all there,” Tenel told her. “Most of their motivations are transparent, with the possible exception of the elysian. We don’t have enough information to conclusively determine why she is even helping him. I can only assume she feels some kind of loyalty towards his family, but I have never heard of a druid spending so much time in Torsia.”
“Yes, I would have expected her order to call her back by now.”
Tenel nodded idly. “I was surprised at the number of reports from our soldiers who claim that she saved their lives during the war. There was a regiment in Dreen who claim that she personally bound the wounds of nearly a hundred soldiers before fleeing. Elysian morality is clearly strewn with hypocrisy.”
“She claims to loathe war, but yet she fights anyway,” Damir said. “Just like the Solipean monks who claim to abhor violence and yet have battled against the Yamatan clan-lords for centuries.”
“I suppose so.”
The Sovereign smiled. “In any case, your analysis is impressive, Admiral. I commend your efforts.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence.” Tenel pursed his lips. This was going to be the more difficult part, he knew. “There is something else. I did a bit of digging on the current Lyebel Resistance to make a better evaluation.”
“And what did you find?”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 22
