Blackflame does not speak, but I see such hatred glittering in his eyes that I know he will find a way to make me pay for all of this. It should be quite easy for him, but that doesn’t stop me. “He lied. He escorted Lord Kol down to the cages himself, and traded me to him to pay a debt. Then he ordered Alia Degath’s cage opened so Lord Kol could mesmerize her and feed from her until she collapsed. The rest of us were made to watch.”
Nightblade nods as if I have offered up some interesting bit of trivia, but there is no mistaking the uncertainty mingled with disbelief on the faces of most of the other mages.
“Lord Kol is not known to have traveled to Karolene at that time,” Nightblade observes. “He did not pass through the portal there, nor was he a traveler on the ships in port. How do you explain his presence, and your departure with him, then?”
Blackflame goes still. Ah, so here’s a secret the High Council hasn’t caught wind of yet.
“Arch Mage Blackflame has a portal in his garden. We went through that.” Val manages to make me sound wholly oblivious to the import of my words.
“That’s impossible.” It’s another arch mage, tall and well built, with dark skin and a slight scar running down his cheek. “Portals are exceptionally difficult to create. One does not simply have a portal enchanted in the garden, as if it were an everyday charm.”
Val shrugs my shoulders. “I don’t know about that. I know what it looked like and I know we went through it. Kol did not have to go into the city at all.”
“That explains quite a bit,” another arch mage says in a quiet voice. She hasn’t spoken before, and it’s only as Blackflame slides her a dark look that I realize she is one of the few who doesn’t support him.
“Interesting,” Nightblade says over the rising murmur. “Go on, then.”
I continue my story. The Council has heard much of it from the Degaths, as well as Blackflame’s version of events, but their knowledge of my story ends with my departure with Kol. They don’t know the role Val played in my escape. This I give them, along with the story of my sunbolt, though I make no mention of our bond. Instead, I focus on the damage I’d sustained, the loss of my memory, and Val’s decision to take me to Stormwind.
“The breather demanded shelter by the Laws of Old from her, and she unwillingly granted it. He asked her to take care of me, help me recover my strength and memories, and train me. She agreed to let me stay, and he left before the three days were through.”
Bastion sits forward. “You mean that Mistress Stormwind took you on as her apprentice?”
“Not precisely. She understood that I must have had some training in order to cast my sunbolt. Without my memories, I couldn’t tell her who trained me. I believe she made some discreet inquiries to try to locate my master or mistress. She found nothing, nor did my memory improve. At first, she merely assessed me and worked to assure I would do neither myself nor others harm. As it became clear that I was trained, she decided to fill in the holes in what I recalled of my training and bring me before the High Council to be assessed and formally apprenticed once I was ready.”
Bastion shakes his head. “She trained a wild Promise beyond the purview of the High Council.”
“Oh, I don’t think you could refer to my magic as wild by any means. Free perhaps, but not wild. As far as I can tell, the one thing you could have justly sentenced Stormwind for was for taking too long in reporting both my existence and her work with me, neither of which she intended to keep silent about much longer.”
You’re not making friends with that statement, Val says, his mental voice thin with fatigue.
If I thought I could make friends, I wouldn’t have outed Blackflame in front of the Council that voted him into power. I hesitate, wondering about the pain I’d felt, the sound of Val’s voice in my mind. You’re sure you’re all right?
Yes.
“That is a curious claim indeed,” Blackflame says, breaking the silence he has held since allowing my testimony. “Free, not wild. You remember Karolene, or you could not speak of the Degaths. Yet you do not recall your master?”
“No.”
“Who harbored you there, then? Who did you live with, and how did you continue your studies?”
His eyes gleam with anticipation. He thinks he will find what he needs to tear me down, destroy me. But it’s because of him I was alone in Karolene, which makes this answer both easy and truthful.
“No one. To the best of my knowledge, I was trained as a child. I remember living on the streets in Karolene, renting a place in a shared apartment when I could afford it. I believed my family long dead.”
“Your family, the Hibachis,” Blackflame says.
“Yes.”
Blackflame motions to the scribe. “Have the records checked for an apprentice with the family name Hibachi, born in the last fifteen or twenty years.”
The scribe nods.
Don’t worry, Val says as I clamp down on my panic. You lost your memory. Just because you can’t explain their lack of records doesn’t mean you’re lying. There are other explanations for differences in family names.
True. I have time to come up with whatever explanations I’ll need, assuming I survive long enough for it to be an issue at all.
“And so,” Nightblade says, “you were studying with Stormwind when she was summoned before the High Council.”
“Yes.”
Blackflame frowns, his eyes cold and steady on my face. I doubt he will ever forget what I look like after this. I can only hope that my testimony will take him out of the Council as quickly as my actions brought him in.
Nightblade gestures for me to continue, and I launch into a somewhat edited retelling of the last week. Although I would like to leave it out, I have no choice but to describe my journey through the portal and the mage who followed me. I have no doubt that the Council members, if they wish to look into it, will easily uncover that story. I don’t dare leave it out, but I do make sure that I don’t give it willingly, instead giving just enough detail to trigger the questions that would force me to tell all under the truth spell.
We have the Council’s full attention as we describe the first spell-creature. The mage’s death — including his attempt to throw me to the monster — meets with a progressively more grim reception.
This time, it is Nightblade who requests the scribe to inquire into the identity of the mage, and the closing of the portal at Sonapur. As well as any information on the identity of the mages who rode to Stormwind’s valley.
Finished, he asks, “How did you escape the Burnt Lands from there?”
“The phoenix,” I explain, and describe my conversation with the phoenix and the rest of my flight to the bridge.
“So that’s how you first met him,” the spiky-haired mage says.
“Yes.”
“But why would he give you his feather? Or agree to help you again at all?” the scar-faced mage asks.
And here is the gamble I must take, the hope that they will find me intriguing enough to keep as a source slave rather than destroy outright. “He saved my life. In return, he wanted me to attempt to unravel the enchantments that hold the Burnt Lands in their grip.”
“You?” Bastion says derisively. “A half-trained mage barely old enough to—”
“This would be the first time in two hundred years a mage has ‘unraveled’ any of the enchantments holding the Burnt Lands in their thrall,” Nightblade observes. “That the phoenix thinks this young mage capable of greater feats should give us pause.”
“It gives me great pause,” Bastion replies. “She holds no allegiance to us, undermines our authority, frees our prisoners — to hear that she is exceptionally talented and capable of what we are not? No, I do not think that a good thing at all.”
“No, it isn’t,” agrees another mage. “If this girl has such power, she can hardly be allowed to wield it as she has thus far, without any respect for the Council.”
Nightblade raises his hand in a calming gesture
, earning an infuriated look from the mage. “Let us hear the rest of her story and keep our deliberations for after.” He nods to me. “Did you promise to return to the phoenix at that time?”
“No. He gave me his feather and told me to burn it when I chose to return. He left me and sent some of the desert dwellers to guide me out of the desert.” I continue on, skimming over my journey to the city, making no mention of Huda’s or Laith’s names or their tribes. Nor do the arch mages appear to care about such details. I get as far as my arrival in Fidanya when Blackflame calls a short recess for lunch.
It’s interesting to see the shifts in dynamic on the Council as he speaks. His words are precise, confident, and cool, as if he has no doubt as to his power or place. But there’s no question that something has changed in the room with my telling; Blackflame departs alone. He does not look for company as he leaves the table, nor does anyone hurry forward to join him.
As the remaining arch mages file from the room, Nightblade approaches to adjust the truth spell.
Here, Val says, returning my body to me. Pain ripples through every muscle, my very organs strangely heavy within me. My sight blurs, refusing to clear even when I press my eyes shut and open them again.
“I will not remove the sigil,” Nightblade explains as I try to focus on the floor. His fingers rise to touch my forehead. “It will remain dormant for now. I will reawaken it when we reconvene.”
I close my eyes and wait for the numbing cold of the truth spell to fade, leaving only a slight cold spot on my forehead. Nightblade drops his hand. It takes me a moment to open my eyes, and another breath or two to marshal my forces enough to look up to him.
“Are you well?”
I look at him for so long, the golden-pale skin, the night-star eyes, the depth of magic of him, that I almost forget his question. He tilts his head, watching me back. Finally I nod, because I cannot think of what to say.
“You have an hour. I suggest you eat and rest. I expect the trial to continue into the evening.”
I nod again.
Once he departs, my escort comes up around me, Ravenflight at their front. I wonder if they waited at the back of the room through the trial, or were sent outside.
Can you stand? Val asks.
I think so, but I’m not quite certain. I look up at Ravenflight. “I might have trouble standing,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Please don’t be surprised.”
She frowns slightly, nods. I heave myself to my feet, wavering until she moves forward and offers me her arm as a support. I take it gratefully.
All right? Val asks.
I think, I say as I start forward, my knees shaky beneath me. I really rather think we are not supposed to do this sort of thing for so long. My body doesn’t feel right.
A pause.
No, Val agrees. And then, I need to return to my own body. Call me when they reconvene. I’ll be ready.
Thank you.
I can only hope Val’s body has fared better by itself than mine has with both of us. Surely it would be fine? What would the ramifications be of leaving it for hours on end?
My grip tightens on Ravenflight’s arm.
“Easy,” she murmurs.
I force myself to unclench my fingers. There’s nothing to be done right now.
My escort guides me to the next room where two trays filled with food have been set out on a long low table along one wall. It’s a room for more relaxed meetings. Low sofas line the walls, interspersed here and there with small carved wooden tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I take a seat on the sofa against the back wall, eat what is given me, and close my eyes when I am done, letting my head rest against the wall.
No one speaks. I can’t tell how much they heard, nor do I want to risk speaking now that we have left the protections of the Council room. I wouldn’t have much to ask regardless.
Eyes closed, I puzzle through the unexpected pain I am left with in the wake of Val’s help this time. I consider the possibilities, remember the strain in Val’s mental voice as he spoke with me. With a sudden, sickening clarity, I recall Nightblade saying, “You will experience pain.”
My eyes snap open. The spell didn’t fail, as I thought. It took, and Val is the one paying the price of each lie I tell. A good deal of what I’ve said has been true, but not all of it. My testimony has been interspersed with lies to keep my heritage secret, to keep the Degaths safe. The bulk of my secrets still lie ahead of me. The Degath’s aid, Kenta’s help and the building where he makes his home….
“Are you well?”
I look up blankly. Ravenflight stands before me.
“Are you well?” she repeats.
I nod. “Fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I am. I take a breath, try to still my body. It doesn’t quite work.
“Just tired,” I tell her.
She nods and moves to stand against the wall beside my sofa, my own personal sentinel.
I close my eyes, trying to still my shaking and focus on what I will do. Before I’m halfway ready for it, a servant knocks at the door to request our presence in the hearing room. The walk back is physically easier, my spirit resting comfortably in my body, the strange heaviness mostly past and the pain no more than a ghostly memory.
Once we enter the room with its protections, I call out to Val again. He arrives as the last of the arch mages take their seats, Nightblade coming around to awaken the truth spell. I drop my gaze and close my eyes, bracing for the mage’s touch upon my forehead.
All well? I ask Val, trying to keep my mind’s voice calm, unworried.
Well enough.
It’s hitting you, isn’t it? I ask. The truth spell?
How can it?
I don’t know how the spell works, but he’s telling lies for me. If it’s hitting my body, you must feel it, I point out. And he must be shielding me from his emotions somehow as well, for I haven’t sensed the pain at all.
I’m fine.
I don’t believe him, don’t believe the very terseness of his response.
I steel myself as Nightblade traces the truth sigil, the searing cold of the enchantment enveloping me once more as it reawakens.
Ready? Val asks, sounding more himself.
No. Tell me if it’s hitting you, or I’m keeping control right now.
Hitomi, don’t be a fool. They’ll destroy your allies if you speak, won’t they? Is that what you want?
He knows the answer to that.
Move over, he says, his tone wry.
Despite my reservations, my consciousness slides easily to the side this time.
At the crescent tables, Nightblade takes his seat.
Tell me how bad it is.
I can feel it, Val admits. But I don’t believe I feel even half of its true power. I can get you through this.
Blackflame calls the Council to order. In the hard lines of his jaw, the cold glitter of his eyes, I know what he intends. As I have done my best to destroy him in the last few hours, so he will now see me undone through my own testimony. He’ll also discover and punish as many of my allies as he can find.
And Val will suffer for every lie I tell to keep my allies safe. Because of what? The life debts he thinks he owes me?
Val, you don’t owe me this much. I think the words before I can help myself, even though I know I need his help now. Even though I would beg him to help me if he weren’t offering.
I think you and I are past owing each other debts by now, don’t you?
Are we? I’m not at all sure I won’t feel beholden to Val for what he’s doing for me today.
Blackflame gestures to me. “We closed the last session with your departure from the caravanserai. Did you come straight to the Mekteb from there?”
“Yes.” At least that is a truth. I will try to spare Val what lies I can.
“How did you enter undetected?”
“I didn’t,” we say. “I came to the front gate and asked the guard there for entry. I told him I had a delive
ry for Master Stonefall from my mistress. I didn’t believe Master Jabir to be anything more than a mage. He considered my request and granted me passage.”
Blackflame raises his brows, looking past me to where Jabir sits. “Master Jabir,” he says, with a hint of mockery. “Did you not recognize anything of concern in this girl?”
Jabir clears his throat, his robes rustling as he stands. “I noted a great many things about the girl, including the fact that she carried the favor of the desert phoenix. Although she did not tell me the complete truth, I sensed no danger in her intentions.”
“No danger,” snaps one of the arch mages. “Surely you sensed her magic?”
“She was dressed as a mage. It did not seem unusual.”
They haven’t questioned him yet.
No, agrees Val. I think they most wanted to find out where Stormwind had gone, which only you could tell them.
That means Jabir hasn’t yet admitted to giving me free rein to aid Stormwind — an admission that could cost him his post, and one he doesn’t have to make.
“I didn’t have very clear intentions at that point,” we say, Val overriding the spiky-haired mage’s attempt to speak. “I wasn’t sure what I would do until after I found Master Stonefall dying. Once I healed him, he told me to hide in his bedchamber. He owed me his life, and in return he offered me a few minutes’ protection. I wore my look-away charm and stayed there until everyone left. Master Stonefall demanded to know why I came to the Mekteb and what I wanted of him. I told him the truth. I came seeking word of Mistress Stormwind. He told me of her sentencing, and counseled me to leave. He told me that, should I cause any trouble, he would likely be sent to hunt me.”
“Did Master Stonefall offer you no further support?” Blackflame demands.
Oh hell. The look-away itself, from Stormwind’s pack. The Degaths—
He did, didn’t he? Val asks. But he already knows.
“Did he say he did?” I hear myself ask. Val is buying me time, but I’ll still have to answer the question. Stonefall chose this path, but I don’t want it to cost him his future.
Val, I don’t want to hurt you.
He ignores my protest, the furrowed brows and uncertainty on the faces before us giving him all the answer he needs.
Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) Page 29
