The Restorer

by Sharon Hinck

  “That works.” Kieran stepped within arm’s reach of me. Too late, Mark realized his intention and moved in to shield me. In the space of a second, Kieran grabbed me and pressed the blade of his dagger against my throat.

  Mark pulled up short.

  “Move and she dies,” Kieran promised evenly.

  Rage and horror dueled on Mark’s face, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Kieran shifted the dagger slightly in warning. “You are going to get me into the Council session tomorrow,” he told Mark.

  I couldn’t swallow and could barely breathe with the sharp edge of the knife against my skin. I remained frozen, hoping Kieran’s hand stayed steady. Could a Restorer recover from a slit throat? I didn’t want to find out.

  Mark’s eyes widened for a second but then focused back on the dagger at my throat. “Let her go, and we’ll talk about this,” he promised, trying to keep Kieran calm.

  That’s right. Keep him talking. Wade had to be around somewhere. I stretched my hearing, but there was no sound from the outer hall. I heard someone’s heart beating way too fast. Probably mine.

  Kieran ignored Mark’s comment and spoke to me, his voice coming from somewhere behind my right ear. “I see you forgot lesson one,” he taunted. “Stay on guard.”

  That did it.

  I twisted in his grip, letting the dagger pierce my skin and surprising him enough to give me an advantage. While turning, I slammed my elbow into his chest, knocking him back. With my focus on his dagger, I grabbed at his arm. I couldn’t break his grip, but I held the blade away from me.

  Mark snatched up his own sword from where it had fallen. As he ran up behind Kieran, I thought he planned to cut him in two as he swung in an arc. But he used the flat of the blade to knock Kieran’s legs out from under him.

  Kieran fell backwards.

  With the force of the fall, I was able to knock the dagger from his hand.

  Mark planted a foot on Kieran’s chest, and positioned the tip of his sword right under his chin. “Are you hurt?” My husband spared a quick glance my direction.

  I touched my throat, and my hand came away covered with blood. But the gash was healing. “I’m fine.”

  Kieran’s eyes burned with hatred as he glared up at Mark. We didn’t need this. Our list of enemies was too long already.

  “Should I kill him now or turn him over to the Council Guard?” Mark asked.

  I knew he wouldn’t actually kill Kieran. At least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He looked capable of it at the moment. “Mark, we can’t trust the Council Guard.”

  “He was ready to murder you,” Mark argued. “Let them deal with him.”

  Kieran braced himself on his elbows, trying to ease his torso up. Mark shoved him back down with his foot.

  “I have to talk to the Council tomorrow,” Kieran grated out. His focus shifted over to me. Desperation lurked behind the fevered rage that gripped him.

  I stepped closer. “Why?”

  He looked straight up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, saying nothing.

  “Kieran, I’m not your enemy.”

  He laughed, an ugly sound. His eyes popped open again, and he turned his head toward me. “Try saying that when you don’t have a sword to my throat.”

  “You started it,” I protested, then winced at how childish that sounded. “Why did you attack me?”

  “He’s on the Council. He can get me in. You’re leverage.”

  The way his mind worked amazed me. Absorb facts. Change plans. Practical. Ruthless.

  “Well, you don’t have any leverage now. So tell us why you need to talk to the Council.”

  He ignored me.

  I looked at Mark and shrugged. Kieran could be a dangerous enemy or a valuable ally. I honestly didn’t know what he was up to, but we wouldn’t get anywhere with him pinned to the floor. I walked over to a cubby near the hallway door and rummaged through it until I found some rope. I tossed it to Mark. “We’ll have to tie him up and take him with us.”

  It took both of us to disarm him and tie his wrists behind him. Even bound, Kieran looked about as harmless as a wolverine.

  “Where’s Wade?” I asked as Mark hauled him to his feet.

  He gave a snort of amusement but wouldn’t answer.

  Since we couldn’t find anything to secure him to, we dragged him along with us down the hallway, checking all the side doors in our search. I felt the coiled tension in Kieran and expected him to try to break free at any moment.

  After a good deal of searching, we found Wade tied and gagged in a closet near the main entrance. I quickly cut him free. I wasn’t sure if he was angrier with himself or with Kieran, but I’d never seen such a vicious look on Wade’s face before.

  He bounded to his feet and threw a right hook to Kieran’s face that knocked him out of Mark’s grip.

  “Wade!” I protested.

  Kieran stumbled and crashed against the wall, looking dazed.

  Wade grabbed the front of Kieran’s shirt and hauled him closer, until their noses were only inches apart. “The only reason I don’t kill you now is that you’re Tristan’s family,” Wade warned. “But if you do anything to harm Councilmember Markkel or Susan, I won’t let that stop me again.”

  Kieran jerked in surprise when he heard Mark’s name. He darted a sideways look at Mark.

  Of course. He would know the story of the Restorer’s son and the prophecy. I saw him putting together the pieces, studying both of us.

  Wade turned to Mark and began an elaborate apology for failing to protect us, but Mark interrupted. “Wade, just take him to the Council Guard. We need to get home.”

  “Wait.” I pulled Mark a short way down the hall. “I don’t think he really meant to hurt me. He’s just desperate to get into tomorrow’s session.”

  Mark looked at the blood splattered on my shirt. “Susan, I’d like to trust your instincts, but if he won’t tell us why he wants to get into the Council session, we can’t let him in. Maybe he just wants to address the Council, but if so, why doesn’t he tell us?”

  “He doesn’t trust us. He despises the Council.”

  “All the more reason to be careful. He could be an assassin. He could be spying for Hazor. You told me yourself his mother was Hazorite. Who knows where his loyalties lie?”

  I shook my head and walked back to our prisoner. Trussed up and bleeding from Wade’s blow, Kieran nonetheless emanated danger like radiation. “Just tell us why you need to get in tomorrow.” It was a reasonable request, and I tried to infuse my voice with Restorer power—or, if that failed, at least to coax him into trusting us.

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a bitter half-smile. “I know better than to trust anyone working for the Council, Susan of Ridgeview Drive.”

  I turned back to Mark in frustration. “Maybe Wade could keep him under guard at your place until after the session tomorrow.”

  Mark shook his head. “We need Wade to testify on your behalf. Cameron could ask the Council to try you for the murder of the Rhusican. We really don’t have any options. We have to turn him over to the guardians.”

  Wade spoke up. “Susan, I’ll take him personally to the captain of the Lyric guardians. I’ll be sure Cameron’s Council guards don’t find out anything about him.”

  I appreciated his effort to find a solution I could live with, especially when I knew how angry he was at Kieran. I nodded in relief.

  Wade grabbed his prisoner’s arm and headed down the hall.

  Kieran jerked away and turned to look at me. “I have to be at the session tomorrow.” His feverish eyes were angry, but desperation intertwined with the snarl of warning in his tone. “You’re making a mistake.”

  Wade shoved him toward the door.

  Kieran kept his footing and tried o
nce more. This time he looked at Mark. “You don’t want me for an enemy, Markkel of Rendor,” he said. “Don’t do this.”

  A chill of dread ran through me.

  Mark faced him calmly, his own eyes glacial. “You lost any chance of my help when you touched my wife.” He nodded to Wade, who hauled Kieran from the building.

  Mark had hidden his anxiety well when a tornado approached our neighborhood one summer, and when the city was planning to assess our street for a new sidewalk we couldn’t afford, and when Anne’s birth had run into complications. But his courage today impressed me on a new level. Only after Wade and Kieran were out of sight did he rub his face, as if trying to erase the worry settling into the lines there.

  Hazorites, Rhusicans, Cameron, and now Kieran. We were heading into the Council session with one more threat added to the list confronting us. Heading back through the portal was beginning to sound like a very good idea.

  Chapter

  26

  Mark led me under the vaulting arches of the Council hall entry. The grandeur of the black onyx floors and crystal-lined walls brought home to me the gravity of what we faced today. Why were government buildings always designed to make an individual feel insignificant? The scale of the foyer dwarfed us. Our footsteps echoed as we crossed to the entrance for the Council chambers.

  Mark looked at ease in his rust tunic and black trousers. He carried himself with confidence. I tugged at the hem of my own apprentice garb, feeling conspicuous. My hair was neatly braided back from my face, and I kept touching it, checking that it was still in place.

  The reassuring bulk of Wade’s presence hovered behind us. Linette walked to my right with youthful grace, unawed by the setting. She served a more powerful master than the Council.

  I reminded myself that I did too.

  My first hurdle came at the door into the inner tower. Several Council guards stood beside the entrance, complete with black vests and abundant weaponry. I recognized one from the group that had taken me from Braide Wood, and my feet slowed of their own accord.

  Mark noticed and put a hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. He announced our titles as Rendor councilmembers. Some questions were posed about allowing Linette and Wade inside, but Mark insisted they were under the sponsorship of Rendor this session because they would be testifying. The guards let us pass, and I began to breathe normally again.

  We entered a hall that curved around the outside of the chamber. Mark leaned closer. “Twelve doors from this hall lead to the outer offices of each clan. Two aren’t used anymore, since the clans beyond Morsal Plains withdrew from the Council. We use the offices to meet and discuss votes, and as a waiting area for witnesses. Each office has a door to the Council chamber at the center of the tower.”

  When Mark slid the door open for the Rendor outer office, about a half a dozen people milled around the room, including Jorgen.

  Though I had met him yesterday, extra protocol was required today for my first public appearance as a Rendor apprentice. “It is an honor to address you, Chief Councilmember of Rendor. I am grateful for your sponsorship and am happy to serve you as an apprentice councilmember.”

  It was the formal greeting Mark had taught me. I wished I could say what I was really thinking. Thank you for seeing us yesterday, for taking this risk, for bending the rules, for getting Mark back on the Council, and for providing a way for me to get in. We won’t let you down. But I kept those words to myself.

  When Jorgen spoke to the room at large, I thought how well he would fit in a Wagner opera—complete with Viking helmet. His whole bearing was larger than life. “Welcome her into Rendor clan,” he proclaimed. This announcement formally ensured my status and brought a flurry of introductions and greetings from other Rendor councilmembers in the room.

  I struggled to remember names and give innocuous answers to questions about where I had met Mark and why Jorgen had chosen to sponsor an apprentice who had never even visited Rendor. It was almost a relief to hear the clarion sound of a signaler from within the central chambers. The tone played for a few seconds, stopped, resumed, and continued the pattern. Like a tolling bell, its twelve chimes represented a call to the twelve clans. Though only ten clans remained, tradition hadn’t changed.

  All conversation stopped, and Jorgen walked to the door that led into the Council chamber. The other people wearing the uniform of the Council lined up behind him.

  Other than a handful of guards, only actual councilmembers were allowed to continue into the Council chamber. Wade and Linette would wait in the Rendor office until they were called. When the last tone finished its high, clear call, Jorgen shoved the heavy sliding door open and stepped forward.

  He led the Rendor contingent into the chamber. Mark and I stayed at the end of the column, and Mark slid the door closed behind us once all the councilmembers had passed through.

  I was grateful that our low status meant we were in a back row of chairs. Our anonymity provided an opportunity to look around the room without feeling conspicuous.

  Delegations from each of the other clans entered their own area of the tower. Twelve segments were partitioned off with wooden railings to form low balconies, with a raked floor leading down toward the middle of the room, where arguments were made and testimonies given. The number of delegates in each section varied. Some had groups of close to twenty members; others had three or four people representing the clan. Though each clan controlled one vote, cast by the chief councilmember of the clan, it was up to each clan to decide how many other representatives they sent to the session.

  The Corros Fields Council chief, Landon, stood in the center of the room and called the roll. The short, round man’s black trousers disappeared against the polished stone floor, giving the appearance of his rust tunic hovering like a fat, disembodied ghost. He was the head of today’s session. Every clan took turns in rotation at conducting a day’s session. Too bad it wasn’t Jorgen’s turn.

  I stayed low in my chair, peeking between the shoulders of the delegates in front of me. Each clan’s chief councilmember stood and announced the presence of his clan, along with the name and sponsorship of each member present. As Cameron spoke for Lyric in his resonant voice, my breathing became short and shallow, despite my best efforts to remain calm. Mark reached over for my hand. Grateful, I nestled my cold fingers into his warm palm. His eyes were fixed and hard; his jaw muscles worked as he stared across the room.

  Focused on getting my feelings of panic under control, I almost missed the first issue addressed.

  “Blue Knoll brings a case against Vaughn of Shamgar. Bardon of Blue Knoll was traveling in the Grey Hills and was attacked and robbed.” The Blue Knoll Council chief introduced Bardon, as well as a witness who had traveled with him. They gave a quick explanation of what happened. A few delegates asked clarifying questions, the Blue Knoll Council chief asked for banishment, a quick vote was passed, and the two witnesses left the room.

  “Mark,” I whispered. “What about the guy they accused? He didn’t get to say anything. He didn’t get to confront his accuser.”

  “This isn’t our world,” he said quietly.

  “What will happen now?”

  “They’ve already made the decision. Now they’ll send two Council guards to find him and escort him to the closest border.”

  “But that would be Hazor!” I had a million more questions, but one of the women on the Rendor Council glared at us over her shoulder.

  “Lyric brings a case against Tristan of Braide Wood.” Cameron had taken center stage, and I bit my lower lip. A low murmur rippled through the room. “I have the testimony of Susan of Braide Wood, given before my witness, who is an honored guest to Lyric, Medea of the Rhusican people.” There were more undercurrents of conversation as the woman I had seen in Cameron’s office was ushered into the room.

  She wore a long, loose tunic in variegated shad
es of green. Her gaze traveled around the room, making effective eye contact with each chief councilmember as she shared how her husband had disappeared and how she had worked tirelessly to find him. All around, councilmembers leaned forward, nodding with sympathy.

  Furious and worried, I grabbed Mark’s arm. He rested his hand over mine, the warm pressure giving me fleeting comfort. But as he watched the proceedings, his muscles tensed and worry lines deepened on his face, stealing the moment of reassurance away.

  Cameron thanked her and addressed the Council once again. “I was able to find out the truth about what happened to Medea’s husband. He was murdered by a Braide Wood guardian . . . a man sworn to uphold the word of the Council and protect guests within our borders. Susan of Braide Wood witnessed the murder and revealed the truth under questioning. Tristan tracked him down for the sole purpose of revenge and killed him. The law leaves no question; Tristan must be banished.”

  Landon called for a vote, and I realized that legal events in Lyric moved at lightning speed compared to my world. In mere seconds, Tristan’s entire life would be over. He’d be banished, and Braide Wood would lose the captain of their guardians when they needed him most.

  I jumped to my feet, pushed between two of the chairs in the front row, and grabbed the railing in front of the Rendor section of the tower. “Wait!” I shouted. “You don’t have all the information.”

  Dozens of eyes turned toward me, and several voices responded in outrage to the interruption. Mark had tried to teach me protocol, but there were too many rules to remember.

  “Identify yourself.” Landon’s voice screeched over the grumbling conversations. Medea smiled at me, tilting her head.

  “I’m Susan of Braide Wood.”

  “Then you have no standing with Rendor,” Landon said. “Remove her.” He turned his head to signal some of the leather-vested Council guards that were scattered throughout the tower.

  “She has standing as a full member of Rendor clan.” Mark’s rich baritone voice rang out in the hall. He stepped up beside me. “I am Markkel of Rendor. She is my wife and an apprentice with sponsorship of Chief Councilmember Jorgen.”