"What did you want to talk about?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. So many things. I don't know where to start."
"Start wherever you'd like."
How could her father not like Ander? He treated her with respect, and she'd never heard a bad word about him. Her father had to know Ander was part of the Order.
She took a deep breath. "All right, I've found more information on White Fire and Woodsville. Cyrus Middleton believes that White Fire is hidden there. You know he wouldn't write something like that if he wasn't sure it was true."
"That's interesting. It might be worth looking into."
"So, you believe me then?" she said, the tension in her shoulders easing.
"Yes, I think I do. But why tell me before the others?"
"You're the one who can use that staff. Only magic will be effective against some of the things in those ruins. I'll need you."
She squirmed in the chair. If he didn't agree, she had no idea what she'd do. She couldn't go into those ruins alone, regardless of any foolish threats she'd made before.
"I'll be there," he said at last. "It's crazy, but I'll do what I can to help. I talked a bit with Aric after the meeting last night, and he convinced me that maybe we do need to do something more active with the Order. After all, why fight if it's only to stay afloat?" He sighed. "But it'll have to wait."
Nadia leaned forward. "Why?"
"We're calling an emergency meeting of the Order tomorrow night. Our spy network has brought us some troubling news. They don't have anything specific, but there's intelligence that Imperial Guards are about to do something big, something involving Crayden."
Her insides knotted with fear. "Is this intelligence reliable?"
"Very reliable, unfortunately."
"What can we do to stop them? If Warrick grants them some of his magic, we won't be able to stand against them. Not even with your magical staff."
"I know," Ander said. "But we have to defend the people the best we can. Don't worry. I've been practicing with my staff." He took a small piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to her. It contained the time and location of the meeting. She read it, memorized it, then tore it into pieces, which she tossed into the room's crackling fire.
"Anything else you wanted to talk about?" Ander asked.
She didn't know how to explain her feelings. When she opened her mouth, no words came out, and her face burned.
"Don't worry, Nadia. I know you like me."
"You do?"
"You always sneak glances at me when you think I'm not looking. You want chances to speak to me alone. You get nervous around me. It's quite obvious."
"Well, I guess—yes, it's true, but don't you think it's odd? You're almost twice my age. What could we have in common?"
"Not that odd," he said. "I've seen noble women as young as you marry men as old as my father. Isn't it better that we at least know we like each other? Many marriages are simply marriages of convenience, or power. There is no love there."
She looked down. "That's a fact I know all too well. Even if we wanted to get married, it wouldn't happen. My father wants someone else to marry me."
"That doesn't surprise me. He must know I'm involved with the Order. The last thing he wants is a man to encourage you in your ambitions. It might seem cruel to you, but I'm sure he believes he's protecting you. You're all he has left."
"I know," she said, fighting against tears. She couldn't let Ander see her crying. "I know he still loves me in his own way. He wants what's best for me, but he doesn't know what that really is. You're one of the few who know what I really want in life."
He stood up, walked over to her chair, and put his hands on her shoulders. "I do know. And I also know that's why we can never truly be together. I can't say I know exactly how I feel, but I think I might love you, Nadia. But it can't happen. I know that."
"You're right." Her tears fell now. "I can't afford to be attached to anyone, not if I truly intend to kill Warrick. Attachments simply get in the way."
He moved around to the front of the chair. "I know. Maybe there will come a day when that's no longer the case. Until then, I wish you luck."
Before she could think better of it, she wrapped her arms around him and brought her mouth to his. Their lips locked. He returned the kiss reluctantly at first, but then he infused it with passion. They remained together a few seconds before breaking apart.
He smiled. "That was . . . unexpected."
"Was I too forward?"
"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it was wrong."
She glanced around, listening for footsteps and voices. "We should probably get back to the party."
"Good idea."
They returned to the gathering, giving no indication that anything had happened. As soon as Nadia stepped through the door, she saw her father waiting for her.
"Ah, there you are," he said. "It's time you met Lord Tylen Watson. He's the man I've chosen to be the future high lord of Crayden."
She shared a quick glance with Ander, then turned away. She couldn't afford to dwell on what she wanted. Time to play her part, make it seem like she was interested in Tylen. She remembered now that she'd intended to ask Ander about him.
Her father led her back to the sitting room, then walked over to the most stunning man she'd ever seen. He had deep brown hair and eyes, a face that could have been sculpted, and a lean but muscular frame. His stance exuded confidence, and he wore robes of a deep red, studded with gold buttons.
"This is Lord Tylen Watson." Her father wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders. "Doesn't he look the very image of a high lord?"
"Yes, Father, he does," she said, impressed despite herself.
"Pleased to meet you, my lady," Tylen said with a bow.
She returned the bow, not sure that was proper etiquette. "I am pleased to meet you as well."
She was anything but pleased, but she had to behave like a proper lady.
He smiled, showing his white teeth. "You are most courteous, my lady."
Her intuition gave her a sudden warning. His looks were too tailored, his responses too measured and formal.
"Would you care to join me for dinner, my lady?" he asked with another bow.
"Of course," she lied, trying to keep her composure.
She and her father accompanied Tylen, taking seats at the large oak table in Lord Lewis's dining chamber. There were probably more than a forty nobles in all, most of whom were busy talking, paying little attention to her. Good.
Lewis and Ander took seats near them. Servants arrived with platters of succulent food, the aroma making Nadia's mouth water. She had to make a concerted effort not to shovel the food into her mouth like the guards in their barracks. That would cause outrage at a gathering like this, and it was something she would never normally do.
The more she looked at Tylen, the more uneasy she felt about him. Ander did not glance at Tylen or engage in conversation with him throughout the dinner. A bad sign.
Tylen said all the right things, every word fake and rehearsed. Who was he as a man?
"I was sorry to hear about your parents' passing a few years back," her father said to Tylen.
Tylen chewed slowly, then swallowed. "It was the plague. I was sad to see them go. That is not to say I agreed with everything they did, though. They associated with members of the Order, and such associations can be damaging to the reputation of a great noble house like ours. We must remember that we owe our fortune to Emperor Warrick."
Around the table, most of the people nodded and murmured their agreement, including her father. Disgusting. Didn't these people realize they were selling their souls so they could live comfortably? Now she knew why Ander didn't like Tylen. Tylen was a Warrick supporter. Avia might say that that alone didn't make him a bad man, but anyone who willingly supported Warrick was damned right with him.
No amount of fake smiles and flattering words could change her opinion on Tylen. She did her best to keep her face
neutral the rest of the night, but she stabbed her food with more vigor than usual.
By the time they left the manor late that evening, she was in a foul mood. She trudged to the carriage, feeling as if she could choke the life out of her father.
He climbed into the carriage after her. "I know what you're thinking."
"How could you make me marry someone like him?"
"It's best for you. You need to get over your mother's death. Like it or not, you have responsibilities as a future high lady. It's time you learned to support the emperor like a good noble."
She glared at him. "So you chose a man to control me."
"I love you, Nadia, and I don't want to see you die like your mother."
"I'd rather die than marry Tylen."
Chapter 11
Markus and Rik waited in their small room at the inn, sitting at the edge of a bed that groaned with every movement they made
The hours passed. Night deepened. Markus paced as the hour of their departure approached. The clock tower a few blocks away would tell them when it was midnight. With thirty minutes to go, there was a frantic knock on their door. Markus opened it.
Klint stood in the doorway, looking from side to side. "Change of plans. We're leaving now."
"What's happened?" Rik asked.
"Somebody recognized you and alerted the Imperial Guards."
"We're ready," Markus said. He and Rik grabbed their belongings, then followed Klint into the corridor.
Klint peered around the nearest corner, then held up a hand to halt them. "Damn. They're already here."
"What do we do?" Markus whispered, heart pounding.
"Let me think. They're in the common room. That can't be the only way out."
Tense conversation sounded from the common room. An Imperial Guard was barking orders.
"Let's try the other way," Klint said. "There's an exit over there. But don't go through it yet. There might be guards waiting outside. Go into the storage room right there." He pointed to a door on the left side of the hall. "I'll come around and get you out when it's safe."
Klint walked toward the common room while Markus and Rik hastened to the storage room—a space crowded with tools, ladders, buckets, and other junk.
"Which room are they in?" asked a man in the hallway, probably the commander.
"This one," the innkeeper said. Markus felt a stab of anger at the betrayal, but he knew there was no point arguing with Imperial Guards. Arguing would get you arrested. Or killed.
The door clicked open, followed by angry voices.
"Dammit, they're not in here! You lied to me."
"They must have heard you arrive," the innkeeper said. "You weren't exactly keeping your arrival quiet. By now, they're probably long gone."
"I doubt it. We have men patrolling the perimeter. They'll be caught."
The commander's heavy booted steps retreated to the common room, where he continued barking out orders, telling his man to check the inn more thoroughly, then to move outside.
"We have to go now," Rik said. "It's our only chance."
"No, we have to trust Klint."
"You told me yourself that you didn't trust him."
"Well, we don't have much choice."
The door opened, and Markus tensed, but it was only Klint in the doorway.
"I'd hate to interrupt this lovely conversation," the smuggler said, "but it's time to go."
Markus and Rik followed Klint, who opened the door at the end of the hall and beckoned them outside. They stepped out into darkness broken by distant torchlight. There was a body on the ground. An Imperial Guard.
"You killed him!" Markus whispered.
"Slit his throat," Klint said. "Didn't think you'd mind a dead Imperial Guard."
"Well, no, but they might blame us for his death."
"That's not my problem," Klint said. "Consider yourselves lucky to get outta here." He fell silent, leading them around the inn and back toward the docks. Before they could step out of the alley, he motioned for them to hide behind some crates.
Moments later, Klint ducked behind the crates as well. "Someone's coming."
Heart pounding, Markus waited. He had his sword, but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to kill even an Imperial Guard. Not all Imperial Guards were evil. It was their ruler Markus hated, not the individual men who served him. Not people like Uncle Theo.
One Imperial Guard entered the alley, coming closer. His boots thudded against the dirt ground, and Markus readied his sword.
Klint jumped out from behind the crate and dragged his dagger across the Imperial Guard's throat before he could scream. The man clutched the spot and crumpled to the ground, making horrible gurgling sounds.
Klint beckoned them forward, bloody dagger in hand. Markus followed, sick to his stomach.
Focus on the task, he told himself, racing across the docks behind Klint. It appeared that only a few Imperial Guards had left the inn. Most of the men were just now filing out, framed in the light from the doorway.
Klint pointed to his left. "Boat's this way."
They kept a quick pace, but didn't go so fast they'd attract attention. Markus thanked God for the Imperial Guards' long and thorough search. The few men outside likely hadn't expected to run across someone willing to kill them.
A short series of steps led them down to a lower portion of the docks, where Klint's boat waited. It was about twenty feet from front to back, another ten from side to side, and featured a small white sail. Their cargo, small stacks of wooden crates, filled most of the boat.
"It'll be a tight fit," Klint said. "Hope you don't mind."
Markus did mind. He'd always hated enclosed spaces. He took a deep breath, then followed Klint and Rik into the boat.
Rik glanced back. "How're we gonna move the boat? There's no wind tonight."
"Well, there's a slow current. That'll move us a little bit. There are also two oars." Klint handed one to each of them. "They'll give us some push, but I have a little secret.
"There's no way we can move this cargo with just a couple of oars," Rik said. "Not at any decent speed at least. We'll work ourselves to death."
"A couple of strong lads like you should have no problem." Klint moved toward the back of the boat. "And as I said, I have a secret method."
From one of the crates, he grabbed a three-foot wooden staff. He placed the tip of it to the water, and the boat started to move.
"How're you doing that?" Rik asked. "Is that magic?"
"Yes, it's magic. Now get rowing. This will drain me after a while."
They rowed through the night, working muscles Markus didn't know he had, pushing through days of travel fatigue.
"Why'd you come back for us?" Markus asked hours later, looking toward the back of the boat, where Klint was still at work. "You didn't have to do that."
"I might be a lot of bad things, but I'm a man who keeps his word. I agreed to get you to Tate City, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. After that, you're on your own."
"But you killed for us," Markus said. "That's a big sacrifice."
"Do you think that was the first time I've killed?"
"Still, there could be questions," Markus said. "You could be in trouble."
"You can't get in trouble if no one catches you."
The sky had lightened to a dark blue, and Markus yawned, realizing he hadn't slept in a long time. The rhythmic sound of oars slapping against water had grown annoying. The only thing that made him feel better was the effectiveness of Klint's magical propulsion. At times, Markus wondered if he and Rik were helping at all.
"I've just about used up all my energy," Klint said later, taking the staff out of the water. "I'll take one of your spots rowing."
Rik put down his oar, and Klint took it, laying the staff down beside him.
"Can't one of us use the staff to propel the boat?" Rik asked.
"You won't be able to use it."
"Why not?" Markus asked.
"It wo
rks for very few people. The chances that you're among them are slim."
"Why not give it a try?" Rik said. "What could it hurt?"
"Go ahead. I'm not holding my breath."
Rik grabbed the staff. His eyes widened, and he almost dropped it. "I feel something. Does that mean I can use it?"
Klint smiled. "Yes. That's a surprise."
"Let me try it out," Markus said. Surely he'd be able to use it. After all, he'd sensed the evil in Woodsville and felt that strange cold feeling near his uncle's cabin.
Rik handed Markus the staff, but it felt like an ordinary stick of wood as he turned it over in his hands. Dispirited, he handed the staff back to Rik.
"Strange," Markus said. "Why doesn't it work for me?"
"No idea," Rik said.
"I don't know how it works," Klint said, "but it'll help us get their quicker. Just stick the tip of the staff in the water and think about generating wind. It's surprisingly easy once you get a feel for it."
Markus took the other oar while Rik moved to the back of the boat. Both Markus and Klint turned around to watch Rik. When Rik touched the staff to the water, nothing happened. He held it there for at least ten seconds, but the water remained still.
"Focus," Klint said. "It'll come to you."
The boat began to move—slowly at first, but then it gained speed. For a moment, Rik looked like he might drop the staff, but he held on, watching the jet of wind burst through the water behind them.
"This is amazing!" Rik said. "I never knew I could do magic."
"It's not true magic," Klint said. "A true sorcerer, someone like Warrick, doesn't need a staff to channel their magic. In fact, if I remember correctly, a true sorcerer can't even use these staffs for some strange reason. Don't really understand it."
"Then I could still be a sorcerer," Markus said.
"Possibly," Klint said. "But right now, you're an oarsman."
"Right." With aching arms, Markus continued rowing. At first, he thought he and Klint were a better team, but they were rowing at the same slow speed as before.
"Interesting," Klint said, glancing back at Rik. "Seems like you're more powerful than me."
Though Klint appeared to shrug it off, Markus could tell it bothered the smuggler. Klint became less communicative than usual. Markus didn't mind occasional quiet, but the silence grated on him after a while.
Empire of Chains (World in Chains Book 1) Page 8
