“Wrayan Lightfinger.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. And it was merely a stalling tactic to give her time to reach for her own power. It was a risk. She no longer had the benefit of an enhancement spell to guarantee her success and it was clear that Wrayan had learned a great deal since she’d confronted him the last time, in this very temple.
“Galon,” she ordered, her voice betraying no emotion. “Kill this man.”
“Sorry, Alija,” the assassin said, taking a step back from her. “But I don’t do uncontracted kills.”
“Then I’m contracting you to kill him!” she declared impatiently, glaring at him. “Whatever price you want. Just do it.”
Galon appeared to consider her offer and then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Alija.”
“Why don’t you kill me yourself, Alija?” Wrayan asked. “It’s not like you haven’t tried before.”
“The next time, I won’t fail,” she snapped, turning to stare at Galon. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The assassin shrugged. “What I said I was coming here to do, my lady. Destroy an evil, twisted, bitter little woman with delusions of grandeur.”
It took Alija a moment to realise he was referring to her. She stared at him in shock, unable to believe he had deceived her so completely. She’d touched his mind. She’d read his thoughts. He’d sworn Wrayan hadn’t been able to break his shield …
And then the truth dawned on her and she turned to face Wrayan again. “He let you.”
“Pardon?”
“Galon let you into his mind, didn’t he?” She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. “By the gods … I should have known if you had the skill to shield the minds of Marla and all her family, reconstructing an assassin’s shield would have been child’s play. He wasn’t even lying. He said you hadn’t broken his shield. I never asked him if he’d lowered it voluntarily.”
“More fool you,” Wrayan replied.
“Why?” she asked, turning to the assassin.
“Master Lightfinger and I had an interesting discussion about the consequences of resisting his probe,” Galon replied. “At one point there was a suggestion I might be forced to cut my own balls off. One does what one must to keep the family jewels intact, my lady. You’d understand that much better than I.”
That he could be so glib about something so important was a telling sign, a terrifying indication of how little respect he had for her. It hurt Alija more than she cared to admit. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why betray me? I could have given you everything.”
“Which wouldn’t have come anywhere near making up for what you took from me, Alija.”
She studied him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you know?” Wrayan asked with a note of reproach. “I’m shocked, Alija.”
“Know what?”
He pointed to Galon. “This is Ronan Dell’s son. You remember Ronan Dell, don’t you? You had him and his entire palace slaughtered a few years ago.”
She shook her head in denial. “You couldn’t possibly know that. Or prove it.”
“Oh, but we can, Alija,” Wrayan informed her. “We have the statement of Elezaar the Dwarf, who witnessed the entire attack. Ah, and then there’s the blubbering confession of a certain slave trader by the name of Venira, whose memory of that night was magically restored when it was pointed out to him that incurring your wrath was one thing, but making an enemy of the next Raven of the Assassins’ Guild was a different matter entirely. And then—most regrettably for you—there was the young man with a rare afternoon off from his guild training, who just happened to drop into home to visit his father … just as a troop of Dregian Raiders were making their escape over the back wall of Ronan Dell’s palace.”
“Very sloppy of you, by the way, to allow them to undertake such a grisly task wearing something identifiably Dregian.” Galon was involved in this deception far more deeply than Alija had ever suspected and was delighting in her knowing it, too. “Was that a mistake, Alija, or just arrogance?”
She stared at him, horrified by his revelation. “You? You’re Ronan Dell’s bastard?”
“Actually, I’m not, but he died thinking I was. I suppose I should be grateful you relieved me of that burden. Can’t say I’m willing to be so forgiving about the death of my real father, though. That was unnecessary, Alija, and I really do mean to see you pay for it.”
Alija looked at them both, shaking her head when she realised that none of this mattered. Not really. They couldn’t prove a word of it. She sneered at their amateurish attempt at revenge. “And this is your trap?” she asked, glancing around. “Your pitiful vengeance for something I did twentysix years ago and haven’t lost a night’s.sleep over since? Or is it the letter you were so insistent that I write, Galon? The one incriminating me as a traitor?”
“Either one will do.”
“There’s no Fardohnyan agent, either, I suppose?” she surmised, looking around the empty temple. “All this was just a ruse to get me to write that letter?”
Galon smiled at her. “Clever, don’t you think?”
“You’re fools!” she accused. “Both of you! And Marla as well! As if I would be foolish enough to commit something like that to parchment!” She tossed the letter onto the ground at Galon’s feet. “Take it. There’s not a word there you can use to condemn me.”
“I would have been disappointed if there had been,” Galon said, making no attempt to pick up the letter. “But confessing to the murder of Ronan Dell? That’s a different kettle of broth, my lady.”
“My confession, as you call it, is worth nothing if a dead man and an assassin are the only witnesses.”
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of this plan, my lady,” Kalan Hawksword announced, stepping out from behind the Seeing Stone. “They’re merely the players in this little theatrical act. Perhaps you’d like to meet the audience?”
Before Alija had a chance to react to the surprise appearance of Kalan Hawksword, the Lower Arrion, Bruno Sanval, and the Sorcerers’ Collective’s Chief Librarian, Dikorian Frye, emerged from their concealed hiding place behind the massive monolith, their expressions grave. She stared at them, realising what their discussion must have sounded like to these men.
These men whose integrity was beyond reproach.
These men who could impeach her.
“This is ludicrous!” she exclaimed, staring Kalan down. “You can’t possibly imagine this little charade proves anything other than your mother’s willingness to do anything to destroy me.”
Bruno’s brow furrowed. “Kalan’s mother? The Princess Marla? This has nothing to do with her, Lady Alija.”
Alija shook her head in disbelief. “Show yourself, Marla!” she shouted, her words echoing off the temple walls. “You’ve had your fun! Now come out here and face me!”
“My lady …” Dikorian began. “Really … there is nobody here but us.”
“Have the guts to face me, you craven bitch!” she screeched to the empty hall.
There was no answer, of course. Marla wasn’t there.
She didn’t need to be, Alija realised with a sinking heart.
Was never going to be.
Once again, Alija had fallen into a trap set by Marla, this one disguised by another trap so devious nobody would think to look further for the real poison that lay at the heart of it.
Alija turned and faced her accusers. “This was never about the Fardohnyans, was it?”
“You must have thought us all deranged fools, my lady,” Kalan replied, apparently quite amused by her gullibility. “Why would we bother to concoct such an absurdly complicated plot, when your own actions condemn you far more thoroughly than anything we could have thought up?” The young woman smiled even wider, unable to hide her glee. “I can’t believe you actually fell for it.” She glanced across at the assassin, and bowed in acknowledgment of his skill. “You’re a better salesman than I suspected, Master Miar.”<
br />
Kalan’s smug superiority was enough to make Alija nauseous, but the assassin’s betrayal was incomprehensible.
“What of you?” she demanded of Galon. “How long have you been part of this conspiracy?”
“Since the day I found my father’s head cleaved in two by your henchmen, Alija.”
“That was more than twenty-five years ago!”
“Timing is everything, don’t you agree?”
“You lied to me!” she hissed.
“Never once,” he told her. “You just never asked the right questions.”
“And you?” she asked Wrayan, finally. “This is your idea of vengeance, I suppose?”
“Actually, I harbour much less angst toward you than you’d imagine,” he told her with a shrug, his black eyes a constant reminder of her helplessness. “You did try to kill me, admittedly—the details of which I’ve been more than happy to apprise these gentlemen of—but thanks to you, I got to meet the Harshini. So I suppose, in a twisted sort of way, I should be grateful.”
“He’s been to Sanctuary,” Bruno added, his voice filled with awe.
“And you believe such nonsense?” she asked, turning on the old man, recognising the light of fanaticism in his eyes. Wrayan must have spun quite a tale indeed to get Bruno on his side. “You’re a senile fool, Bruno, who’ll swallow anything that lets him think his lifelong quest hasn’t been a complete waste of time! What’s your excuse, Dikorian? Did I once run over your dog in my carriage, or are you Kagan Palenovar’s long lost twin, emerging out of hiding after all these years to seek vengeance for his death, too?”
“You killed your predecessor, too?” the librarian gasped. The big man shook his head with a heavy sigh. “I thought I couldn’t be any more surprised by your viciousness, my lady.”
“My viciousness?” she demanded. “Everything I have done, I have done for my country!”
Dikorian was unmoved by her declaration. “You just admitted you killed the former High Arrion, Kagan Palenovar. You attempted to kill Wrayan Lightfinger, a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective, my lady, and I just heard you confess you ordered the murder of over thirty other innocent souls, including a ruling lord, not to mention commissioning yet another murder in our presence only a few moments ago. I have no need of some vague notions of vengeance to recognise a homicidal tyrant when I see one.”
She couldn’t believe they were condemning her for things she had done to save Hythria from ruin. “I have done nothing but try to protect my nation from a despot! And you dare to call me homicidal? Have you done a head count of the palace slaves lately? How many has Lernen killed while you cheerfully turned a blind eye to his excesses?”
“Lernen Wolfblade has never killed anyone who wasn’t his slave,” Dikorian pointed out. “That is his right. However, nobody, not even the High Arrion, has the right to kill free men. Or to kill a man to open up an opportunity for promotion. If you think you can justify your actions, then by all means, do so. But you’ll have to do it at your trial, my lady. It is the proper forum.”
“A trial? Don’t be ridiculous! Who will preside? The High Prince?”
“Uncle Lernen will like that,” Kalan said with a smug little smile. “You know how he likes to dress up.”
“You have no authority to do this to me!”
“A sorcerer may be accused and forced to answer to a trial by her peers,” Bruno reminded her. “It is the law.”
“I see only three of you.”
“Wrayan Lightfinger never formally left the Sorcerers’ Collective, my lady,” Kalan pointed out. “He’s still a member. That’s the law, too. I looked it up.”
Alija took a step back, gathering her power to her. “I will die before I allow you to dishonour me or my family name in this manner!”
“That can be arranged, my lady,” Kalan offered. “In fact, it would be much cleaner for everyone if you just fell on your sword. Does anybody have a sword handy?”
“Behave, Kalan,” Wrayan scolded. “We’ll handle this the right way.”
Dikorian took a step closer and raised his arm, indicating she should precede him out of the temple. “If you please, my lady. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is.”
“Make me!” she dared him defiantly.
“I will have you physically removed from the temple if you force us,” Bruno assured her, his voice filled with regret. “I beg you, my lady, retain what dignity you have left. For your sons’ sake, if not your own.”
With a scream, Alija let out a burst of power that sent both Bruno Sanval and Dikorian Frye slamming into the Seeing Stone. Feeling Galon move behind her, she spun around and used another burst of power to toss him across the temple, his body sliding along the polished mosaic floor, until he came to rest against one of the decorated pillars that supported the high domed roof. Then she turned her attention to Kalan and Wrayan, who stood side by side, watching her fury but apparently unmoved by it.
“You’re next!” she announced, pointing at Kalan. “Your mother seems to deal with losing husbands and slaves well enough. Let’s see how she deals with losing a child.”
Alija raised her hand, gathering what she had left of her power, aware that she was draining it faster than she could replenish it. It made no difference, she decided. She was done for, whatever happened. Besides, Wrayan—the only one here who could challenge her magically—was part Harshini. He might be more powerful than she was in theory, but he could do no harm, which was the only thing she could think of that would account for his lack of action thus far.
Or she might have been too quick for him. It had taken her only seconds to incapacitate her foes.
“I’m not going to let you hurt Kalan,” Wrayan informed her calmly, stepping between Alija and her intended victim.
“Do you really think you can stop me?”
Wrayan didn’t answer her verbally. He didn’t have to. Almost before she’d finished speaking a headache of monumental proportions began building in her skull. Taken completely unawares by the sudden pain, Alija clutched at her head and collapsed to her knees.
Alija looked up at Wrayan, but his unnaturally youthful face was expressionless. The pain kept on building in her head, the pressure beyond description. She felt a trickle coming from her nose and realised it was bleeding. There were tears in her eyes from the pain, but when she tried to wipe them away she realised they were tears of blood, not brine. With her brain feeling like it was set to explode, she cried out in agony as her eardrums splintered and blood began to spill from them, too. All the while, Wrayan watched her impassively, Kalan Hawksword standing just behind his shoulder, her expression just as distant. Just as unforgiving.
“No …” Alija gasped helplessly, doubled over with the agony. This was beyond torture, beyond pain. A red haze swam before her eyes, but she couldn’t tell if it was blood or pain that caused it. “Stop …” she gasped. “Mercy …”
“Enough, Wrayan,” she thought she heard Kalan say. “You’re killing her.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Alija thought Wrayan said the words to Kalan, but then she realised the words came from inside her mind. Isn’t this what you crave, Alija? Access to the power of the Harshini?
Wrayan had entered her mind, she realised, as effortlessly as a knife slicing through warm butter.
Panic filled her at the realisation that he could do such a thing so easily. What have you done to me?
I’ve done nothing, Alija, except open your mind to the possibilities. This is the power you wanted. Don’t you recognise it? It’s the same power you accessed the time you burned out my mind. Pity you’re only an Innate, though, and don’t have that spell to protect you from it this time. Didn’t Brak tell you how dangerous it was, for a human Innate to attempt to access the power of the Harshini? It could kill you, you know.
Truly filled with fear for the first time since she discovered she was one of those rare humans who could skim the surface of Harshini magic
, Alija tried to pull away. But it was too late. The power had a hold of her and it was drawing her down. She had no natural defences against it.
The pressure kept on building in her mind, blood vessels bursting under the strain. Consciousness was slipping fast. It was all she could do to remain on her hands and knees. Her fingernails were bleeding now, too, and she had lost the power to speak, her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood mixed with immeasurable terror.
I’ll tell them you died in an magical accident, Wrayan’s voice assured her. That you tried to draw too much power to yourself. No need for anybody outside this temple to learn of your disgrace.
Except Marla, came the unbidden thought, She’ll know.
Yes, Wrayan agreed. She’ll know.
The pain was so intense she wondered that she was still able to form a coherent thought. But she had room for one idea. One final wish.
Curse you, Wrayan Lightfinger. And a curse on the Wolfblades, too. All of them.
CHAPTER 66
“Damn this rain!”
Already the sound of the approaching battle could be heard in the distance. Damin looked out over the rolling hills around Lasting Drift, frustrated that he had no way of knowing if everything was going according to plan. They were gathered on the knoll of a small hill just out of sight of the Norsell River, waiting for the signal that the Fardohnyans were moving into their trap, but it was a long and frustrating wait and Damin was going a little bit crazy with impatience. Thunder rolled off the distant hills and rain was spitting down in large, sporadic drops, a warning of what was yet to come.
“It’s going to make it hard to see,” Narvell agreed, looking up at his brother. The Elasapine heir was squatting beside Almodavar, watching the wily old captain draw something in the dirt.
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