Peloroun had fallen to his knees when he’d seen him, the winds that blew incessantly and tasted of salt burning his face and parched lips.The fine-grained sand of the Flats had cut into his knees as he bowed his head and muttered, “Lord Khalaek.”
Khalaek had frowned down at him, even as Peloroun’s escort of three guardsmen knelt in guarded consternation behind him. “Not Khalaek,” he’d said, his voice hard. “The Evant has banished me, have they not? I am no longer Lord of House Duvoraen. I am Khalaek-khai now.”
Hearing Khalaek’s voice—the inflections, the tone— coming from Iroen’s mouth brought that meeting back so intensely Peloroun could taste the salt and feel the heat of the sun-baked earth beneath his knees. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but couldn’t.
A look of annoyance crossed Iroen’s face, then the black eyes glanced around the room, coming back to rest on Peloroun.“Say what you have to say,Lord Peloroun.I have no time to waste. Events are escalating, and this connection will not last long.”
The thought that perhaps he had made a mistake flashed through Peloroun’s mind, but he leaned forward. His first words cracked and broke, as if something had been lodged in his throat, but as he spoke, his voice steadied. “All of the arrangements have been made here in Caercaern and throughout Alvritshai lands. The Chosen has begun his campaign to bring the people to our cause, and we have gathered together allies within the Evant. But there is a problem.”
Creases appeared in Iroen’s forehead as Khalaek narrowed his eyes. “What problem?”
Peloroun stood and growled, “Lord Aeren.” When Khalaek’s frown merely deepened, he continued. “The Lord of Rhyssal House has taken it upon himself to oppose Lotaern and his use of the Order of the Flame. He has been visiting each lord as they arrive in the city in person, in private, to argue against the Chosen and the Order. I believe that he is gaining support. Most of the lords have already expressed unease at having members of the Flame walking through their lands, although so far only Lord Aeren has vocalized those concerns publicly. I do not know what he has said to bring the lords to his side, but I fear that his politicking will interfere with our plans.”
“And what do you propose I do about it?”
“We,” Peloroun said, emphasizing the word, “were hoping that the timing of events could be shifted forward. We thought perhaps you or one of the other Wraiths could arrive sooner than planned, along with your armies, preferably before Lord Aeren has the chance to dismantle everything we have worked to achieve.”
Khalaek stared at him over the desk, and for a moment Peloroun wondered if he knew of their real intent in bringing one of the Wraiths within Lotaern’s grasp. Fresh sweat broke out along his skin. He didn’t know what the Wraiths were capable of. Could Khalaek reach out through Iroen’s body and kill him where he stood if he suspected their treachery? Or would it be simpler to use Iroen’s own cattan to kill him?
Could Peloroun harm Khalaek if he fought back, or would it only destroy Iroen’s body?
“Impossible,” Khalaek finally said, the single word riddled with finality,his next words with derision.“The Winter Tree is still a factor. The Wraiths and the majority of our armies cannot attack Alvritshai lands until the Tree has been destroyed. That is the reason we are even discussing an alliance with you and the Chosen. Without the Tree, we could seize all of the Alvritshai’s lands without your help.”
Anger sparked inside Peloroun, prickling along his shoulders and down his arms. “Then how can we destroy the Tree?”
Iroen’s lips twisted into a smile. “You cannot. Nor can the Chosen. But we have already begun. The Trees are weakening, their power lessening.” The smile vanished. “But it will take time. That is what you and the Chosen are intended to do: provide us with that time. You know this. Soon there will be calls to war. The Accord that all three races signed a generation ago will be tested. That is when you will be needed.You must keep theAlvritshai distracted while I and the rest of the Wraiths bring down the Seasonal Trees and begin our march on Wrath Suvane. That is your goal. Or have you forgotten?”
Peloroun’s hand closed into a fist at the flat derision in Khalaek’s voice,but he bowed his head.“I have not forgotten.”
“Deal with Lord Aeren on your own. Do whatever it takes to stop him.”
“Of course, Khalaek-khai.”
Iroen’s black eyes bored into him, the guard’s features shifting subtly, taking on more of Khalaek’s aspects than Iroen’s. “You failed me once in the past, Peloroun, there at the Escarpment. Do not fail me again.”
Before Peloroun could respond, the darkness left Iroen’s eyes and the guard’s body slumped forward, forehead thudding onto the desk. He glared at the body, tried to control his breathing, then shook himself. He shoved Iroen’s body back, noted the too pale skin, the black marks like tattoos no longer swirling like ink, no longer mobile.
He knew before he pressed his hand to Iroen’s neck that the guardsman was dead.
“You must watch the lords and their retainers as closely as possible while I speak,” Aeren said to Hiroun for the tenth time as all around them the proceedings of the Evant continued. He did not look at the guardsman as he spoke, his gaze flicking from one lord to another, to the Chosen and the Tamaell, and then back to the rest of the room. “I will be too focused on presenting my argument to see everything. I’m counting on you to catch what I miss.”
“Yes, Lord Aeren. I’ll watch them carefully.”
Aeren kept the frown from his face at the hint of irritation that had crept into Hiroun’s voice and kept his eyes on the Hall of the Evant’s activity. He knew he’d repeated himself too much, that the repetition came across as a lack of faith in Hiroun, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d felt Eraeth’s absence too much in the last few weeks as he arranged meetings with each of the individual lords as they arrived in Caercaern. All of his requests had been granted, even by Lord Peloroun, who had opposed him since before the Accord. The arrangements for the meetings and the preparation required had been taxing. Without Eraeth there to share the burden, he’d been forced to handle everything himself. He’d taken to talking out loud to his empty rooms, as if Eraeth were there listening.
Of the six lords he’d met with after speaking to Thaedoren, only one supported him outright. Lord Terraec, still young in his claim to his House after his father’s death, had been the most disturbed by the presence of the members of the Flame in his lands. Aeren hadn’t even informed him of Lotaern’s theft of Shaeveran’s knife before he was agreeing to back him if he brought the matter of the Order to the Evant floor. Peloroun, the oldest lord next to Aeren, had listened attentively, eyebrows raised at Lotaern’s treachery, but had been evasive and ambiguous regarding his support. Aeren had expected nothing less, yet had left the lord’s apartments in Caercaern faintly troubled. There had been something about Peloroun’s household that hadn’t felt quite right. It had taken him two days before it struck him why—the guardsmen and servants had been too settled, too fixed into a routine. Peloroun had told him he and his entourage had arrived only the day before, and yet Aeren hadn’t seen any unpacked chests or wagons being unloaded. Servants were not hastily scrubbing fl oors or dusting shelves, clearing away the effects of leaving the rooms and corridors vacant for the long winter months. Everything had already been cleaned; even the smell of the scented water used for such efforts had faded.
He suspected that Peloroun had been in Caercaern longer than he admitted publicly. Eraeth would have noticed the discrepancy immediately. It annoyed Aeren that it had taken him two days to figure it out on his own. But what reason would Peloroun have to arrive early? He didn’t know.
He scanned the remaining four lords. Orraen and Houdyll were both relatively new to their positions, although Orraen carried himself as if he had already risen to the highest ranks of the Evant, if not the Tamaell’s position itself. Houdyll was different. Watching the young lord’s nervousness on the floor and during their private meeting only made Ae
ren believe that Jydell, Houdyll’s father, would be disappointed. Jydell had been a strong leader, careful to make alliances that only aided his House, aligning himself with no one permanently and maintaining alliances only when they were still beneficial to him. Houdyll attempted to please everyone. He had nodded agreement with everything Aeren said during their meeting, leaving Aeren completely uncertain about where he would stand when it came time for a vote in the Evant.
Saetor and Daesor were more experienced and, like Peloroun, hedged their responses. Both had expressed concern over the Flame, and surprise over Lotaern’s actions regarding the knife. Saetor, with his military background as part of Khalaek’s Phalanx, had nearly admitted that he agreed with Lotaern, that the knife should be in the hands of the Order, where it could be used most effectively. Daesor was more taciturn about his thoughts.
It was not the reaction Aeren had expected. When Daesor had seen his frustration, he’d merely said, “Perhaps the reason you feel so strongly about this is because the affront was so personal. Lotaern’s Flame practically stole the knife from beneath your own hand.”
Aeren had had nothing to say to that. Daesor had been the last lord he’d spoken to before the Evant was convened.
Now, Lord Daesor stood in the middle of the oval chamber, reporting on his activities over the winter months, including travel to Andover across the Arduon Ocean, ostensibly to solidify trade agreements with the Northern Fleet Trading Company and the Taranto and Avezzano Families of the Court.
“—have signed agreements with the Northern Fleet based on these accessions on their part. I believe the compromise will increase our trade with the Court in Andover and help solidify our political ties with the Doms of each of the northern Families. I hope that this will allow the establishment of a presence of Alvritshai goods on the Andover markets unprecedented in our history with that nation.”
Daesor nodded to Tamaell Thaedoren as he finished.The murmur of conversation increased as he made his way to his seat, fl ourishing the maroon-and-gold colors of his House.A page leaned forward to hand him a note,which he frowned at as he read it. More pages were making their way back and forth across the room, Aeren keeping a close eye on those who arrived and departed from Lotaern’s seat.
On the raised platform that held the Tamaell’s seat, the Tamaea’s and Tamaell Presumptive’s thrones empty, Thaedoren allowed the conversation to continue for a time. As soon as the pages’ activity began to abate, he caught Aeren’s gaze and nodded toward him, then rose.
“Lord Aeren has expressed a desire to speak to the Evant regarding some of the recent activity of our own Chosen, Lotaern, of the Order of Aielan. I yield the floor to him.”
Thaedoren’s voice was perfectly inflected; Aeren could tell nothing of which way the Tamaell intended to throw his support. But Aeren remembered the meeting in his chambers too clearly, recalled Reanne’s presence, so strong and self-evident once he’d noticed it. The Tamaea was not in attendance at this meeting of the Evant, but he could feel her nonetheless.
He rose, cast Hiroun one last look, the young guardsman nodding in acknowledgment, his face set. Aeren felt heartened as he watched the guardsman begin to scan the rest of the chamber as he himself made his way to the center of the floor.
He smiled and surveyed all of the lords before settling his gaze on Lotaern. He bowed his head. “I beg the Chosen’s forgiveness for bringing this to the Hall of the Evant, but it is something that I felt needed to be addressed by the assemblage as a whole.”
Lotaern had stiffened where he sat, a dark frown touching his eyes and turning the corners of his mouth, but he did not respond. Aeren realized he already knew what he intended to say, and he felt a flicker of annoyance.
One of the lords must have informed him before the gathering of the Evant.
He shrugged his sudden unease and despair aside and turned to the rest of the Evant. He could not escape the feeling that the decision regarding his complaint had already been reached, but he forged onward.
“I have already spoken to all of you separately and in private about my concern, so here let me remind you that I was once an acolyte with the Order of Aielan myself. I have lived within the Sanctuary, trained beneath the Chosen’s hand, studied the Scripts myself, and even immersed myself in Aielan’s Light before I was called back to my House to become its lord after my father’s and brother’s deaths. I pledged myself to Aielan, to upholding the principles set out in the Scripts and established by all of those Chosen for the Order from times past. In my role as Lord of Rhyssal House, I have striven to maintain those principles and incorporate them into the policies of the House, even though by taking up that leadership I was forced to forsake the vows I took as an acolyte.
“At first, I found integrating the two—the principles of Aielan and the responsibilities of a lord—to be difficult. But I persevered, and over the years have surmounted the challenge. The two can coexist. I believe the Accord that was established between the three races was the culmination of that coexistence, at least for me.
“But recently, some of the actions of the Order of Ai-elan, and in particular, the Chosen, Lotaern, have caused me concern. I have found it more and more difficult to accept these changes made within the Order. I know that many of you are now thinking that my own reservations are born out of a personal conflict with Lotaern, a grudge or feud with him that I have harbored since I left the Order, perhaps rooted in my own dissatisfaction at being forced to leave. I tell you now, this is not so. When I left the Order, it was with the greatest respect for Lotaern and for the Order itself. It is only recent events that have troubled me. I know they have troubled some of the rest of you as well.”
He paused, looking around the room, taking in the expressions of every one of the lords where they sat behind the tables lined with cloth of their House colors. Most of their faces were carefully blank, their postures reserved. Lord Terraec’s gaze was locked on Lotaern, who sat behind his own table draped in folds of white, his hands hidden. Aeren turned to the Chosen as well as he continued.
“I have spoken to all of the lords regarding the members of the Order of the Flame, what is in essence the Order’s Phalanx, that have been actively invading our individual House lands under the auspices of being acolytes. They have been performing the rituals of the Order in the temples, acting as acolytes, and in most cases the acolytes who have been sent to care for the local populations at each temple have deferred to them. As a Lord of one of the Houses of the Evant, I would not condone the use of one of my fellow lords’ Phalanxes in my own lands without that lord first seeking permission from me and my fellow caitans. I would humbly request that the Chosen order the current members of the Order of the Flame who inhabit my lands back to the Sanctuary here in Caercaern, until such time as the Chosen seeks and gains permission to have the Flame enter my lands. I strongly suggest that the rest of the Lords of the Evant do the same.
“I would ask that the Evant reprimand the Chosen for his actions, for this blatant invasion of House lands. He has overstepped the bounds of the Order.”
A silence thrumming with anger followed his words. Aeren felt that anger trembling in his arms, the hands behind his back clasped so hard he knew the knuckles were white. The strength of the emotion surprised him. But what he had said in his speech was true: he had left the Order with the greatest respect for Lotaern and what the Chosen had taught him while he was an acolyte. The emergence of the Order of the Flame and the actions Lotaern had taken since then had been difficult to accept. Lotaern was not the mentor he remembered so fondly from his studies anymore. He had changed.
But the anger in the room did not come solely from him. He could feel it radiating from Lotaern as well. Somehow, over the course of years, the two had grown apart, grown distant.
A part of him regretted that distance and hated the enmity between them now. But he could not let Lotaern’s actions stand unchallenged.
Behind him, he heard the Tamaell stand and step forward, h
is tread unmistakable, but he did not turn to face him.
“As Tamaell of the Alvritshai,”Thaedoren said,his voice filling the chamber, smooth and dark with import, “I find that some of Lord Aeren’s concerns have merit. There are issues regarding the Order of the Flame that we have not yet addressed, one of which is how the Flame is to be treated. Should the Order be considered a House and the Flame its Phalanx? Lord Aeren has stated that is how he feels, and as such the Flame should not be allowed to arbitrarily enter a fellow lord’s House lands. The alternative is to agree that the Flame is not a military force at all, but merely a group of specialized acolytes, in which case the Order would not be considered equivalent to a House in its own right.
“I pose the question to Lotaern, the Chosen of the Order of Aielan, first. Does the Order wish to be considered the equivalent to a House, with the Order of the Flame as its Phalanx, subject to all of the expectations and restrictions of a member of the Evant?”
Aeren felt his heart lurch as the words sank in. This was not what he had intended when he brought his concern to the Evant. He had simply wanted the lords to force Lotaern to remove the members of the Flame from House lands. He had not wanted to bring the Order’s place among the Evant into question. What Thaedoren had brought to the floor would solidify the powers that Lotaern wielded within the Evant. It would answer the question that had hounded them all since the Order of the Flame had been revealed. If the lords agreed, Lotaern would become the equivalent of a lord. Instead of merely having a say in the Evant, his opinion easily dismissed since he had no true power, he would gain political weight.
Aeren turned to regard the Tamaell in horror, but Thaedoren was not looking at him. His focus was on Lotaern. Aeren spun back to the Chosen of the Order, his heart now beating too fast in his chest. For he knew how Lotaern would answer.
Leaves of Flame Page 27
