by Davis Ashura
She unsheathed her sword and stepped forward. “Let her go,” Jessira growled.
Plume jerked his head up, panic flashing across his face. “Jessira—what are you—I saw Lake wander away from camp. She looked ill, and I was concerned.” He gestured to the unconscious woman. “I found her like this. She must be injured or sick.”
“I saw what you did to Lake,” Jessira said to him. Her blade was level with his heart. “Stand up and move away from her.”
Plume slowly rose to his feet. “This is all a misunderstanding,” he said. “I was just trying to help—”
“Like you helped me?” Jessira interrupted. “Is that why I was unable to remember what happened to me that night?”
Plume's face twisted into a sickly smile. “I know you feel differently, but for me, our night together was special,” he said. “I'm sorry if you later came to regret your decision but . . . “ He shrugged.
Some of the earlier coldness returned. “Strip off your clothes,” Jessira ordered. When Plume hesitated, she moved. Quicker than he could follow, she sliced him across the face, just below his right eye. “I don't want to kill you, but I will if you leave me no choice.”
Plume wiped at the blood trickling down his cheek. “You are making a mistake,” he vowed darkly. Nevertheless, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
Jessira didn't bother responding to Plume's words. “Remove your pants and your boots,” she ordered.
“I can help our people,” Plume entreated, even as he followed her orders. He soon stood naked except for his undergarments.
“Fold your clothes and sit on them.” She kicked his belt to him. “Tie your hands with this. Tighten it with your teeth.”
“I'm one of the few warriors we have left,” Plume continued to implore even while he tied his hands with his own belt. “Who else can you trust to protect us? The Purebloods?” He sneered. “They aren't all like your husband. They'll slit our throats when it suits them.”
Jessira didn't pay attention to his statements. She wasn't here to convince him of the righteousness of the Ashokans or defend their honor. She was here to protect her people from a predator.
“You cannot come with us,” Jessira intoned. “The lives of my people—”
“Our people,” Plume hissed. “I'm no less a child of Stronghold than you!”
Jessira shook her head. “Not anymore. You lost that honor several years ago, and tonight, after what you almost did to Lake, judgment will be rendered.”
“Why are doing this?” Plume cried. “Lake wouldn't have remembered a thing. It would have been as though it had never happened. No one would have been hurt.”
“The fact that you believe so is the reason you cannot come with us,” Jessira replied. “Hold your knees against your chest.”
“Why?” Plume asked suspiciously, even as he obeyed her command.
Jessira stepped forward and kicked him in the side of the head.
His eyes rolled back, and his legs stiffened. He keeled over with a groan.
Jessira checked to make sure his belt was as tight as possible. Good. It would take him some time to get free. She stuffed one of his socks in his mouth and used his bootlaces to bind his feet together.
Plume would live, but never again would he be allowed amongst her people.
It was justice—justice long-delayed and long-deserved.
Rector Bryce waited outside Dar'El Shektan's study with a brooding sense of foreboding. Given what had occurred the last time he had been here at the Shektan House Seat—Rector's forced enrollment into House Wrestiva as a spy—it was an understandable fear. In fact, the only reason he had managed to muster the courage to ask for today's meeting was because of the words Mira Terrell had spoken before she'd died.
“Your honor is as you see yourself, not as you wish others to see you. See yourself truly.” Those had been among Mira's final statements as she had slowly bled to death in a drab dwelling in Stone Cavern.
Rector swallowed back grief that was like bile in his throat.
When he and Mira had first been forced to work together, he had held a very poor opinion of her. She had struck him as arrogant and conceited, full of herself despite the minimal accomplishments to her name. Add in her possible immoral relationship with Jaresh Shektan, and there had been little reason for Rector to have ended up respecting, much less liking, Mira Terrell. But something about her rugged perseverance, her inner strength, and core of dedication had struck a chord with him. Mira had never offered sympathy for Rector's plight—she had expected him to deal with his circumstances without becoming mired in self-pity—and in return, she had never once asked, nor expected, forgiveness for her own situation.
Their conversations, so heated early on, had eventually softened into friendship. Rector came to know and respect Mira, finding her to be insightful and fiercely loyal, and even though she had never admitted it, he knew she had loved Jaresh Shektan. Her struggle to reconcile her emotions with what she knew to be moral must have been difficult, but ultimately, she had remained true to her Kumma heritage and the teachings of The Word and the Deed. She had never acted upon her feelings. Mira had remained upright and virtuous.
Her admirable example had pushed Rector to become a better man himself, a more understanding one. In the face of her unrelenting courage, how could Rector have continued to wallow in his self-pity? And as her friend, how could he have hated her for the simple act of loving?
Mira had been a special person. She had deserved so much more than the ending she had received: murdered by Hal'El Wrestiva, the SuDin of the Sil Lor Kum.
Rector's fists clenched in fury. Even now, weeks after the fact, Mira's murderer had yet to be captured. The fragging bastard had escaped from the Stone Cavern flat he had shared with his Rahail lover, Varesea Apter, and had managed to elude the justice he so richly deserved.
Of course, news of Hal'El's infamy had thrown all of Ashoka into upheaval. His actions had been unprecedented, and the resultant shockwave, especially through Caste Kumma, had been unlike anything Rector had ever known of or experienced. The outrage over Hal'El's betrayal had been overwhelming, and House Wrestiva had lost all standing. Even their allies had been ensnared in the riptide of anger and excoriation.
No one wanted to be associated with such a disgraced House, and that included Rector Bryce. It was another reason why he sat waiting outside Dar'El Shektan's office. House Shektan was his birth House, and most of his family were still members of it. What better place for him to turn to than the honorable House that had exposed Hal'El's evil? More importantly, Rector had once promised Mira that he would try and reconcile with Dar'El. It was a vow he had made while she had lain dying, and it was a vow he was determined to keep.
He knew it wouldn't be easy, not after what Rector had done to Rukh, and it was likely that Dar'El had yet to forgive him, but still, he had to try.
Eventually, the call came for Rector to enter Dar'El's office, and he rose to his feet. He closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath, seeking to control his nervousness. One more breath, and he was ready. A servant ushered him into the office where he found Dar'El sitting alone behind his desk. The door to the room closed, and Rector had to keep himself from glancing back at it.
Dar'El didn't bother looking up from his work. He waved vaguely at a chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat,” he ordered.
Rector took the indicated chair and waited. The room was silent except for the scratching of Dar'El's pen. Rector held still, not allowing himself to shift nervously.
Minutes passed before Dar'El set aside his work with a satisfied grunt. “What did you wish to discuss?” he asked as he finally looked up.
“I wish to rejoin House Shektan,” Rector replied in what he hoped was a clear, even tone as he met the older man's gaze.
Dar'El gave a grim shake of his head. “That seems an unlikely proposition given your actions the last time you were a member here.”
“I was wrong to have acted as
I did,” Rector replied. “And I offer my sincerest apology for what I did to Rukh and to your family.”
“Your sudden remorse is certainly convenient given House Wrestiva's fall,” Dar'El said, viewing him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “But since Mira spoke in your defense, I'll hear you out. What's changed your mind about this House with which you were once so greatly displeased?”
Rector smiled briefly as he thought of Mira. She was who had changed his mind. With her dogged determination and sarcastic questioning, she'd changed many things. “I had notions of what was right and moral, but events since then . . .” Rector shrugged. “I've learned some hard lessons. Rukh's friendship with Jessira, much less his Talents, should not have resulted in his being found Unworthy.”
“And Hal'El's relationship with Varesea Apter?” Dar'El asked, staring at him with a measuring, cunning gaze.
Rector shrugged again, discomfited. “That man should be executed for many crimes far greater than whatever kind of relationship he and Varesea might have shared.”
“But they were lovers. Does that not count as a sin?”
“So it is said in The Word and the Deed,” Rector began uncertainly. “But I'm no longer sure we can afford to unquestioningly follow that book, not when there is a more ancient creed, one that is more generous.” He hesitated. “I think generosity is going to be sorely needed in the future.”
“The Book of All Souls?”
“Yes.”
Dar'El templed his fingers beneath his chin.”I'm impressed,” he said sarcastically. “A politician could not have provided a smoother, more convincing answer.”
Rector gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain quiet in the face of the older man's insult. A politician was another name for liar. Rector tried to hold his face as unexpressive as a plank of wood.
“But trust, once lost, is hard to recapture,” Dar'El continued. “How can I ever trust you after you betrayed me so terribly?”
Rector stared at a point over Dar'El's shoulder, trying to come up with an answer to the older man's impossible question. “I hope that my recent actions in exposing Hal'El might serve better than any words I can offer.”
Dar'El studied him for a stretch of silence before suddenly sighing. “You did what you could, and in doing so, you kept my daughter alive. I only wish you could have preserved Mira as well,” he said as a fleeting look of sorrow passed across his face.
“So do I,” Rector whispered.
“As I said, toward the end, Mira spoke in your defense,” Dar'El continued. “I trusted her judgment when she said your . . . conversion wasn't merely one of convenience, but I must confess”—he leaned back in his chair—”I find it hard to reconcile the man I see before me who so humbly asks for forgiveness with the man I once knew, the one who was so certain that it was only his moral compass that pointed unerringly to the truth.”
“That man was an arrogant fool.”
“On this we are agreed,” Dar'El agreed. He leaned forward suddenly, the look of a raptor on his face. “I'm told you found a small book amongst the possessions of the Sentya MalDin, Moke Urn. What information did it contain?”
Rector scowled. He had hoped he wouldn't have to bring this up. The information in that slim volume would be disastrous if it ever came to light. “It was a history of the Sil Lor Kum, especially the SuDins. There was one name that was of particular relevance: Kuldige Prayvar.”
“The founder of House Shektan,” Dar'El said, appearing unsurprised. Instead, he looked like he had been expecting the answer.
Rector realized Dar'El must have already known about Kuldige, and he mentally grimaced. Was there anything of which the man was unaware?
“Knowing this, the sin at the heart of House Shektan, are you sure you still wish to rejoin us?” Dar'El asked.
Rector nodded. “The sins of the fathers should not pass on to their progeny.” He coerced conviction into his voice.
“And if I still deny your request,” Dar'El said. “What will you do then?”
Rector kept his face impassive. “I won't release the knowledge about Kuldige if that has you concerned,” he replied. “I'll just have to find a different House to take me in.”
“And if the knowledge about Kuldige became available to everyone?”
Rector tried to remain impassive in appearance even as he hid a shudder. It would be a disaster if the truth about Kuldige became public knowledge. “Then House Shektan will have a problem.”
Dar'El stared at Rector with a discomfiting gaze. “You'll have my decision in the morning,” he finally said.
“I look forward to it,” Rector said, schooling his features to a serenity he didn't feel as he rose to his feet.
The next morning, Rector was summoned back to the House Seat. There, in the presence of an enigmatic Dar'El and a glowering Durmer Volk, he was oathed back into House Shektan.
Rector left the House Seat with a sense of stunned elation. His life was his once more. No longer did he have to pretend allegiance to the Wrestivas. All the lies binding him to that fallen House could be shed. He was once more of his birth House, able to offer it his steadfast and unrestricted support.
He walked with a bounce in his step and an easy grin on his face. His smile fell when he purchased the morning's broadsheet. It had just been published. On the front page was an exposé, a list of all the known Kumma members of the Sil Lor Kum dating back over the past several hundred years. Prominently displayed was the name of Kuldige Prayvar.
Rector swallowed an oath as he crumpled the paper.
Hal'El Wrestiva hid within the shrouded recesses of a corn field. He wore a dark cloak that blended with the surrounding shadows, and his hood was thrown forward, hiding his features. Nevertheless, even if he had chosen to walk the streets of Ashoka with his face uncovered, he doubted many would have recognized him through his layers of grime and weeks-old stubble. Given his grubby, pathetic appearance, no one would have taken him for the ruling 'El of House Wrestiva.
He scowled.
The former ruling 'El of House Wrestiva. He had been deposed several weeks ago when his membership in the Sil Lor Kum had been exposed, including his role as the Withering Knife murderer. All it had taken was a single disastrous night for his entire life to come undone. It had all started when he'd captured Mira Terrell and ended with Rector Bryce and Bree Shektan breaking down the door to his flat in Stone Cavern. They hadn't managed to save the Terrell girl, but they had done something far worse: they had murdered Varesea.
Hal'El worked to suppress his pain. It had been weeks since Varesea's death, and he still had trouble accepting that she was gone. He missed her.
Since that awful night, Hal'El had been forced to hide in his safe house, one that only he knew about. Years ago he had prepared it, all in case his membership in the Sil Lor Kum ever reached unfriendly ears. Not even Varesea had known of it. The safe house had been stocked with enough food and water to have lasted Hal'El for months. Of course, what to do after the supplies ran out was a concern he had never been able to properly answer.
Thus, with little thought of the future, Hal'El had simply hidden himself away in the safe house, not knowing what to do next. After all, he was thrice cursed with a death sentence. He was a murderer, a member of the Sil Lor Kum, and a ghrina.
All Ashoka knew it.
Despite his isolation, though, news of the outside world had still reached Hal'El. A daily broadsheet, easily stolen from a nearby stand, told him what was occurring in the rest of the city. Unsurprisingly, House Wrestiva was nearly ruined, while House Shektan was widely lauded for their role in unveiling such a heinous evil living in the center of Caste Kumma.
Hal'El cursed at the memory.
It was intolerable that the man responsible for Varesea's death should be so extravagantly praised. Dar'El Shektan had forever been a thorn in Hal'El's side, foiling his plans at every step, and setting his House in opposition to Hal'El's. After all, it had been Dar'El's instructions that had set Mira,
Rector, and Bree to ferreting out Hal'El's secrets. He'd even found a means to keep his cursed 'son', Jaresh, from facing proper punishment for murdering Suge.
Hal'El cursed once more.
Dar'El Shektan should have shared the same fate that Hal'El had managed to apply to Mira Terrell.
Indeed, immediately after Varesea's death, it had been Hal'El's intention to seek out the death of his hated enemy. He had gone to the Seat of House Shektan with a simple scheme to see his bitter nemesis ended. Nothing would have stopped him, and his plan would have worked, except for the interference of one singularly stupid woman.
As Hal'El had approached the Shektan Seat, barring further passage to the front gates had been the Hound, Sophy Terrell, Mira's amma. Even though Hal'El had been Blended, she had sensed his presence and confronted him. There had been a pregnant pause when Hal'El had revealed himself.
Then Sophy had run away, howling like a madwoman for help.
Hal'El had meant to kill her quickly, but she had been surprisingly agile, sprinting and screaming while she threw Fireballs at Hal'El to slow him down. She had even formed an unexpectedly strong Shield. In the end, though the chase was short-lived and Sophy's life shortly stilled—the Knife had quieted her cries—by the time Hal'El had managed the task, a dozen Kummas had converged on their location. Hal'El had been forced to beat a hasty retreat to his safe house.
There, he'd hidden away, trying to come up with a plan out of his predicament. The first few days after had passed in hours of morose, unaccustomed self-pity with Hal'El had curled up in a ball of misery. Everything he had loved and worked so hard to protect had been stolen away from him, and during those moments, he had reckoned that his life couldn't sink any lower.
He had been wrong.
The true horror of his situation quickly became manifest soon thereafter.
“Fool,” a voice whispered in the vaults of his mind.
Hal'El flinched. He'd come to know and dread that voice all too well. Whereas Felt Barnel, Aqua Oilhue, and Van Jinnu had all remained relatively quiescent following their deaths, only muttering and murmuring now and then, Sophy Terrell had burst into his mind like a thunderclap, raging like an inferno at what he had done to her. She rarely remained quiet for longer than a few hours at a time before beginning again with her screamed vilifications and dire threats of retribution. Worse, the others—Felt, Aqua, and Van—had begun following Sophy's example. During such moments, Hal'El felt like his mind was going to tear apart from the cacophony of bloodcurdling oaths and howled promises.
