Ilsevel’s breath sucked in sharply as he loosened his grip and set her free. Her hand dropped against her abdomen, where she clutched her own wrist in a self-comforting gesture. But she was calmer now. Finally, she seemed to grasp the presence of the tattered body of the bound male spread across the table. Her eyes lingered on the soft tapping of blood as it dropped onto the marble floor to graze the end of her silk dress.
She took a sharp step back. But she was listening.
Vale was attentive as well. He had paused from his work, his sharp features twisted into tangible distress. “Saebel,” he began slowly, running his tongue across his cracked lips, “perhaps you’ve been too focused on Hadoream’s demise. If Relstavum overthrows the True Bloods and we kill the Resistance, what does Hadoream matter? The people will become complacent without their rebellious leaders.”
Saebellus felt a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. He did not respond to the wholly idiotic response, for beneath his captain’s words he knew lay another message. “What is it, Vale?” he demanded softly.
The shadows stilled. The candles flicked and dimmed. Ilsevel retreated hastily to the doorframe.
Vale did not look up. His hands made themselves busy, quickly locating the bloody tools scattered across the stone. “It is because I truly do not believe Hadoream will ever seize the throne that I have felt that this… tiny detail… was unnecessary. I’m only mentioning this now since… you truly seem to feel that finding the princ… essisabsolutelynecessary. But I know that if we kill the rebels and blame them for the discontent, everything will fall back in your favor.”
Saebellus grimaced slightly at the rapid change in Vale’s speech. He paused a moment, dissecting the mangled words.
Ilsevel had not noticed. “We will find Prince Hadoream—Ra’vonis’ ability to track is second to none.”
“Princess.”
Ilsevel blinked. “What?”
“Princess,” Saebellus repeated calmly. “I believe Vale just informed us that the reason we have been unable to locate the dear True Blood is because Hadoream is not a prince. Hadoream is a princess.”
Ilsevel’s thick lips hung mid-gape and he saw her struggle to grasp what vital fragment of Vale’s words she had missed. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Princess?!”
And with that, Saebellus’ fist slammed down. The table before him cracked as though it were as dry and weak as driftwood, folding in on the cleric. The wood and priest collapsed to the marble floor with a crash, the moan choked out by his final breath. The shadows twisted, writhing as though in identical pain. “YES,” the king hissed with such venom that Vale reeled away in terror. “A woman. Hadoream is a woman.” He stepped forward, the damaged bones of the cleric’s hand crunching beneath his heel. “And here we have crawled and clawed and strangled information from this land, but the answer to our failures lay but a whisper away.” His hand shot out, catching Vale by the throat and driving him into the ebony wall. “TELL ME WHY!” he roared.
The chandelier spun, lights flickering wildly in the wind and sputtering out one by one. Only the candle Ilsevel had set beside the door remained, its flame squirming and elongating in the rush of darkness.
“Saebel, I’m sorry,” Vale sputtered, hand flailing to grasp his arm. “I was only privy to the truth because of my comradery with Darcarus! I swore I would tell no one!”
“But you told Adonis, did you not?” Saebellus sibilated. The darkness grasped for Vale, crawling down his hand. The captain’s skin grew grey as death and caved.
Vale wheezed as Saebellus’ vise briefly tightened. “No!”
Another lie. Yet the shadows withdrew abruptly. Saebellus’ expression revealed nothing at Vale’s response, but his chest seared with pain. His hand released and he stepped back. “Why?” he asked once more, his voice nearly inaudible even in the silence.
Vale gasped and coughed, slumping against the wall and clutching his wounded hand. “Silandrus wanted Hadoream to be treated with impartiality. He wanted her political voice heard, her military talents obeyed, her freedom respected… The council and the society it infected would allow none of that!”
“How dare you keep this from Saebel!” Ilsevel shouted.
Vale ignored her, swiftly continuing, as though his torrent of information would nullify his disloyalty. “Hadoream was yet one more motivation for Silandrus to leave—to forge a Realm where she would be held equal. When Darcarus whispered the truth to me, I swore I would tell no one—his people may now know, but Sevrigel does not!”
Saebellus’ lips twisted into a snarl. “You have crippled my empire, Vale,” he hissed. “We have chased the god-damn phantom of a prince across this land! Every day that Hadoream has been free she has strengthened the rebellion against me!”
Vale paled, but his words emerged fiercely. “I broke my vow now—that’s more than you should ever dare ask for!”
Ilsevel let out a laugh, but Saebellus swiftly raised his hand, cutting her off. He dipped his head, meeting his captain’s pained gaze. “Thank you.”
Ilsevel choked back her amusement with an indignant yelp. “What?! Saebellus, it is because of Vale that—!”
“It is because of Vale that we know at all.” Saebellus let Ilsevel’s jaw hang in the silence as he extended his hand and waited for his captain to accept. “I apologize, Vale. You would have been right to deny me the information indefinitely.”
“Not indefinitely,” Vale muttered, grasping his palm and allowing Saebellus to pull him to his feet. “I ought to have told you sooner. My loyalty is first yours.”
Ilsevel’s jaw closed, opened, and then snapped shut once more. She crossed the room in long, brisk strides, planting her body sharply between them. “The princess is nowhere close to being found because we must begin anew! Do you realize how long it will take to inform all of our contacts that they are looking for a female and not a male? The Resistance is working now. We cannot wait to stop them—they are destroying the peace—undermining our reign! We cannot wait for Hadoream to fall! I need not remind you why I came into this very room to begin with!—The riots are ripping this city apart!”
Saebellus reached for the scrap of clean fabric on the floor beside him, wiping his hands across it. “Ilsevel, to change this country you must weave what you wish for them to see and hear. Relocation is a slow and challenging process. But slaughtering those who are questioning our methods only makes their wails greater still.”
Ilsevel’s venomous eyes narrowed and shot toward his captain—he could plainly see that she desired Vale’s lean corpse on the crumbled table instead of the weathered cleric’s.
Saebellus tossed the blood-stained cloth to Vale, watching briefly as the male struggled to clean his tools with his crippled hand. The mark from the shadows had darkened upon his skin and his fingers moved stiffly. Still, his captain did not complain. “The rebellion has shown the people what it wishes them to see and how. I will now return the favor.” The shadows sank low, fleeing his sweeping vision. “We shall rip the ‘Resistance’ from our city and frame them for the unrest. The Sel’vi are a proud people—we shall use that pride against them.”
Little could curb Vale’s hate for long. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he could not resist a jab. “They would rather accept another source as the cause of their strife than admit to their own fucking corruption.”
The captain’s boldness returned Ilsevel’s courage. “But how, Saebel?” she insisted, stomping her tiny foot. She placed a hand hesitantly upon his arm and her sudden trust sent a shiver down his spine. “How do we push these riots onto the rebellion when we cannot find them?”
Saebellus’ fingers extended gently over hers and he allowed the corner of his lip to elevate.
“We have now,” Vale interjected triumphantly. “What do you think we do out there all day while you’re playing politics for the masses? We aren’t just killing farmers and their sons.”
Ilsevel’s eyes widened, her soft lips parting greedily. Her sky-blu
e gaze darted across the splayed cleric, hungering for his story, and then found its way back to Vale’s smug expression. “You know where the rebels are?” she whispered.
Saebellus’ nostrils quivered. “Indeed. Adonis’ tracking of Sellemar has come to fruition. While his discoveries do not offer us enough evidence to imprison the Ryekarian, you are to place him under constant watch—he is to go nowhere without his escort.”
“Sellemar…” Ilsevel started. “In his close relations with Silandrus’ family, he must have known about Hadoream’s identity! He must be with the enemy!”
“It would seem. Yet as you planned, leaving him free has had value—he has led us to the heart of the rebellion—and we will gather evidence of his involvement tonight.” He gestured to the man she had nearly dispatched to the Realms herself. “The lower level of the temple where Sellemar has been seen has been given to non-religious purposes. This priest has confirmed its use by the insurgents.”
“To think, even the people of our goddess betray us now!” Ilsevel snarled.
Saebellus’ mood swiftly darkened. “I think Sel’ari has betrayed the interests of her people for some time, Ilsevel—too eager to see herself grow in popularity and station to risk inciting the notion that her people may not be as pure as she would have the world believe.” He felt the color of his hair… of his eyes as he spoke. “And this shall be the last day her city riots against us.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
A knock rang out from the hall below and Sellemar groaned. With the display of the council’s deception in Elvorium’s square, the rebellion had truly commenced. Could he not enjoy his crucial victory in peace?
He set his glass of wine aside and scowled venomously at the window.
He need not wonder who had interrupted his rest—he knew.
‘It was only a matter of time before she tried again…’
“Feign illness. Vomit a few times,” he muttered to himself as he descended the stairs. But he doubted even that would dissuade her.
He swung the door wide for the queen and readied himself to utter some falsified greeting. Yet Ilsevel pushed past without even a flash of charm or a bat of her pretty eyes.
She whirled, her eyes pinning him with an intrusive gaze. And then she smiled.
The alteration in tone was chilling.
‘What now…?’
“How are you, Sellemar?” she spoke softly, running a hand shamelessly down his chest. “Are you as troubled as I am of late, or has the world done right by your design?”
Sellemar stood rigid, carefully displaying only an expression of detachment. There lay a threat beneath her words. He watched her fingers curl. “While the world threatens your reign, you know I cannot find rest.”
“Do I?” she openly challenged. As though only in jest, her smile grew. “We have tried to extinguish the terrible lies, but it seems they have triumphed. What a vicious plot this ‘Resistance’ weaves.” She reached out unexpectedly and slammed the old door against its frame.
The chandelier above them quivered.
Sellemar attempted to remain at ease. “You… seem terribly vexed, my queen. Tell me—what can I do for the crown?”
Ilsevel laughed at his words, catching his arm to spin about him. She ended on his left, clutching his shoulder with unnerving proximity. “I need to find another source to blame for the city’s unrest,” she lamented. Her nails skidded up his arm to his chin, then slowly walked their way up his carefully composed face. “Now tell me: Who. Can. I. Blame?”
Sellemar’s head ached sharply, but it was not from the fingers that jabbed him. “What can I do for the crown?” he repeated calmly.
How could she know?
Ilsevel heaved a dramatic sigh. “I am certain you help every day. After all, you visit Sel’ari’s temple often—surely you have said more prayers than the whole of this kingdom combined!”
Sellemar attempted to smile, but his lips faltered. The pounding was growing to a warring drum. “If you seek an enemy, then allow me to assist you. What can I do?” With the repetition he was beginning to sound like one of the Mythowood’s sprites.
“Oh Sellemar,” she simply sighed, and lifted a hand to squeeze his chin. This time, her nails dug in like talons. “How noble of you to offer yourself. But do not fret over my fate. We have a solution to our problems. I instead have come to keep you safe. At least, that is how you can view it.” She gestured to two of the soldiers lingering at the frame. “Think of them as protection from the rioters… And not as an escort designed to observe your every move.”
Her fingers departed with a jerk and it took every bit of Sellemar’s will to remain unmoved. He knew his smile had long since dissipated. “I am flattered,” he intoned.
Internally he reeled, his heart beating to the cadence of the pounding in his head. His time had passed. ‘She suspects,’ he thought grimly. He had led the country to rebellion, but he could not see it through the end. ‘Damn it. What led her to…?’ He recalled the lieutenant lingering about the temple weeks before. ‘Him.’ He pressed a hand to his head, assiduously fighting the growing roar.
“I have personally selected two of the best mages Saebellus could offer. You are in the best of care.”
‘Mages. Damn mages.’ But his residence contained the True Blood Tunnel. Mages now were nothing more than an inconvenience to his doorstep. Still, he would give her nothing more against him. “I am honored by your generosity,” he spoke, but his composure faltered beneath a blinding glare of light outside his own eyes.
Ilsevel did not appear to note his growing confusion. She snapped her fingers once, briefly recapturing his attention. “Let us depart,” she demanded to her remaining escort. She pivoted toward the door and drew her head into her hood to rebuff the evening chill. Her face disappeared within, becoming one with a dark blur of stone, lost in the evening light.
But her soldiers vanished entirely.
Sellemar started and blinked, trying to differentiate the divide between the Nemorium and his own reality. Damn it, he had to stay conscious until she was gone!
Ilsevel was talking, but he only caught the last of her ramblings as his futile resistance intensified the volume of the Nemorium’s whine. “—they shall remain guard outside your doors, there whenever you need to depart—”
But it was not that he was prisoner in his own home that vexed him. The damn uneven streets were to blame! ‘Ouch-ch-ch. Damn cobblestones. Fucking…’ Vale hopped once on his left foot and rubbed the toes of his right. “Move it—while they’re still ignorant!” He gave the expanse of cobblestones that led from the palace behind him a menacing glare before his scowl returned to the glinting gates before him. A tumult of voices arose from outside as the rioters glimpsed the throng of soldiers approaching—
“Sellemar, are you—?”
The humming swelled fiercely within his mind, as though he had been dragged to the raging bellows of a dwarven smith. Damn the bitch-queen for interrupting his thoughts! Sellemar slid his feet forward furiously and tossed his head. ‘Focus!’ he chastised himself, wrenching his mind once more from the revelation of the Nemorium. “I am humbled by your graciousness to leave soldiers where I have none,” he managed to speak, even as he clutched the railing for balance.
Ilsevel inspected him warily, but he had no gaze for her. He watched the golden gates part to the throng outside. Then he stepped through, lifting his blade against the rioters in warning. He had better things to do than slaughter these fools. Tonight the rebellion would fall!
“Do not be frightened,” Ilsevel merely cooed. “As long as you stay within, no harm shall come to you.”
Sellemar strenuously managed a moment of balance. “I am afraid I had Black Blood before you arrived.” He uttered a pitiful laugh before he found himself at the front doors of his estate. He had no recollection of passing the distance. “Thank you. Let me waste no more of your sacred time.” His hand was swiftly turning the ancient knob before she could reply. “Have a plea
sant evening, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, and you as well. My soldiers shall make sure of th—”
“Yes yes, farewell, Your Majesty.”
And with an unruly shove and a swift farewell, the door clanged loudly at her back, as though warning them to return victoriously. ‘And I will. Beneath the watch of the bitch-goddess, I’ll slaughter her mewling herd,’ Vale growled inwardly.
The rioters surged about him and only Saebellus’ warning kept him from driving a blade through the nearest male’s gut.
Sellemar’s eyes flew open, his breathing ragged as he struggled from the spell. “No… DAMN IT, Sellemar! Not now!” he hissed. He could not escape through the True Blood tunnel tonight; prisoner or no, he would not remain inside while Vale slaughtered his allies! He stumbled to the kitchen, managing to seize his cloak from the counter, and knocked a rioter flat. He made certain to step squarely on the bitch’s breasts as he carried forward.
‘Saebellus said not to kill them,’ he thought smugly.
A blast of cold air snapped Sellemar back to reality and he realized he had flung wide the west window to his estate.
He did not bother to close it.
Down the shadowed land, Ilsevel and her guards were traveling south, out onto the icy street to make their way back to Saebellus…
‘We have a solution to our problems.’
The death of his Resistance…! By Sel’ari, Tilarus would be there as well! Sellemar whirled toward the west. Far in the distance, past the gleaming white marble of the sprawling city, he knew the temple of his goddess sat, oblivious to the impending raid!
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 54
