“Keep firing,” Jaina said. “Or I will use the electricity again.”
“It’s...empty,” Bree said, desperately wishing that were true.
“It was,” Jaina said. “But not anymore.”
The theotech shoved the cloth in her mouth, and Jaina sparked life into her gauntlet, letting the power race up and down Bree’s spine. Tears trickling down her face, Bree watched a third stream of fire scorch the distant wall, then a fourth, then a fifth. Each one left her more drained than the last. By the sixth time, her consciousness flitted in and out, like a bird flying just shy of her reach. The white room spun, walls became ceiling, ceiling became floor. Jaina spoke with the theotechs, but Bree could no longer understand what they were saying. It took too much effort, and she had none left to give.
Another burst of fire. She barely noticed its heat, the flame pathetically small compared to the first few attempts. Despite this, it was the most horrible of the lot. She felt her mind breaking, felt her heart hammer in her chest as if it were about to explode. Worried voices chattered in her ears, speaking gibberish. The fire ceased. The straps around her body suddenly loosened, then were removed completely. Bree dropped to her knees, then landed in a limp sprawl upon the bloodstained tile. It should have hurt, but she was too numb to feel it.
I’m dreaming, Bree thought. Her head had turned to face the back of the room upon hitting the floor, and she stared at the furnace behind her bed. I’m not here, only dreaming.
Creatures stirred within the fire, black fingers slipping through the thin cracks of the grate. Red eyes peered out intently. Watching her.
She had to be dreaming, because if not, she’d lost her mind.
Eyes closed, she let the distant, worried voices lull her away as hands grabbed her arms and legs. A dream, her mind insisted. Just a dream.
The crackling sound of the furnace mocked her plea, mocked it with the shrill laughter of the creatures writhing within the smoldering fire.
CHAPTER
16
The waiting was the worst of it. Kael sat on his bed as the day crawled along, peering out the window at the sleepy street while wishing there was something he could do. There was too much risk someone in New Galen might recognize him, and according to Johan, signs bearing crude drawings of his face were already going up across Weshern, declaring him a fugitive with a substantial reward for his capture. In his tiny room he stayed, bored and frustrated, so that when his door opened, and a brown-robed disciple beckoned him to follow, Kael was torn between hope and fear. Hope that he might have something to do. Fear that the reason for the visit involved the fate of his sister.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, sliding off his bed.
The disciple, a smoothly shaven young man with enormous ears, shook his head.
“Johan desires your attention,” he said. “Beyond that, I am not permitted to say.”
Kael followed the man down the stairs, then to a door beneath the stairs leading deeper to a cellar dug into the earth. The disciple opened the door, beckoned Kael to enter. Kael did, and when the door slammed shut behind him he was swallowed in near darkness. Near, because at the bottom of the steps shone a hint of light through a doorway at the immediate right. A hand touching the cold stone to guide himself, Kael descended the stairs and entered the cellar.
Thin windows near the cellar’s ceiling allowed in what little light they had. Shelves lined all four walls, each filled with thick glass jars containing sliced strawberries and apples. A single figure sat in a chair in the center of the cellar. Johan stood behind it, arms crossed, a blade held in his right hand. Kael squinted in the dim light. The person in the chair had their hands and feet bound. A woman, he realized when she looked up.
“Kael!” she cried, and his heart leapt.
“Clara?” he asked, and anger replaced his surprise as he turned his attention to Johan. “Why is she held prisoner?”
“She is held prisoner because I was waiting for you to confirm she is who she claims she is,” Johan said. He lowered his knife, easily slicing through the rope. “Which I now have.”
Free, Clara rushed across the cellar and flung her arms around Kael. He held her tight, and he whispered to her as she pressed her forehead against his neck.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really, I am.”
“She approached one of my disciples in Byrntown insisting she be brought to you,” Johan said, a strange expression on his face. “A rash and dangerous act, but one I find admirable given the circumstances.”
“It was so stupid of you to sneak into my home like that,” she said, pulling gently from his arms. “My brothers told me of your escape, and they were all too happy to inform me of the bounty on your head.”
“So you’re saying I didn’t make a good impression when we met at dinner?”
Clara forced down her laugh.
“No,” she said. “You did not.”
“Clara told me several interesting things before I summoned you here,” Johan said, glancing at Clara. “Particularly about your sister.”
What joy Kael had felt quickly froze in his chest. He stared at Clara’s face, trying to glean information from her eyes and the twitch of her lip before she actually spoke the words.
“Kael...I overheard the Speaker talking to my brothers,” she said. “They’ve captured your sister and are holding her prisoner.”
Kael flinched as if he’d been punched, but he forced himself to remain calm.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said, nodding. “Marius was damn proud of it, too, as well as the attack on the resistance camp. ‘The topper to a perfect day,’ he called it.”
Kael’s hands balled into fists.
“Prisoner means she’s still alive,” he said, clinging to what hope he had. “Do you know where?”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” she said. “They’re holding her in the Crystal Cathedral. There’s still a chance we can save her if we act fast enough.”
“And that there is the tricky part, isn’t it?” Johan said. He twirled his knife in his fingers, watching the blade instead of them. “The remaining Weshern Seraphim are scattered and in hiding, and we’ve only begun finding and bringing them here safely. The Crystal Cathedral is the theotechs’ primary stronghold on Weshern. Day or night, it is always guarded by angelic knights, plus additional ground forces.”
“With surprise on our side we should still be able to overwhelm them,” Kael insisted.
Johan waggled a finger at him.
“The moment we attack, they’ll barricade the doors and hunker down to wait for reinforcements. Your sister is an important symbol for your rebellion, yes, but that importance doesn’t mean we should carelessly throw away dozens of lives battling knights, especially when it likely accomplishes nothing.”
“What if you don’t need to defeat them?” Clara asked. “What if you just need to distract them long enough for someone to get inside?”
Johan leaned against one of the shelves, arms still crossed.
“I’m listening.”
“Visitors to the cathedral are restricted, but I could get inside, especially if I pretend I’m there on some form of penance. My connection to Kael, perhaps. As the daughter of the Archon, I would naturally be accompanied by a house guard.”
“I can be that guard,” Kael said, filling in the rest of Clara’s plan in his head. “Bring me inside. If I’m there when you attack, I can make my way inside before they lock everything down. All I’ll need is for you to keep their focus outside instead of in.”
Johan’s blue eyes narrowed.
“A dangerous gamble,” he said.
“But one that puts only me and Clara at risk,” Kael said. “You just need to hit and run, stirring the knights and soldiers into battle.”
“And once you find your sister, how will you escape?”
Kael bit his lower lip.
“I’ll improvise
.”
He thought Johan would shoot him down, but instead the man laughed.
“A desperate plan,” he said. “But better than none, and with far fewer risks. Bree is a valuable symbol, and even more so after the destruction of the camp in the Aquila Forest. We can’t afford for the common folk to lose hope, and if her head were found atop a spike near the holy mansion the damage to morale would be irreparable.” He pointed to Kael’s face. “We’ll need to make you unrecognizable. Cutting your hair will be a first step. The most trusted Weshern house guards also bear blue tattoos across their faces. We won’t have time for a true tattoo, but I believe I can find paint to mimic it for a short period of time.”
“Thank you,” Kael said. “My sister and I owe you greatly.”
Johan nodded, and he turned to Clara.
“I will need time to gather my disciples, as well as prepare Kael’s disguise,” he said. “We’ll launch our attack first thing tomorrow. Can you return here come the morning mist, and bring Kael proper clothes to wear?”
Clara nodded.
“I can,” she said. “And I thank you as well, Johan. If only my family had listened to you and your warnings, we might not be in the situation we’re in now.”
“There is no time to regret the past, nor wish for the present to be better,” Johan said. “Return home, before your brothers suspect something is amiss.”
Clara nodded, and she pulled Kael close so she could kiss his cheek.
“Stay safe,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”
“You may not recognize me,” Kael warned.
Clara smiled, kissed him again.
“Shave your head and tattoo your face, and I’ll still know. But I’m not the one you need to fool, just the rest of the world.”
* * *
Kael was in the armory beside the safe house when Johan found him. Red light of the midnight fire burned through the high windows, reflecting off the metal of dozens of swords, wings, and buckles.
“You should be resting,” Johan said.
“My sister’s held captive,” Kael said, analyzing the sets of wings Johan had hanging from the wall. “Being tortured, interrogated, or who knows what else. Sleep isn’t coming easy.”
“Most important things don’t,” Johan said, joining his side. “But you should sleep nonetheless. Tomorrow is a great risk.”
“One I’m willing to take.”
“For all of us,” Johan added, and he crossed his arms. “Not just you. Clara’s involvement will likely be discovered given enough time. My disciples will directly engage knights of Center, and many will die no matter how great our surprise is. I have only a few trained to use Seraphim harnesses, and even fewer with combat experience. They are vital to my cause, and I am putting their lives in danger to aid in your plan.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve made it clear how important Bree is to everyone.”
Kael moved to the next set of wings, searching for one that looked closer to his size. Most sets there were for larger men, full-grown Seraphim with many years on him.
“You won’t find a set to your fitting here,” Johan said. “I’ve already chosen yours and put it aside.”
Kael paused, and he glanced at Johan from the corner of his eye. The man was watching him from underneath his hood, blue eyes smiling even if his mouth was not.
“All right,” he said. “Where is it? I should make sure it fits.”
Johan crossed the room to the opposite wall. A thick blanket hung over part of the wall, and Johan yanked it free with a flourish. Despite his predicament, a spark of excitement ran through Kael.
Hanging from the wall was a grand set of wings, larger than any available at the academy. There was no doubt in Kael’s mind they’d once belonged to an actual angelic knight. The gold was scraped away, revealing the metal underneath. It wasn’t quite silver, but it was close enough to Weshern’s symbolic color. Kael stepped closer, touching the soft leather of the straps.
“Your task is so very close to hopeless,” Johan said. “But such is the fate of our entire rebellion. If I’m to send you into the lion’s den, I’m sending you with the greatest chance of success. This set was taken from a knight, one of very few that my disciples have managed to kill over the past few years. Tell me, what is your elemental affinity?”
Kael almost answered “ice” on instinct, but then shook his head.
“Light,” he said. “I fight with ice, but it was my minor affinity when I took the tests.”
He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected from Johan, but laughter was not it.
“Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands. “Most excellent. I’ve wondered when I might find someone to wield it, but you are the perfect man to try.”
Kael was confused, but Johan didn’t pause to explain. Instead he crossed the room to the near wall, removing another cloth to reveal a strangely shaped piece of metal. A shield, Kael realized, as he joined Johan’s side. The outer parts were gold, the symbol of Center painted red in its heart. One side curled inward, design to neatly avoid the wings of a harness while carried.
“Why a shield?” Kael asked. He grabbed the top to lift it with one hand, found he couldn’t even make it budge. “I can’t fly with this. It weighs more than I do.”
Johan grinned at him, stretching the little scars across his lips and cheeks. He used both hands to drag it away from the wall, then spun it in place to reveal the interior.
“Look here,” he said. A leather strap was bolted to the metal, meant to loop around the forearm, and near it, a thick bar designed to be held. Above it was a square bulge of metal. A thick black cord connected the bulge to the handlebar. Johan pulled the lid off the metal, revealing an interior space remarkably similar to the prism slot for a gauntlet.
“Light element goes within,” Johan explained. He pointed to a small switch on the handle. “It’ll activate so long as you’ve turned it on. The shield will weigh significantly less, allowing you to fly and fight unhindered. You’ll forfeit the use of a sword in that hand, but you’ll be able to withstand attacks that would cripple most Seraphim.”
“Swords have always been more my sister’s thing,” Kael said, running his fingers along the edge of the shield. It was so thick, so sturdy, he doubted anything but the most direct hit with a boulder would do much damage. “I think I can make do with a shield just fine.”
Johan snapped the lid to the compartment shut.
“This shield is one of my most prized captures,” he said. “The strain on the prism will be great, but with your light affinity, you should be able to wield this shield for hours.” He leaned it against the wall and gestured to the front. “We’ll strip the paint off before tomorrow. It wouldn’t seem right to have you flying into battle bearing the symbol of Center on your shield.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
Johan tugged at his hood, pulling it tighter across his face, hiding the scars.
“I’ll leave you be,” he said.
Kael stared at the shield, and the wide circle of Center intersecting five much smaller circles.
“Johan,” he said, turning before the man could leave the warehouse. “Thank you for trusting me. Even if it’s for Bree, I still appreciate it.”
Johan paused at the door.
“Kael, I have a suspicion that you’re equally as special as your sister. You just need an opportunity to prove it.” He softly chuckled. “Tomorrow, I suspect you will have that chance.”
He left, and Kael knelt before the shield. He touched the half-orange, half-red circle of Galen, let his fingers linger. On a whim he pulled out the red cloth he kept in his pocket ever since that awful night. Kneeling down, he slid behind the shield as it leaned against the wall. Two quick loops and a knot tied the cloth to the shield’s handle. No one would see it while he carried it. The reminder was for him only, of the damage done by Center. If Marius had sent Galen plummeting to the ground, there was so much for him to answer for. That done,
he slid free, patted the shield once more.
“I’m coming, Bree,” he whispered.
CHAPTER
17
Kael marched alongside Clara, feeling awkward in his new guise.
“You sure I shouldn’t have worn the chain mail?” he asked. “All other personal bodyguards wear it.”
“It’ll hamper your flying, and leaving it in the cathedral will only link you to me,” Clara said, keeping her voice even and pleasant. “And must I remind you that you’ve sworn a vow of silence, Edward?”
Edward was the name Clara would use for him should the guards outside the Crystal Cathedral question his accompanying her. A black tunic covered much of his body, bearing the blue sword of Weshern across the chest. He wore dark pants appropriate to both Seraphim and house soldiers, and hidden beneath his tunic was a plain gray shirt. A shield hung from his back, and he walked with a long spear in his right hand, the bottom striking the stone cobbles with a satisfying clack upon every step. His head was shaved, and the lack of weight coupled with air blowing across his scalp was distracting. Most irritating were the fake tattoos, a thick blue line of dots that started just above the ear, crossed over his eyes, and ended at the other ear. The paint itched terribly, but he couldn’t dare scratch it. They’d had to layer it on thin as best they could to mimic the appearance of a tattoo.
Kael had hardly recognized himself by the end of it all, which was exactly the point. If one of the guards outside the Crystal Cathedral identified him, the game was over before it began.
“We’re almost there,” Clara said, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “When we’re within the vicinity of the Cathedral, I won’t address you or acknowledge your presence. Keep stiff and still. Pretend your face is a mask, and you’ve sworn to never leave my side. Focus on those two things, and we should be just fine.” She blew out a breath. “I hope.”
“Comforting,” Kael muttered.
“Vow of silence, Edward. Don’t make me remind you again.”
The day was early, the morning air pleasantly crisp. They’d recently passed through a quaint farming town, the merchant sellers still setting up shop on the main roadway. Beyond that was a lengthy stretch of green pasture that surrounded the Crystal Cathedral on all sides. Elsewhere in Weshern, a road cutting through pasture would be plain dirt, but the carefully maintained cobbles continued beyond the town. On the seventh-day, thousands of people traveled to the Cathedral, hoping to be one of the lucky few allowed inside during Theotech Vyros’s services. The rest had to sit outside and listen to another theotech’s lecture. Kael had visited a few times, mostly after his parents’ deaths when Aunt Bethy had been heavy in mourning. They’d sat in the grass atop a blanket, so far away Kael could barely make out the words the theotech spoke as he addressed the crowd.
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