“This generation of Guardians is my best yet.” Tanghi was grinning. It meant Tiede was still standing, and Vir wasn’t dead.
“The creature?” Alaric asked.
“Still alive, but from what I witnessed, if anyone can kill it, Gryf can. And, if a mortal kills it, we needn’t worry about the istoq.” Tanghi took a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “There was also a fire in the southwest district; that made it easy for me to get in and take a look around. The boy the blacksmiths adopted found the mage that’s been trying to kill Vir. That’s why servants in the House have been dying and why Vir was so sick; the boy found out he was being poisoned. Anyway, the mage tried to kill the boy, but Gryf showed up.”
Kaila tried to look as disinterested as possible while still maintaining an air of concern regarding the situation as a whole. At least Aren was alive.
“They took the mage to the House for questioning, but no doubt Vir will have him executed.” Tanghi looked thoughtful, and Kaila could see confusion flitting across his features. “There’s something about the boy that strikes me as odd. The mage was one breath away from killing him, but in that final moment, the boy turned into something else.”
Alaric frowned. “What do you mean? Not an actual transformation?”
“His eyes glazed over, and he began speaking in an old language I’d forgotten. When he spoke, the magic backfired on the mage.”
“Is the boy marked?” Alaric asked.
“Other than the mark of a Fighter initiate, I saw nothing, let alone anything that would indicate any magical abilities.”
Alaric turned to Kaila. “The boy he speaks of, did you see him when you were in Tiede?”
Kaila felt her cheeks flush. Could they see the truth on her face? That she had indeed seen this boy—naked, at that—and that he’d nearly kissed her? She pressed the tips of her fingers together. “Yes. Remember, I thought he was a Guardian as well? He was with his brothers defending Vir.”
“He was raised by Guardian blood,” Tanghi said. “He’ll have been brought up well unless there’s something else in his nature that would overpower that.”
“The Unblessed,” Taia interjected, nearly causing Kaila, who had forgotten that she was in the room, to jump. “They are as dandelions in the wind: of little consequence. Sometimes, mortals are able to channel energy when they are near death. It’s not unheard of.”
“When I was in Tiede,” Kaila spoke up, “I overheard that the boy was researching symbols. I thought he might be on to something, which is why I was looking through your books. I thought I might find something to help Tanghi—”
“He’s just a mortal with a small mind,” Taia interjected again. “Tanghi says his Guardian can kill it. I don’t know why we’re bothering to discuss it.”
Kaila faced her. “I fought that creature, and it’s more powerful than you think! If it were really as simple as gutting it, it would be dead by now.”
Taia huffed. “Obviously it’s not just flesh and blood. We all know it uses magic. My point is that if Tanghi’s people are wearing it down, at some point it’ll run out of power.”
“At what point is that?” Kaila challenged her. “Before or after it kills Vir?”
Alaric stood up and put a hand on Kaila’s shoulder. “All right, that’s enough.” The women exchanged glares.
“Apologies, my Lord,” Kaila said in a soft voice. “I’m still angry with myself for not finishing what I started. I really wish you would hear me out on this. It’s going to take more than a sword to kill that monster.”
Alaric looked to Taia, and Kaila watched as she rolled her eyes and slammed the logbook shut. He placed a kiss on Kaila’s jaw. “Why don’t you and Tanghi go for a walk, cool down a little. I think we all need some breathing room.”
THREE
Aren followed two Guards, Lord Vir, Elder, and Counselors Darc and Helmun into the dungeon. As they made their way through the chilly corridors, Aren took note of the marked who were locked up, two or three to a cell, and one cell after another. For the most part, they looked terrified and helpless, and he tried not to look at their faces. He wondered how many of them were visited by Lord Hraf or another of Tiede’s ghosts.
As they walked, the sounds of their shoes against the stone floors created a rhythmic pattern in Aren’s head, punctuated by the thunk of Elder’s staff at every measure. Aren slipped into a trancelike state, and it helped to dull the voices that had returned once he and Gryf had escaped from the fiery oil shop, dragging Tun behind them. He thought he could see the whispers of ghosts, their invisible trails made visible to his subconscious.
Vi hist aft, Aren heard the voice by his ear.
“I hope we’re well met, Lord Hraf,” Aren responded in Ancient. The party stopped, and everyone turned to look at him as he snapped out of his trance. “I was talking to myself,” Aren stammered. After a moment, they continued down the corridor. Hraf was laughing so hard that Aren was tempted to yell at him to shut up, but he reminded himself that he was coming off like a lunatic as it was, and Tiede Hraf, while dead, was still a Lord of Tiede.
Vir spoke up, as if to normalize the journey. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the little Priestess woke up when you arrived, Apprentice. The Priestess Minor said the little girl said you needed help, was drained of color, then fell over.”
“She worries excessively, and we seem to have some kind of connection,” Aren replied from the back of the group. “Coincidence or not, I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
“The doctor says you escaped with some bad cuts and bruises, minor burns,” Vir said. “But that seems to be the norm for you these days.”
“I’m alive. I can’t much complain about that.”
“Not only are you alive,” Darc broke in, “but you found the one responsible for trying to kill Lord Tiede. We owe you a great debt.”
“It is my duty and my honor,” Aren responded, as his siblings and parents had taught him. “As usual, the praise belongs to Gryf.”
The Guards stopped in front of a room with a solid iron door with a small barred window. Vir nodded and the door was unlocked and opened. Each Guard lit one of the inner torches on either side of the door.
The cell was large, with chains that hung from the ceiling. Aren’s eyes swept past the crude tables and instruments and stared at the far wall, where Tun was naked and chained, his limbs pulled so that he formed into an X. He had been beaten to a bloody mess, and it looked as though someone had given him a matching wound on the knee opposite the one Gryf had stabbed.
Helmun gagged, then ran out of the room to throw up.
“Did we learn anything from him?” Darc asked, as if he couldn’t hear his colleague retching outside.
“He admitted to the poisoning,” Elder said, “and to torturing Mister Wethern Duv. Fighter Gryf and the Apprentice have corroborated the latter part of the story. Unfortunately, too much was burned for us to learn anything more at the oil shop, but I’d say it was a mercy what the Fighter did.”
“According to accounts from fire control, it wasn’t just torture,” Darc said.
“The Apprentice described it as a ritual,” Vir said, his eyes studying the would-be assassin. Tun might have been staring at them, but it was hard to tell because one eye was swollen shut. “Is that right, Apprentice?”
Aren said, “My theory is he’s the one who summoned that creature.”
“The one we’ve lost track of,” Darc said.
“I feel it’s still enough to free the marked,” Elder said. “Every piece of evidence points to this man.”
“However,” Helmun said as he reentered the room, his voice raspy, “we don’t know for certain. We’ve already executed Horin. The mage that beat the Apprentice was killed, but there’s at least one more the Apprentice claims is still out there. Then, there was the mage attack yesterday. We don’t know which marked will attack next.”
Darc said, “The ones who mean to do the House harm are i
n hiding.”
“You want to free the marked because you have a personal interest, because your daughter is marked,” Helmun said, keeping his eyes away from Tun.
“I know my daughter is innocent,” Darc said, his voice steady. “I have no worries or fears where she is concerned. Perhaps the personal interest is yours.” He fixed his eyes on Helmun. “It’s hard to ignore the stories of how your wife favors young, marked men.”
Aren cocked his head and raised his brows as he watched Helmun fluster.
“I’ve no intention of standing here and taking such abuse!” Helmun cried.
“You’ll go nowhere, Counselor. We still have the matter of this mage to discuss,” Vir said. “Do you have any argument, mage?” Vir asked Tun. “You can give us the answers we seek now or draw this out painfully. In either case, you’ll die; it’s only a matter of how much you want to suffer before you get there.”
It was quiet, with the exception of the distant echoes of dripping water. As bloody and beat-up as he was, Aren wondered if Tun was even conscious. Then, the chains rattled a little, and Tun let out a cough as tangled as cobwebs.
“Question the mage under your own roof,” Tun rasped, his less swollen eye glaring at Aren.
“Name these mages in my House,” Vir ordered.
Tun snorted and blood dripped from his nose. “The pretty one next to you.” All eyes turned to Aren while Tun’s head rolled from side to side. “Did he tell you about his powers? How they bested mine? How he near killed me?”
Aren shook his head. “What powers? I—”
“He spoke magic,” Tun accused. “Magic so powerful, I didn’t understand it. Did you ever consider that he might be the one who summoned the creature?”
“I’m not marked. How would that make sense?”
“When did you come into your powers, mage?” Vir asked.
“Since a child,” Tun breathed. “Parents died under Kaishar rule. I learned from other mages to help free Pren-Holder from the condescending god worshippers.”
“And have you, in all your learning, ever heard of a mage without marks?” Vir asked.
Aren furrowed his brows as his memory churned through all the information he had read about mages. There was no such thing as an unmarked magic wielder.
Tun gurgled and blood and drool slipped out of his mouth. “Never.”
“Nor have I,” Vir said, turning to face the Counselors. “I’ll order the interrogator to return this afternoon. We’ll force an answer out of him sooner or later. He won’t be allowed to die until we destroy that monster.”
The Counselors bowed their heads and Vir made his way towards the cell door. They prepared to follow when Tun wheezed out a request. “Wait.”
Everyone paused, but Vir didn’t turn around.
Elder addressed Tun. “The time for bargaining is over. Did you summon the beast? How do we destroy it?” Tun was mumbling something in his phlegm-addled voice. Elder pounded his staff against the floor. “We can’t hear you, mage.”
Aren looked from Tun to Elder and back again. Tun didn’t raise his voice; perhaps he couldn’t. Aren strained to hear him, and in one ear Hraf whispered in Ancient, Listen, boy.
Aren murmured back, “He speaks in Old Magic!”
A’ars Tiede, Hraf ordered, his voice the growl of a wolf.
Adrenaline surged through Aren’s body and he yelled out, “Cover!” as he moved to defend Vir. Instead of ducking, however, everyone looked at Aren, and no one noticed the scrolling leaf symbol animate, shooting its curling petiole out from Tun’s arm.
Aren pushed both Counselors out of the way as he lunged forward. Darc stumbled but caught himself against one of the tables. Helmun hit his head against a wall and fell to the floor. Aren reached out to catch the lashing petiole before it could connect with Vir, and the plant caught on Aren’s forearm, wrapping around it several times and dragging him towards Tun’s sweating face.
“Guards!” Darc called out as he steadied himself and herded Elder and Vir out of the room.
Aren struggled, wrestling with what felt more like a vine than a leaf as it squeezed and pulled him against his will. He cursed as he reached for one of the chains that hung from the ceiling. He managed to grab one, but his grip didn’t hold and he lost his balance, falling to the floor with a thud, making it easier for the plant to pull him.
The Guards came in and rushed to Aren’s aid. One took a sword to the vine, but it wouldn’t break. He struck again, without luck, then tried to pry the plant from Aren’s arm.
The other Guard held a knife to Tun’s throat, pushing his big face against the wall. “Release him!”
Aren grabbed at the vine with his free hand, let out a curse, then said, or thought he said, “Tuin.” The vine began to drain of color and loosed its hold. He pushed the twisting plant off his arm, then pushed the first Guard towards the exit. Aren called out, “Don’t kill him. He has answers about the creature.”
The second Guard nodded, let go of Tun’s face, then moved, but as Aren turned to follow, the vine whipped back to life and flung itself at Helmun, who still hadn’t gotten up. It wrapped around his neck, and he cried out as he was hurled towards Tun. It happened so fast that Aren didn’t have time to think. He ran back to try to free the Counselor, but the vine tightened, and Aren heard a sickening crack as Helmun’s neck was broken.
Aren stared, horrified as the vine-leaf thrust itself into Helmun’s open mouth. The plant began to glow red, and Tun hung his head, a grin on his swollen face. When Helmun was nothing but a pale sack of bones, the vine retreated back to its owner.
Aren backed away, the signals from his brain to his muscles suffering from a serious disconnect. The second Guard, who had been standing by the door in a similar state, hit Aren in the arm to get him to move.
Tun raised his eyes, and he and Aren stared at each other. “I am the Catar, the final sacrifice. You’ll never stop the beast now.” Then, the red glow grew, the vines winding a pattern throughout his body. He chuckled, blood beginning to ooze from his lips. “Catar cri covinen,” he whispered.
Then, the vine pattern ripped the large-headed mage apart.
FOUR
Aren sat on the larger sofa in the sitting room that overlooked the sea. Selina’s sleeping head was on his lap, and he stroked her hair as he stared out into the distance, where the Parthe Sea met the sky. His head was buzzing with symbols and long-forgotten words, images of death highlighted in red glowing lights. From his lips came a voice he felt detached from as he sang an old lullaby.
Sweet little child, close your eyes,
And dream of the stars in Alaric’s skies.
If you lay awake and tearful,
The faeries of Tiede will come and steal you.
“What a horrible, frightening song,” Nianni said from the chair close to the fireplace.
Aren smiled at her, then returned to his reverie.
I’ll watch over you, my heart, in peaceful slumber.
Your wishes I’ll turn into prayers.
In fire and water, your soul will find respite
Until death catches you unawares.
“You Tiedans are a morbid people,” she interjected again. When Aren didn’t respond, she added, “But you have a beautiful voice, considering how annoying you are. I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Thank you,” he said at last. “Dane is the one with the voice, though.”
Nianni seemed to perk up, eager for conversation. “Your singing got Selina to fall asleep, and that’s enough for me. She was hysterical earlier. She said that you needed help, that she could hear you.” She paused, as if reliving the events. “But you’ve heard this already.”
There was a knock, and Aren looked over to see his brothers enter. They bowed their heads in greeting to Nianni, and she returned the gesture as she stood up.
“Are we interrupting?” Dane asked. He knelt down beside Selina, placing a hand on her head. Selina’s eyes fluttered open, and she flopped her hand onto
Dane’s shoulder.
“Not at all,” Nianni responded, refusing to make eye contact with Aren. “Let’s go rest for a while, Selina. You can see the Apprentice again later.”
Selina, too tired to argue, took Nianni’s hand. She walked past Gryf, giving his leg a hug, then followed Nianni out of the room.
“Outside,” Gryf said. Aren followed his brothers without question, and they leaned against the balcony’s low wall, looking out at the sea, with Aren between them. “Elder told me what happened in the dungeons and asked if I knew what the mage was talking about. Something about accusing you of having powers.”
“What happened to me at Wethern’s?” Aren asked. “Tun sounded too confident to be lying, but it’s ridiculous. I don’t know magic, and I have no marks.”
“When I found you, Tun had the upper hand. He was going to kill you, but you started speaking in some strange language. Whatever magic Tun was about to use on you got changed into something else.” Gryf’s brows were furrowed, and he looked as though he didn’t trust his own memory. “You were going to kill him.”
Aren racked his brain, trying to find the memory, but without any luck. “Did you tell Elder?”
“No, just Dane,” Gryf sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I told Elder that you and Tun were fighting for control of the staff, and maybe that’s why Tun thought you were a mage. He seemed eager to accept that explanation. The Guards told me in confidence how you managed to break loose of the plant that attacked you in the dungeon. He said the vine had you but you said something and the plant loosened its grip.”
“Tuin,” Aren said, his throat feeling parched. “That’s what I said, but the way it sounds right now isn’t the way I said it.” He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the horizon. “It means ‘to drain or wither, to take energy from.’ On its own, it has no power.” He tumbled over his words as he tried to understand what had happened. “I can say it until I dry up and die, and it wouldn’t do what it did to that vine.”
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