“And what of the Gifted, Your Majesty?” asked Wirr quietly.
“The Gifted can fight like real men if they wish, with sword and shield. Or heal the wounded if they are too afraid. But they will not use their powers for violence whilst I rule.” The king looked around, his glare defying anyone to gainsay him. “You are dismissed.”
They rose silently, stunned, and began filing out of the room. Asha glanced towards Wirr, hoping to catch his eye, but he appeared to have been waylaid by the king and was not looking in her direction.
Once outside, she found herself walking alongside Michal as the others went their separate ways.
“What did you make of all that?” asked Michal, keeping his voice low.
Asha made a face. “I think those rumours about the king being ill were fairly accurate. He's not in control."
Michal sighed and gave a grim nod. “I agree. And suddenly it seems I share your concern about Tol Athian's recent decision, too. I'm just not sure what anyone can do about it.” He glanced across at her. "Are you going to leave?"
"Leave?" Asha looked at him in surprise. "No. Of course not."
Michal watched her for a long moment, then let out a breath, evidently satisfied. "Good. A lot of the nobility will, once they find out - first thing tomorrow morning, I suspect. Maybe even tonight." He smiled, shaking his head. "I would understand if you decided to go, but... just let me know if you do. Seems I'm becoming fond of you, Ashalia. I'd be worried if you suddenly disappeared again."
Asha smiled back. "You're staying?" She hadn't thought for a moment about leaving, but she suddenly realised how tempting it must be for a lot of people.
"Yes. I'm going to go back to the feast now, try to convince as many people as possible to stay and fight. Try and get as many people as we can behind the idea that now is the time for the Tenets to be changed, too. I know how King Andras looked, but maybe, if there's enough pressure...." He sighed. "It would help if you were to join me. Would look less like I was arguing for my own interests."
Asha nodded, was about to agree when she caught sight of Elocien down the hallway. She hesitated.
"I'll come if I can," she promised, " but there's something I must discuss with the duke first."
Michal looked about to protest, then nodded reluctantly. "If you can, then," he agreed.
Asha gave him an apologetic glance, then hurried after Elocien, falling into stride alongside him just before he turned the corner.
"Representative Chaedris," the duke said politely, nodding to her. He glanced around, seeing that there was no-one within hearing distance. "I know we shouldn't be surprised, but I hadn't imagined it would be this bad. Or happen so quickly."
Asha watched the duke as he walked. "I know," she said. "And I think it's time we reached out for some aid."
The duke grimaced and shook his head, though not with his usual air of certainty. "No. These are dangerous people, Ashalia, and they still think you owe them something. I'm not going to send you to beg for their help, not after everything you've been through."
"But it's my choice to go, and it's something we need to do," observed Asha. "The Shadraehin can organise the Shadows, and we can provide them with weapons that may make the difference when the Blind get here. I know you can't do this officially, that Administration will never go for it. But let me try. If we don't try everything in our power to save the city, it's no different from your brother refusing to change the Tenets."
Elocien said nothing for a few seconds, but eventually he slowed, then stopped altogether. He looked Asha in the eye, silent for a long moment.
Then he gave a reluctant nod.
"Let's discuss the details in my study," he said quietly.
***
Wirr rose to leave, head still spinning from what Parathe had just told them.
Almost nine thousand men, dead in some sort of ambush. It didn't take a military mind to understand that those losses were extraordinary. Unthinkable.
“Torin.” It was the king. “Stay. I would like to speak with you.”
Wirr gave a slight bow and sat again, waiting patiently for the others to file past.
Once everyone was gone, Wirr cast a cautious glance across at his uncle. Karaliene hadn’t been wrong about his condition. He was drawn, sweating and grey, a shadow of the man Wirr remembered.
“What can I do for you, uncle?” he asked eventually as the silence began to stretch.
Kevran didn’t reply for a moment, then leaned forward so that his face was close to Wirr’s.
“I have only one question for you, Torin. Whose side are you on?”
Wirr resisted the urge to flinch back. “What do you mean?”
The king grimaced. “Don’t play the fool. I know where you’ve been, these past few years,” he said, irritation thick in his tone. “I helped send you there, remember. You’re one of them. Or you were. So my question is, are you Gifted or are you a prince? Whose side are you on?”
Wirr shook his head. “I would like to think it is not a case of ‘sides’.”
“The Treaty would suggest otherwise,” observed Kevran. “Or perhaps you have forgotten the meaning of that word. Treaties cannot be made without there first having been a war.”
Wirr bit his lip. His uncle spoke in a slightly breathless, manic way; anyone else and Wirr would have said he was insane. “I will always do what is best for Andarra, uncle,” he said after a moment. “But I don't see myself as being on one side or another.”
“Then you have grown up to be a fool.” Kevran leaned back, looking disappointed. “The Gifted are traitors. Their power is a disease, a stain on the world. They are untrustworthy. Each and every one of them.”
Wirr bit back an angry retort. The way the king was acting, he knew that to protest would only be putting himself on dangerous ground.
“Is that all, Your Majesty?” he asked stiffly.
The king inclined his head, making a dismissive gesture.
Wirr stood slowly and left, shaken. What had happened to his uncle? The man he remembered had had no love for the Gifted, but nor had he hated them. If anything, it had always been Kevran that had the calm head, and Elocien who had spouted the rhetoric.
He was so caught up in his worries that he almost walked straight into Dras Lothlar, who had been waiting in the hallway outside. Wirr excused himself but when he tried to move around the other man, Dras stepped into his path again.
Wirr scowled as his already frayed temper threatened to snap, but held his tongue and looked at the Shen Representative steadily.
“Can I help you?”
Dras smiled at him, a look so predatory that it made Wirr shiver. “I just thought I should introduce myself, Your Highness,” he said in an obsequious tone. “I am Dras Lothlar, Representative for Tol Shen.”
“I know who you are, Representative Lothlar,” said Wirr, trying to sound irritated rather than anxious. Had Dras recognised him from Thrindar? Wirr looked different now: hair trimmed, a light beard, fine clothes rather than rags. And in Desriel, they had only spent a few minutes in each others’ presence. “As you can imagine, I have some very important things to discuss with my father. So if you wouldn’t mind….”
Dras didn’t move. “How was Calandra, these past few years, Your Highness?” he asked, his gaze intent. “Whereabouts were you stationed?”
“Ildora,” said Wirr automatically. He’d had these details drilled into him over the past few days.
“Ah, I remember Ildora. Lovely place.” Dras sounded relaxed, but Wirr could still see the focus behind his eyes.
“I don’t know about that. I saw plenty of good men die defending against the barbarians. It doesn’t bring back fond memories.”
Dras’ expression didn’t change. “I suppose you’ve been to the inn there? The Juggler?”
Wirr hesitated. He’d been told plenty about Ildora, but he had no information on the names of the inns there.
And… it was the same inn that Karaliene had sent the
m to in Thrindar. His heart sank.
“No,” he replied.
“No?” Dras looked surprised. “Not once? I remember it being very popular when I was there.” He frowned. “Perhaps I’m misremembering. Perhaps that inn was somewhere else.”
Wirr forced himself to keep his breathing steady. The man knew. “If you don’t want anything, Representative, get out of my way,” he growled.
Dras smiled. “I don’t want anything... for now. Your Highness.” He stepped to the side.
Wirr stalked away, not looking back but unable to stop picturing the smarmy expression on the Representative’s face. The Shen Gifted should have been thinking of ways to defend the city, not playing these games as if nothing were amiss.
Doing his best to banish Lothlar from his mind, he headed for his father's study, arriving just as the door opened and Asha emerged into the hallway. They stared at each other in mild surprise for a second, and then Wirr gave her a rueful smile.
"Interesting night," he observed.
Asha nodded her agreement. "Remind me to stay away from your parties in the future," she said dryly. She slipped something into her pocket - a key, Wirr thought - then gave him an apologetic squeeze on the shoulder. "I'd stay to talk, but Michal needs my help, and then after that -"
"It's okay. Go." Wirr hesitated. "And Ash, if I don't see you again before the Blind get here...."
Asha smiled at him. "Then I'll see you after," she said firmly.
Wirr watched her go, even now still barely believing it was really her. Asha’s survival of the attack at Caladel was astonishing, miraculous. And her new place here at the palace - what his father had been building with the Augurs, these past few years - was even moreso.
He sighed, then walked inside to find Elocien flicking through some papers. The duke glanced up as Wirr entered.
"I'm glad you're here, Torin. We need to go back to the feast," he said, pushing himself to his feet.
Wirr gave him a blank look. "The feast? Surely everyone will have gone."
"They won't know what's happening for another couple of hours." Elocien ushered him out the door. "Which means we have exactly that amount of time to convince anyone capable of fighting that there's still a chance. That there's no need to panic."
Wirr grimaced. "We need to lie, you mean."
Elocien sighed.
"Yes. We need to lie," he agreed.
Wirr just nodded, and they walked back towards the ballroom in heavy silence.
- Chapter 47 -
It was the very early hours of the morning, the moon still high, when Davian caught his first glimpse of the palace.
He exhaled as he took in the grand structure, the knot of worry that had been sitting at the base of his skull loosening a little. After all that had happened it was a relief, almost surreal to finally be here.
He rubbed his neck tiredly as he approached the gate, which was an ethereal silver in the moonlight. Aside from the guards there was no-one on the street; as with the rest of the city he'd seen, everything was impressive, and yet it felt... empty. Deserted. His footsteps crunched in the post-midnight hush, and all four men at the gate were watching him with narrowed eyes before he got within fifty feet.
"No entry to the palace," said one of them, stepping forward. His tone brooked no argument.
Davian held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "I need to see Aelric or Dezia Shainwiere," he said, his tone polite. "It's urgent."
The guard shook his head. "Sorry, lad, but no visitors. And if the Shainwieres are even awake, they'll be helping prepare the city defences - I can't disturb them."
"I have information about the invasion."
The guard raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "Do you, now. That's convenient. Perhaps you can tell me, and I'll relay it to those who need to know."
"I need to give it to them directly." Davian rubbed his forehead. This was not going well. "Could you please just tell them that Davian is here to see them?"
The guard scowled. "Fates, lad, what part of 'no entry' don't you understand? Even if they knew you, I couldn't let you through at this time of night."
Davian sighed. He hadn't wanted to do this, but the man was clearly not going to be swayed.
He concentrated, reaching out with kan.
He almost lost his grip on the connection, so surprised was he by how easy it was to slip inside the guard's mind. Once through, though, it wasn't like Malshash's thoughts - cold, ordered and distinct. Everything here was... a mess. Emotions tangled with sensations tangled with memories, each colouring the other until none were entirely recognisable.
Davian focused on the present, trying to block out everything else as Malshash had taught him. There was nervousness about what was coming, a sense of dread. And suspiciousness of Davian, certainly no inclination to let him through the gate.
He looked deeper, trying to find what would change the man's mind. The guard knew who Aelric and Dezia were, though only from afar; they registered as two faces, little more.
He turned his thoughts to Wirr - to Prince Torin. That was a different story. A powerful figure, an intimidating one in this man's life. One word from the prince and his life could be changed, for better or for worse.
Davian barely stopped himself from shaking his head in disbelief at the thought.
He withdrew the sliver of kan, sighing. "If you're comfortable with the consequences once Torin discovers his friend has been turned away...." He trailed off, turning as if to leave.
"Wait. What?" The guard's voice had taken on a nervous note. "The prince? You never mentioned -"
"I shouldn't have had to." Davian shook his head, doing his best to look irritated. "I asked for the Shainwieres because I knew Tor would be busy. But I'm an old friend of his. From Calandra," he added, remembering where Wirr was supposed to have been for the past few years. He stepped forward, looking the man in the eye. "Davian. And it's urgent."
The guard hesitated, and Davian pressed home his point. "Just tell him I'm here. If he doesn't know who I am, or doesn't want to let me in, you can lock me up." He gave his most confident smile. "But he'll want to see me."
The man hesitated a moment longer, then nodded briefly and disappeared through the gate.
A few minutes later someone else appeared from within the grounds, a harried look on his face. He was older, finely dressed.
"Davian?"
Davian nodded.
"My name is Laiman Kardai. Come with me. Quickly, please." He turned to one of the guards. "Trevin. You trust me?"
"Of course, Master Kardai," said the man.
"Tell anyone who asks that he left," Laiman said, jerking his head towards Davian. "Walked off, didn't say where he was going."
Trevin bit his lip, then nodded. "We can do that." The other two men with him nodded their silent agreement.
Davian frowned but hurried after the older man, through the gates and magnificent grounds and into the main building. Once inside, Laiman took a couple of sharp turns, then ushered Davian into an unoccupied room.
He shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling in what appeared to be relief.
"What's going on?" asked Davian in confusion.
"You've... caused a bit of a commotion, I'm afraid," said Laiman, gesturing for Davian to have a seat. "Not through any fault of your own. Prince Torin will be along to see you shortly, I'm sure."
"What happened?"
Laiman sighed. "There was feast earlier tonight, and several lords stayed around afterward to discuss the defence of the city. The prince was part of that meeting, along with his father, uncle, and a couple of Administrators. We were just finishing up when word came that one of Torin's friends from Calandra was at the gate." He shook his head, a weary motion. "We both know where Torin's actually been these last few years, but until now, few others did."
Davian hesitated, for a moment unsure how much he could admit to this stranger. Then he frowned, picking up on the last part of Laiman's statement. "Until now?"
"King Andras... lost control when he heard." Laiman looked dazed at the memory. "I don't know how else to describe it. He stood up and in front of everybody, revealed where Torin has been. The fact he's Gifted. Claimed that this was Torin's way of letting his 'Bleeder' friends into the palace so that they could kill him, overthrow him." He shrugged. "The duke did his best to calm him, while I slipped away. I don't think anyone else saw us coming inside, so if Trevin keeps his word - which he will - you should be safe in here for a while."
Davian gave him a stunned nod. "Thank-you."
"Don't mention it. I've heard Torin's entire story, and I know who you are. What you are. We can use all the help we can get against what's coming." Laiman looked grim. "I should get back before I'm missed though... or shut out altogether," he added, sounding bitter. "Stay here. I'll make sure Torin knows where you are."
He slipped outside and shut the door behind him, leaving Davian alone and shaken.
Perhaps thirty minutes passed before the door opened again. Davian rose in anticipation, his smile broad as he took in the first of the two figures in the doorway. Wirr was almost unrecognisable with his fine clothing and neatly trimmed hair.
Davian's attention shifted to the girl next to him; they locked eyes, and for several moments neither of them moved. She was a Shadow, but Davian recognised her immediately... and yet it couldn't be.
Then she was rushing into the room, and they were embracing.
"Asha?" Davian could barely choke out the name, overcome with a flood of emotion. He held her away from him for a moment, peering into her black-scarred face, scarcely daring to believe it. He swallowed hard as unexpected tears threatened to form in his eyes. Even as a Shadow, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "How...?"
Asha grinned in delight at the look on his face. "It's a long story, Dav."
Wirr gave a cough as he entered the room. "Good to see you too, Dav. Glad you're not dead and everything."
Davian laughed dazedly, elatedly, grabbing Wirr and pulling him into the embrace. "Fates, Wirr, you have no idea how good it is to see you again. After Deilannis...." He shook his head, smile finally slipping a little. "Laiman said I've caused trouble for you. I'm sorry."
The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1) Page 59
