by T. A. Miles
Eleven
The coven’s public site was simple and yet impressive. Vlas stood at an open entryway overlooking an amphitheater of squared tiers concealed within an open-air structure that, at a glance, shared a similar facade to the other buildings around it. It had only one floor, however, which was the descent of narrow levels toward a central area with the raw cliff face as its back wall. A large chandelier adorned with very handmade bouquets of crystal hung from the ceiling three open stories above and there were sconces along the lower walls brandishing torches rather than lamps. There was a small, squared pool at the center of the lowest level of the floor and a rectangular tablet with archaic carvings of familiar emblems on plain display.
It was a shrine to the gods, which was fitting. The Vassenleigh Order had its own as well, as did many places within Edrinor, the largest difference being that most of them were discarded relics of past tradition. Of course, a coven of witches would pay proper regard to the gods. Vlas was not surprised in the least. And they’d made it accessible to the public, whom they apparently attempted to convert to their way of thinking...in retaliation against the rapid progress Indhovan was undergoing.
It made a fair amount of sense. But why Vaelyx specifically? Or were they all making more of this than what it was? Either way, Vlas wanted to find the man and learn for himself whether or not the greatest kink in their thread regarding the strategy in Indhovan was a group of witches devoted to the past.
According to Merran’s find with that ledger, Vaelyx had been aware of the Vadryn slipping into the city well before they were notified at the Vassenleigh Order. Why had Vaelyx not shared it earlier? How did that coincide with his arrest and subsequent announcement that he had no further interest in assisting the Order? Furthermore, why did Irslan seem to know nothing of this? It didn’t take an overly pronounced imagination to understand that families often held secrets within them and at times members kept secrets from one another. So, was Irslan keeping a secret—to protect his uncle perhaps—or was a secret being kept from him, perhaps for his own protection.
What do you know, Vaelyx?
The question would linger unanswered for now. There were very few people present at the moment. A few of them sat at various levels, facing the shrine. They looked to be doing nothing more than that, as if they were simply in a place for rest or relaxation. Maybe they were waiting out curfew.
Vlas propped himself against the wall at his shoulder, resting a hand at his hip. Constable Imris stood beside him saying nothing for the moment. Her eyes were searching, though, so he let her be. If she was looking for a key individual for them to speak to, he didn’t want to interrupt.
He noticed a girl before too long—the girl. Dacia Cambir. She appeared as young and doe-eyed as she had at Irslan’s table the morning before last. Interesting to find her wandering into the building, having come in from the streets after dark, in direct disregard for the danger she had witnessed firsthand not very long ago. Was she a complete fool? Vlas had to wonder.
“There,” Imris said and Vlas redirected his attention to the individual the constable was looking at. “She speaks here often.”
The woman was sat at a level near the shrine pool with her back to them. Her long hair was worn down past her shoulders and light brown in color. Her dress was neither gaudy nor overly simple at a glance. Age was indeterminable at this distance and position.
Vlas pushed away from the wall and started forward, hesitating when he noticed Dacia Cambir making her way toward the same woman. The girl’s mother perhaps? Korsten had mentioned the crystals above the residence, which they all were agreed was a mark of the coven.
“What is it?” Imris asked, alerting Vlas to the fact that he was still hovering in contemplation.
He looked back at her, then toward the other two again before saying, “It’s nothing yet.”
He could feel the constable gracing him with the same look she’d bestowed upon other annoyances of the evening as he continued forward, toward Dacia and the coven’s public speaker. The girl had just begun a conversation with the woman when she noticed Vlas. Her eyes lifted and she proceeded to stare immediately, as she had at Irslan’s. Vlas ignored her, as he had done at Irslan’s.
“Madam,” he began, addressing the woman with her back to him, who was adjusting the crystal pendant her daughter wore, as mothers did.
Quietly, the woman chided the avidly staring Dacia by speaking her name. The girl averted her eyes and then the woman looked briefly over her shoulder. Her features were strong and simple, her smile vague and tight.
“Master Priest,” she said, somewhat coolly. In the same whisper of disinterest, she added, “Constable.”
“Ma’am,” Imris replied professionally.
“There’s to be a meeting,” the woman said and Vlas was quite certain this was the mother Korsten had described. “Are you here to listen?”
“No,” Vlas answered bluntly. “Are you Ersana Cambir?”
Dacia’s eyes flashed toward him again, in the same moment the woman raised her eyes to the girl and then said, with the same smile as before, “If this is about my daughter, I’ve already spoken with your associate.”
“And evidently did not listen,” Vlas said, making no mystery of his impatience. “You’re very lucky she’s still herself, but that’s not the reason I’m here.”
“Dacia,” Ersana said in the tone of instruction.
The girl took her leave obediently, casting a last look in Vlas’ direction as she went.
Vlas took silent note of the succinct exchange between mother and daughter, and then proceeded, stepping down a level and turning to face the woman, who sat as collected as anyone who was either completely ignorant, or keeping valuable secrets. “A man by the name Vaelyx Treir is a member of your coven.”
She looked at him, and denied nothing.
In her silence, Vlas continued. “How well do you know him?”
“As well as I know anyone with us,” she replied cryptically.
“Have you spoken with him lately?” Vlas decided to ask.
And now she answered with her tight-lipped smile and again, her silence.
“Did you assist his escape?”
“No,” she said calmly, looking at him directly this time.
“Do you know where he is now?” he asked, and before she could seal a verbal answer behind her thin lips, he added, “It’s vital that I speak with him.”
She surprised him by saying, “He has no desire to speak with you.”
Vlas looked to Imris, who returned the glance. She tensed visibly, but made no move to arrest Ersana. Vlas was glad for that. He had no interest in their politics beyond learning what Vaelyx knew that had altered his position so drastically from what it was before.
His focus returned to Ersana. “I’ll believe that when I hear it from his lips.”
The woman’s chin lifted marginally, enough to tell that she felt challenged in that moment, whether personally or on Vaelyx’s behalf was uncertain. “Why are you here?” she asked, as if to counter his challenge.
Vlas quickly sorted out that she didn’t mean there, at the gathering place; she meant in Indhovan. “War sits poised at the threshold of this city,” he said, informing her if she wasn’t already informed. “Vaelyx Treir once fought for Edrinor, first as a soldier and later as a valuable informant to the Vassenleigh Order. We are here because Morenne is making its move toward this place and we intend to turn them back. We have Vaelyx’s nephew to thank for recent information alerting us to just how urgent affairs are. Why didn’t Vaelyx alert us sooner? We know that he had knowledge of the Vadryn’s presence long before now. I’m assuming by your lack of panic that you have as well.”
Ersana watched him speaking with unwavering steadiness. She waited for him to finish, then said with disarming ease, “The answers you seek were left for you to find.”
/>
“What do you mean?” Vlas demanded.
“They were left for Irslan, but you should be able to find them as easily as you found evidence of what Vaelyx knew.”
Vlas took that information, studying it while he studied Ersana’s calm, unworried expression. He did not suspect she was lying, but he needed more time to decipher her cryptic words, so he set them aside for the moment. He asked, “Are you not afraid of the Vadryn? Afraid for your daughter, at least?”
Her lips closed again and she said nothing as she took her eyes from Vlas at last and set them on the shrine below.
Vlas watched her for an extended moment, then looked at Imris, whose expression suggested she was just as puzzled as he was.
Cayri returned to Irslan’s following her meeting with Lady Tahrsel, deciding it better to reunite with Vlas than to attempt any further investigating on her own. She took the stairs from street level which fronted Irslan’s home, stopping to look over her shoulder toward the governor’s manor, which was only to be discerned from other structures by its height. Its overlooking location made its architecture all the more striking, in a similar way that the sheer size of the constable hall held itself out amid its neighboring buildings.
“Lady Priest,” someone said in a voice that was not intrusive, but also not expected.
Cayri looked to Stacen at the door and offered him a polite greeting.
The man held the door open further, gesturing for Cayri to enter, which she did. The foyer was dimly lit, a small pocket of shadow preceding the front hall and the rooms beyond.
“Is Master Treir at home?”
“Yes, Madam,” Stacen replied.
“Will you take me to him?”
“Yes.” The reply came without reservation of any kind, so Cayri assumed she wasn’t asking Stacen to interrupt anyone’s sleep or other engagement. She waited for the man to secure the front door and take the lead. Along the way she inquired of her fellow priests, none of whom were reported as having returned to the house ahead of her. She had presumed as much, but hoped otherwise.
Stacen brought her to the library, where Irslan was sat reading. He set aside his book and began to stand, but Cayri urged him not to on her behalf. He remained in his chair, politely dismissing Stacen, who departed in silence.
“May I get you anything?” Irslan asked, following a pause, whereupon the two of them observed each other.
“No,” Cayri decided. And then she moved toward the chair beside Irslan’s and seated herself on the edge of its cushion. “Actually, I’d like to speak with you.”
Irslan opened himself up to the idea with a smile. “Regarding what?”
“Governor Tahrsel,” she answered and studied his expression while she spoke. It changed only marginally, but she could detect some slight weariness and perhaps disdain. She asked, “How well do you know him?”
“Not as well as either my father or my uncle did,” he replied easily. “There’s an irony to that, regarding my uncle—and you may suspect what it is—though by the vaguely puzzled look on your face I’m going to guess that Ilayna didn’t bring the subject up.”
“Which subject?” Cayri asked, to expedite the process. Irslan had proven himself to be a very roundabout man at times.
With a nod that seemed to understand her unspoken assessment, Irslan said, “My uncle and the governor were friends once, both of them working to better Indhovan’s relations...not with the rest of Edrinor, but with the Islands.”
“The Islands?”
“Governor Tahrsel’s homeland, and Konlan’s as well.” Irslan paused as if to reconsider his words. “I say better relations as if there was a problem. There was not, except in bringing our cultures closer together so that we may work together to improve and advance.”
Cayri took in this information, applying it to what she knew of Lady Tahrsel, which included her very open admission that Deitir was not their son, but hers alone. Of course, there would be no point to pretending with the potential of the governor’s very notable appearance, which Deitir would have inherited none of. This was presuming that Konlan’s very exotic features were unique to the Islands, of course, and that Tahrsel was fully native to them.
Her mind went to Deitir’s loyalty to his adoptive father and deduced that there was no tension or angst with being adopted or with being apart from whomever his natural father was. Perhaps the man had died. Given Lady Tahrsel’s apparent age, she must have had Deitir later than many women anticipated bearing children. If the father was her age or older, possibly having served the war in some way or another, it was quite possible that he passed away prematurely. Her mind went next to Irslan’s father and uncle, but she would not let herself leap to any unfounded conclusions. Irslan did not act as if he harbored that flavor of disdain toward the governor.
Cayri set aside notions of scandal and inwardly rolled her eyes at how quickly Vlas might have concluded that one was evident while simultaneously declaring his lack of care for it.
“What caused your uncle and the governor to fall away from each other?” she asked delicately.
Irslan’s readiness to be on the topic dismissed concern for how it was discussed. “While my uncle’s ideas became more active, the governor’s remained conservative and, in my opinion, tired. Tahrsel is not young anymore and he has a son to inherit his duties. Perhaps he’s done with it all by now.”
“Your uncle was imprisoned years ago,” Cayri reminded, while she considered Ilayna’s comment about her husband possibly having given up. She had to remind herself that twenty years were many to most people in Edrinor.
Irslan held his silence stubbornly, as if he would ignore that fact and declare the governor retired from his responsibility prematurely. But then he said, “I suppose the cutting truth of it is that I don’t know what happened.” He looked at Cayri directly. “When my father died—presumably he was one of the many bodies that went unrecovered on the battlefield—the world collapsed at the pace of a landslide. My uncle became very impatient and very insistent that the war had to end. At that same time, for whatever his reasons may have been, Tahrsel became increasingly disinterested in the war altogether.
“He went so far as to declare it a religious dispute between Edrinor’s Old Kingdom faction and an isolated party of extremists out of Morenne. Twenty years ago, he was very certain that the two groups would have destroyed one another or lost all vigor by now. Your presence here would let him know very certainly that he’s wrong and I suspect he wants nothing to do with that discovery.”
“But the murders and disappearances...”
“He’s assigned them to the constabulary. Once the culprits have been apprehended, he’ll undoubtedly announce the end of the curfew—which you’ll note is not strictly enforced—and the city will return to its affairs as usual.”
“People are wary, though,” Cayri said. “Whether or not they feel compelled by the curfew itself, they heed a danger they must feel is present.”
Irslan nodded.
“They’re afraid,” Cayri stated bluntly. In Irslan’s silence, she added, “But the governor’s not insisting that they should be.”
Again, Irslan had no response past a general look of agreement.
Sternly, she asked, “Who is?”
Twelve
With their Lantern spells recast, the area behind the gate was explored. Korsten was relieved that they discovered more of it than what first appeared visible in the shadows. The tunnel, as it turned out, stretched well away from the gate and the sounds of the many Vadryn who would have liked to follow them through it. Their complaints resounded throughout the narrow space, but eventually began to fall away. Korsten suspected it was owed to defeat rather than distance. And, in his current mode of thinking, that could only mean that they were devising a new scheme.
“There are so many of them,” he voiced helplessly.
And Merran simply said, “There are.”
“Why?” Korsten pressed. There were times when Merran’s silence was enough. And there were times when it was not.
“Why seems obvious,” his partner replied. “How is my question.”
“They don’t often tolerate one another,” Korsten considered aloud. “Yet, they appear to be very much working in agreeable tandem.”
“And unfortunately, they’re very drawn to you.”
Korsten cast Merran a quick look. “You cannot mean to tell me that the reason we were pursued so determinedly and nearly torn to shreds has anything to do with me specifically.” He caught a sharp breath and spat it out in the same moment. “Except you do mean to tell me that, because of my damnable talent for Allurance. But I’m not trying to express it.”
“I don’t think it matters. Once talents Resonate and especially once they’re Ambient, they become as much instinct as ability. It pushes out of you as unconsciously as a breath.”
Now he was considering how he could better control how the magic within him was breathing. It seemed a little absurd in the moment. “What can we do, then?”
“There is nothing for it,” Merran said with a slight lift of his shoulders and a shake of his head.
“Merran,” Korsten said directly. He stopped walking and caught his partner by the arm. When Merran turned to face him, he looked him in the eye, unconsciously noting the pleasing aspects of him that he always noted, because he was very drawn to Merran and—in spite of himself—he had been from the beginning. He asked again, “What can we do?”
“You have to work ahead of them,” Merran said. While Korsten performed a visual search of Merran’s features to see if a better answer lay there, his partner continued. “You detect them as much as they detect you. They will only ever sense you when you come into their sphere of awareness. It is my hope that you’ll begin to anticipate them.”
