“We can’t just wait for them to attack,” Ethan said after a moment. “They will already have teams out combing the docks. We should find and eliminate them.”
Adar blinked. “And how do you recommend doing that?”
“The Asgardian huntress,” he replied. “Send her after them—she’s had success tracking down ‘Coats before.”
“Sarina is good, sir, but she’s still just one person. And she’s defenseless against Shadows.”
“It’s a start. I’d also send out at least two other teams, probably Theron’s and Dagelle’s.”
Adar nodded fractionally as he mulled over it himself. “If we do find the ‘Coats, then what do we do about it, sir? They’ll be sending at least one Shadow and probably several Imperators as well.”
“Given what they know about our forces, they probably won’t bother with Shadows, at least not in an assault,” Ethan reasoned. “They’re spies, not assassins, and the compound is heavily guarded. I’m guessing several dozen ground agents, mostly Imperators with weapon training. By this point they’ll probably also know about the paladins and plan accordingly.”
“Then are you sure it’s wise to split up?” Adar asked. “Even if the Crell attack the main base, we’ll have a hell of a force waiting for them. Two knights and your son’s crew, plus a dozen of our own people.”
“The ‘Coats won’t waste an opportunity like this, even if the battle is tough. They’ll be messy if needed. We need to take the initiative, not wait for the Asgardian to pounce. Send out the teams and get Jason the hell out of there.”
“Very well, sir.” Adar started to turn, then glanced back over his shoulder. “How many should we send to protect him?”
“Misdirection is our best asset,” Ethan said. “Keep two squads at the compound and one at 29th. We also need to keep the more…obvious members of his entourage at the main base: Dracian, Selvhara, and the chagari.”
Adar grunted. “I’m not sure how the Highlord will feel about separating himself from Jason.”
“If he insists, let him go, but otherwise send the vaeyn.”
“All right,” Adar said. “I hope she’s enough.”
“Dracian wouldn’t have brought her along at all if she weren’t capable,” Ethan assured him. “Besides, she’s the one who killed Trz’yel.”
“I never thought I’d hear myself say this,” Adar muttered, “but it’s almost too bad the Crell aren’t sending demons at us instead.”
“Yes,” Ethan agreed, “too bad indeed.”
Chapter Twenty
“Aether is power, and power is corruption. It must be tempered with responsibility, commitment, and service. Those bound to my legacy share their fate with their communities and their king. Those bound to nothing owe allegiance to no one. Their corruption is absolute.”
-Excerpt from the Tenets of Sol
The grandeur of the Unbound Asylum still managed to impress Krystia the second time she flew over it, and she had a feeling it would continue to do so for many more trips to come. Thankfully, the day’s gentler weather made her return trip that much easier, and she was able to land Oren inside the courtyard and proceed directly into the building without so much as a word of protest from the guards. At this point, she was fairly certain that Headmaster Velle would let her stop by for afternoon tea if she wanted it, and the other priests serving here seemed to have accepted the fact that he had a mistress they couldn’t do much about.
Velle, for his part, had changed since their last meeting. He was much more relaxed; he probably assumed he wouldn’t have to try as hard to woo her into his bed a second time. He was also more interested in her plans for the future—presumably to be certain he could arrange her to have quarters right next to his. She played off his desires as easily as she had the first time, giving him just enough information to minimally sate his curiosity while casually maneuvering him into his chambers where they could be alone.
This time, however, she didn’t even allow him to lay a hand on her. Now that she had cracked his mind once, a repeat performance was that much easier. She left him semi-conscious in his bed, mentally living out his nauseating fantasies, while she set to work.
Krystia had arrived just before nightfall, a detail which had probably heightened his anticipation but was really just a practical decision. The Asylum still ran on a more or less normal schedule as the rest of the country, which meant that the building was largely shut down at nighttime. A few of the priests would be out and about to make sure the students were all right, of course, but the vast majority of them would be asleep. It would make moving around the complex much easier. With that in mind, she retrieved the Headmaster’s keys and set off into the facility.
Avoiding the other priests proved even easier than she had expected. She could sense their thoughts long before they could actually see her, and it was easy enough to find dark places to hide in while they passed by. All told, it only took a few minutes to locate her target: a man named Sovan Lor.
He was located in a room labeled 435 in the northeastern wing of the facility. As far as Krystia could tell, this section was reserved for adult and middle aged “students.” Several of them had piqued her curiosity already, but this one in particular she had desperately wanted to meet in person. She could sense his presence inside, and she immediately dropped into a crouch and started working on the lock.
Like virtually all of the doors here, the mechanism had two keyholes—one for a traditional metal key, and the other for an “Aether lock.” Thankfully, she had been able to steal the key for both from Headmaster Velle; one from his pocket, and the other from his mind.
Once both locks were flipped, Krystia took in a deep breath and prepared herself. If Sovan cried out, she needed to be ready to dampen the sound so the priests wouldn’t hear. The more worrisome part, however, was figuring out exactly what she was going to say. She had probably rehearsed her speech a hundred times by now, but she still wasn’t happy with it. Everything depended upon Sovan’s reaction. Would he attack her? Embrace her? Panic? It was impossible to know.
Sighing, she pushed open the door and slipped inside—
“So,” a soft voice whispered from the darkness, “you are the one that dances in the Headmaster’s dreams.”
Krystia nearly leapt back into the corridor and slammed the door shut behind her, but thankfully she managed to steel her nerves and gently shut herself inside instead. The room was small but cozy enough: it had a comfortable-looking bed, a pair of bookshelves, and an assortment of other amenities necessary for any personal domicile. At a glance, this definitely seemed more like a personal study than a prison cell.
“It is both,” the voice went on. “It is a cell for those who wish to leave and study for those willing to submit.”
She froze in place. “How did you...?”
“I sensed your presence the moment you approached my door. For an instant, I wondered if you had come to dance in my dreams as well.”
A trace amount of light came in from a high window on the far wall, but it was barely enough to make out the furniture. Krystia could see a lump in the bed but not the speaker’s face.
“The priests can’t detect me,” she whispered. “But you can?”
“You rustle the leaves.”
She realized belatedly that she still hadn’t really moved; she was pressed neatly in the corner by the door. He could probably make out her silhouette from where he was laying, and she didn’t want to appear timid. Taking in a deep breath, she stood and tried to force herself to relax.
“Leaves?” she asked.
“Those who walk through the forest always rustle the leaves. You are lucky that priests are too busy listening to the wind.”
His voice was calm and distant. She didn’t want to risk pressing deeper into his mind, but on the surface he seemed perfectly at ease. “You are Sovan Lor, yes?”
“Most of the time,” he said. “You, however, are a mystery.”
“My name is Krystia
,” she told him. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for some time.” Reaching out to the Aether, she summoned a small ball of light in the center of the room. He slowly sat up, and she took a moment to study him.
Physically, he was just as the official records had described him: medium height and build with short blonde hair and pale blue eyes not dissimilar to hers. His parents had been Borden refugees fleeing from the Crell invasion decades earlier, and she could see his heritage in his long features.
“I’ve read all about you,” Krystia said, a nervous twinge settling in her stomach. He didn’t seem violent, but there was something unsettling about his demeanor. It made her feel…naked. “The instructors are all impressed with your powers.”
“Sometimes,” Sovan replied, an odd smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it all makes sense now.”
Her brow furrowed. “What does?”
“Loshil Fabron.”
“I…don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “Should I know that name?”
“Loshil Fabron was an Izarian prisoner during the First War, held hostage in a Crell internment camp not far from Lessale,” he explained. “You’ve really never heard of him?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I suppose that’s not surprising. It isn’t a story parents would tell their children.” He grunted and leaned back against the wall. “Fabron was one of two hundred prisoners at that camp. He was there for nearly six months before fate finally offered him a unique opportunity. The Solarians launched an aerial assault on Lessale, destroying many of its fortifications in preparation for an invasion. During the fighting, some of their griffon riders veered too far off course and accidently attacked the camp, not knowing it even contained prisoners. None of the inmates were killed, but Fabron, working in the farthest field, was afforded the opportunity to escape in the confusion. He took it.”
Krystia did her best not to frown in complete confusion. Something about Sovan’s voice was soothing, but his eyes were not. The more he looked upon her, the more vulnerable she felt. Without even thinking about it she had folded her arms across her chest and pressed herself back into the corner. She wondered distantly if she had misjudged him all along—perhaps he was simply insane.
“When Fabron eventually made it to the Solarian border,” Sovan continued, “he was weak and starving but alive. Over the coming days, the Alliance troops became baffled by his strange behavior. They had to force him to eat and accept healing. Do you know why?”
“He felt guilty,” she said. “He believed he had abandoned the others.”
“Exactly. Fabron had escaped a life of torment and beatings out of sheer luck, and slowly but surely it ate away at him. Finally, some months later when the war had ended and the Crell expressed no plans to release the prisoners of Lessale, Fabron hired a dozen mercenaries to accompany him back to the camp. Do you know what happened?”
She felt her expression flatten. “He rescued his prisoners?”
Sovan chuckled softly. “No. Most of his friends had starved to death weeks earlier, and the rest had been executed when new, more vigorous prisoners had arrived to take their place.”
Krystia winced. “I can see why parents wouldn’t teach that story to their children.”
“But don’t you see? You are exactly like him. You are Fabron.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You’re the one who got away, Krystia. While the rest of us are locked up and forgotten, you are free to live a ‘normal’ life—and now the guilt is eating away at your heart.”
A cold and bitter tingle worked its way down the length of her spine. “You don’t even know me,” she breathed.
“On the contrary, I know everything about you. And I have wanted to speak with you for a very long time.”
“You’re mocking me,” she breathed, squeezing her arms more tightly about her chest as if it might somehow ward him off. He hadn’t done anything—he had barely even moved—and yet she felt as weak and helpless as a child hiding beneath her bed.
“Not at all,” Sovan said. “I assumed that’s what you wanted me to say. You want to be so famous that your reputation reached me all the way up here. You enjoy being popular; you enjoy the way everyone seems to adore you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She couldn’t feel him probing her mind, but she erected a fresh set of mental barriers anyway. “I came here to find out what they had done to you here.”
“No, you came to validate yourself. You want me to beg you to rescue me, to liberate all of us from this hell we’re forced to endure.” He shook his head. “You can’t lie to me, Krystia. I know you better than you know yourself.”
“You’ve never met me before!”
“Does it matter? You enjoy Izarian art and wine because you believe it makes you appear ‘cultured.’ You enjoy your position as a priestess because of the respect it engenders in those around you. You enjoy mastering the healing because they give you the ultimate power over life and death.”
Krystia felt her lips quivering. She couldn’t block him out; she couldn’t even feel him inside her mind. And yet she was certain that he was rummaging through her thoughts and memories one by one…
“You enjoy allowing people to believe they are in control even while you’re the one pulling the strings,” Sovan went on. “You enjoy it when people underestimate you, especially men. It excites you to know that one furtive glance, one arch of your back, can have a man thinking about you all day. You like being in control—you need to be in control.”
“Stop,” she told him sharply. “Please.”
“Why? I’m only telling you the truth, Krystia. You can’t hide from it forever.”
“Get out of my head!” she screamed. She hadn’t erected a bubble of silence around the room yet, but right now she didn’t care. She had to get away from him…”
“I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Sovan said, standing for the first time. “You love being in control—except in one place. When Darius walks into your room, all you want to do is please him. When he fucks you, it’s the only time you’re willing to let go and allow another person control your destiny.”
Krystia tried to reach out and open the door, but her arms refused to move. She was completely paralyzed, and she didn’t understand how or why. Sovan stepped forward until he loomed just inches away from her face. He locked his eyes with hers for what felt like a small eternity…and then another dark smile stretched across his lips.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, let me go.”
“If you plan to rule an empire, you first need to rule yourself,” he replied. “That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it? To enlist our aid in your cause?”
The invisible grip holding her in place vanished, and Krystia crumpled to the floor. Her first instinct was to dive for the door and call for the guards, but of course they wouldn’t help her. She was the intruder here; she had nowhere to flee and no one to turn to…
“They can’t hear us,” Sovan assured her, “but you don’t really want to leave yet anyway. There are still so many things you need to know about us. Isn’t that right, Fabron?”
Krystia pressed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe normally. “I’m not Fabron.”
“Aren’t you? You’re the one who got away by pure chance, and now you’re back to save the rest of us. But we’re already lost, and you shouldn’t spend your time trying to save us.”
“Lost?” she asked. “How do you mean?”
“The Unbound are corrupted, one and all,” he told her. “We are lost souls undeserving of mercy or pity.”
Leaning up into a crouch, Krystia took another moment to study the man in front of her. His aura of power was unmistakable; she could almost see the Aether coursing through him. On his wrist he wore one of the enchanted bracelets designed to warn the Asylum priests if he channeled too much power…and yet despite that, he had still effortlessly pinned her in place and stolen awa
y her memories. Had he figured out a way to trick the device? Or was he just so powerful that he could freely channel without any noticeable exertion?
“You never had the chance to be free,” she said. “How can you be lost without being given that opportunity?”
“Not all crimes require opportunity,” Sovan murmured. “The Unbound have committed a crime against nature itself. I can scarcely imagine a more thorough corruption.”
“How is being born a crime against nature? That’s not fair.”
“The world is rarely fair. Chance has molded us into what we are, and for that we deserve punishment.”
Krystia frowned. “We are gifted. We can see and do what others cannot.”
“Yes, we can,” Sovan agreed. “And for that, we are to be punished. We are uneven, imbalanced. We are not natural. No man should have power over other men, or he shall be cursed to an existence of exploitation and evil.”
She had heard the phrase many times during her childhood. Sol himself had written the words, and his disciples had carried his message all across Torsia. It was the guiding principle behind the Alliance priesthood, the Lord’s Council, and most other political institutions in Solaria. Power corrupted mortals, but accountability set them free.
“There is no justice in blaming someone for the crime of being born different,” she said.
“Is that how you felt when I raped you just a few minutes ago?”
Krystia winced. “What?”
“I stole your thoughts without your consent,” Sovan said matter-of-factly. “Does that not make me a rapist?”
“You have the choice whether or not to use your powers in such a manner.”
“I can see into your heart just by looking at you. Does that mean I should spend eternity with my eyes shut?” He shook his head. “Our senses themselves are evil, Krystia. When I look upon you, I don’t see a woman; I see a collection of memories, thoughts, and contradictions. I see your life, whether I want to or not. What does that make me?”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 35
