Ashleen shook her head, her clear black gaze steady on his. “No. That's impossible.”
“Why?” Cedric asked in a whisper, torture consuming his mind as he had visions of himself driving his heel into the bodies of citizens of Lismaria and West Ashwynd, friends and strangers alike. “What makes me different?”
Ashleen stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before spreading her hand on his chest just over his heart. “This. You. Cedric. You are not your father or Sebastian or any one of a host of power-grasping monarchs who make their own choices and decide their own destiny. You've already made your choice. No one can change your choice but you. The others looked for power to satisfy their own lacks. Your power is here, inside, already a part of you, and that makes all the difference.”
Cedric looked back at the pedestal. At last, his fingers closed around the Amulet, and the light that had glowed blindingly from it immediately disappeared. He stared at it, this thing that had passed through the generations and caused so much corruption in his family line. The wood surface was a dull brown now, nothing special, no exuding light. The eye in the center seemed to stare at him, the pupil darkening, and wisps of smoke from the black center seemed to curl upward as he gazed at it.
Fear seized him in its unrelenting grip, and he nearly dropped it.
Ember's hot snout against his neck called reason back to him. Cedric pushed the fear away, sliding his fingers along the chain, and pulled it over his neck.
It was heavy, much heavier than he'd expected. It tugged at his neck, the chain embedding in his skin. It was his burden to bear—until it was destroyed.
Straightening, he turned to Ember, climbing onto his back. Ashleen clambered on behind him. “We're ready,” he called to the Seer Fey where she still stood beside the pedestal where the Amulet had rested. “We must go sabotage Sebastian's postal carts,” he said with a wry smile to Ashleen, reminding them both of the other mission Helga had assigned them in the Council room at The Crossings.
Kayeck moved toward them, her clouded eyes staring through them, her claw-like fingers clutching her cane. “Cedric Andrachen,” she croaked. “I have received word that Sebastian has sold off a small portion of Lismaria to Sanlia, Lismaria's easternmost neighbor, in exchange for many thousands of sceptremarks. These sceptremarks have been to ClarenVale and apportioned into the payrolls, so that the carts you seek will carry a sum of consolation money for the troops Sebastian has stationed up and down the Midland Ridges.”
Cedric said nothing for a long moment, processing the information. He felt inadequate to complete the task he'd been assigned. He cleared his throat. “Will you come with us, Kayeck? To see it done?”
“There is no one better fitted for the task than you, Cedric,” she said with a smile. “Helga knew what she was doing when she told you to regain the Amulet and help in the war against Sebastian. If I am gone too long from the Council, they will suspect the role I play, and the Stars protect me if Paik ever discovers my true loyalties.”
“Where is the Council?” Ashleen asked, gazing at the mountain peaks as though wary of an army of Seer Fey leaping out at them.
“Many fieldspans to the south,” Kayeck grunted. She barked a harsh laugh. “You will not cross their paths, but I must warn you, Cedric Andrachen: you must not send messages from these mountains to your sister. The Dryads in many of these trees cannot be trusted.”
Cedric's brows lowered. “I cannot let my sister know I have regained the Amulet?”
“In time, when you have completed Helga's assignment to you, and you have moved beyond these treacherous forests. Until then, she will have to trust to the Stars that guide your own footsteps. Be on your way, then, Cedric Andrachen.”
Cedric's hand closed around the Amulet, his other gripping Ember's fin. Before them, a gate had appeared, and beyond it, he could see the moving waters of the Silver Rush River and the surrounding woods and slopes of Lismaria's Marron Mountains. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the pain of the chain on his neck.
The weight of the world hung from the links.
Chapter Four
Sebastian
Sebastian tapped his long fingers on the armrest of the marble throne, the sound thin and thready in the cavernous room. All day, his Council had been in and out of ClarenVale's massive halls, bringing him news of the people and the cities beneath his new rule, but no one had yet brought him word of what he most wanted to hear: the naval battle in the Channel of Lise.
Jerrus, his Commander-in-Chief since the traitorous Lanier had defected to Sebastian's niece and nephew in West Ashwynd, entered the hall, striding toward the throne and dropping to one knee at the foot of the dais.
Sebastian sighed. “Well, Commander?” He'd nearly sent the man to the gallows a mere month earlier for losing track of the prisoner Lanier in the heat of battle.
Since Lanier had escaped, however, Jerrus had bent over backward to regain his status. His successful forays into the smaller Lismarian cities that resisted Sebastian's new rule, as well as his highly advantageous new alliance with a Direwolf habitation east of ClarenVale, had slowly pulled Sebastian's mercy to the forefront, and he'd reinstated Jerrus in his good graces.
“Your Grace,” Jerrus said, rising, “I bring news that the naval effort was not successful. We were routed—”
“What?” Sebastian straightened. “How is this possible?”
“It was a matter of—”
“It has to have been incompetence!” Sebastian's voice rose to a shout. “I sent an entire fleet with the Grand-Master of the Seer Fey himself against a skeletal force led by my inept nephew and niece—”
“Lanier was there, Your Grace, and he is far from inept—”
“How dare you interrupt me!” Sebastian surged to his feet, descending the dais steps and cuffing Jerrus across the face. The Commander caught his cheek in his palm where Sebastian's gloved hand had hit. He subsided into silence.
Sebastian stared at the man before returning to the throne, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests. “Now, tell me, Commander, how Paik of the Seer Fey, the supposedly powerful Ancient who wields taibe such as the world has never seen, lost a naval battle against my brother's wretched twins?”
“I can tell you that myself.”
A familiar figure strode the length of the throne room to stand before Sebastian. Paik's long green locks hadn't changed since Sebastian had seen him in the Marron Mountains before the Battle of ClarenVale. His wide, green gaze didn't look away as he stared at Sebastian. He held up his staff in his gnarled hand. “You see, this staff is only effective when I hold it, Sebastian.”
“Then why, may I ask,” Sebastian's words could have cut ice, “did you misplace your walking stick?”
“The staff was ripped from my hands in battle, retrieved and brought to me later by one of your soldiers.”
“How very convenient for you,” Sebastian snapped. “You lose your staff at the height of battle when it is most imperative that your taibe be strongest.”
Paik's green eyes hardened into frosty crystals. “Be careful, oh King, lest you call the wrath of the Ancients from the Marron Mountains.”
“You can do nothing to me,” Sebastian said angrily. “The Andrachen line is not affected by taibe.”
“The Andrachen line does not bow to Pixie charm, Your Grace. Taibe is not Pixie charm, as well you know. I assure you, you would certainly feel the effect should I choose to exercise my taibe power against you.”
Sebastian released a tense breath. “Paik, we wish for the same thing, or at least what leads to the same thing. You wish for the Amulet's return to the Seer Fey Council in the Marron Mountains. You wish to maintain Seer Fey control over it. I understand that. Meanwhile, all I wish is the destruction of my brother's twins and their claims upon my throne so that I can at last rule in peace, free from upstart pretenders.” The lie, smoothly uttered, tightened his stomach. He could not let Paik see how much he, too, desired the Amulet for its power. He sank back
onto the throne, relaxing his grip. “Let us not allow animosities to come between us.”
Paik raised an eyebrow. “Aye, we are agreed on these things, and I will hold by my word, Your Grace. The Seer Fey Council will back your rule, and we will do what we can to stamp out the rebellion your niece and nephew have begun. When the Amulet is recovered, it will be returned to the Seer Fey.”
“Very good.” Sebastian said, rising. “Our bargain stands.” He had no intention of honoring his promise. The Amulet was his by rights. He laid a hand on the Seer Fey's shoulder, guiding him down the dais steps. “While we are on the subject of the Amulet, I have a question for you, Grand-Master Paik, and it involves one of your own Ancients.”
Paik's green eyebrows arched. “Oh?”
“During the battle at ClarenVale, the Seer Fey Helga appeared with the Amulet, using it to drive back many companies of my men and creatures. When she disappeared, the Amulet went with her. I wish to know if you have any knowledge of where she might have gone. I can send a delegation to—take care of her if—”
“Helga—has joined the Stars, Sebastian.” Paik's knuckles whitened around his staff. “She is no longer on her journey through this world.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Paik shook his head. “Simply that, Your Grace. She was killed in the upheaval on the Channel. Traitor though she was to our cause, stubbornly provoking questions against the ancient creeds, I am still sorry that she died as she did. The circles of the Ancients will be less without her wisdom.”
“Ah.” Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back, slowly treading the dyed wine-colored rush that ran down the central throne room. “Had she family?”
“Aye, Your Grace. A Pixie son, I believe—Helga's spouse had been a human. I've heard that she also has a granddaughter who dwells with ClarenVale's steelworker in the lower city, but that is the extent of my knowledge.”
Sebastian stopped, frozen on the carpet as the wheels and cogs of his mind clicked. The faceless image of an unknown girl swam before him. He could gain access to Helga's granddaughter and whatever secrets she held. The Pixie girl lived in ClarenVale, his own subject! “I wish to bring Helga's granddaughter to the castle. Helga may have left her with news of where the Amulet is, and as we both know, your fate and the fates of the Ancients lie with the Amulet.”
Paik bowed his head in acknowledgment. “So they do. So they do.”
Sebastian hadn't entered the lower city since he'd taken the throne at the battle of ClarenVale over a month ago. He disliked the dirt and squalor he saw as he progressed toward the lower walls; it reminded him of the time Liam had cornered him and dragged him at night through the city alleys, dropping him at last into a farmer's pig sty, face-first into the animal waste.
Since his return to ClarenVale, he had preferred to surround himself with his soldiers and his Council in the airy marble halls of his rightful inheritance while he sneered at his brother's ghost.
Now, however, he followed four of his soldiers and Jerrus to the steelworker's home where Paik had said Helga's granddaughter lived, wishing to see for himself that his orders did not go awry. This was one prisoner he couldn't trust to anyone else.
Jerrus approached the wooden door wedged into the stone wall of the hut. The long, dry grasses from the roof hung over the opening, and Jerrus had to duck to approach the door. His gloved fist slammed against the wood. “Open in the name of the King!” he shouted.
Tense silence filled the air. A few faces from the neighboring huts disappeared behind their shutters.
“Break it down,” Sebastian ordered.
Jerrus nodded to the nearest soldier, who slammed his shoulder against the wooden door. It creaked, but didn't burst open until the fourth hit.
Inside, a frightened squeal gave away the presence of at least one occupant. Sebastian followed the soldiers into the small, dusty room. A man huddled over his wife, his wide-eyed gaze on the men. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“The Pixie maid,” Sebastian said. “Where is she?”
The trembling man shook his head, but didn't speak, and Sebastian nodded to Jerrus. “Search the place.”
Jerrus motioned to the men, and they split up, two moving back outside, and two entering the single adjoining room.
In the midst of the clamor made by the soldiers, a soaring, enchanting melody dripping with Pixie charm rose from the bedroom, and Sebastian's men immediately stilled.
Jerrus returned to the room, his gaze strangely empty. “Your Grace, there is no one here. We should return to the castle.”
“Dolt!” Sebastian strode into the adjoining room and yanked open the wardrobe. Inside, a blue-haired Pixie gasped, staring at him with wide blue eyes, and holding her protectively was an orange-haired Pixie Sebastian recognized.
“You! You're Kinna's!”
“I'm no one's,” the Pixie snarled, the orange flecks in his brown eyes flaring. But his song had stopped, and Sebastian seized the lad around the mouth, ramming his gloved hand over the Pixie's tongue to keep it from moving. The maid, he also yanked from the wardrobe, halting their songs long enough to issue orders to his dazed soldiers.
“Bring them to the palace!” he barked, and the soldiers, released from Pixie charm, sprang into action.
“Did you forget,” Sebastian breathed into the Pixie's ear as he wrestled him from the room, “that Pixie charm has no effect on the bloodline of Aarkan the Great?”
He turned the Pixie over to one of his men, making sure the lad's tongue stayed clamped beneath the guard's fingers. “Place them both in the dungeons upon our return to the palace,” Sebastian ordered. “I have plans for them.”
Sebastian paced his private balcony that overlooked the main gate and courtyard of ClarenVale as he waited for the orange-haired Pixie to be brought to him.
The furs he'd slung over his shoulders were heavy, but they kept him warm in the early winter air as the icy wind bit his nose and lips. He no longer struggled with the ice in his fingers. It remained, of course—he'd learned that the Ice-Touch was not so easily gotten rid of—but he'd learned to control it, and now that he manipulated it easily, he no longer wished to be rid of it. It gave him a measure of power.
He brushed his finger along the balcony rail, releasing ice-crystals in a looping pattern, thinking hard. Paik had explained that once the Amulet bestowed a Touch on a person, it bestowed all four Touches, and there seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to which Touch manifested, nor when. Thus far, he'd felt no fire or ash, and he'd evidenced no signs of healing anything. If the boy, the vile spawn who had bestowed the Amulet's curse upon him, were any indication, Sebastian could be years with only the Ice-Touch as the boy had been years with only the Ash-Touch.
A secret part of him wished for all four Touches to erupt from his fingers in a cataclysmic show of power. What nation or rebellion or enemy would dare to stand up to him then?
“Your Grace.”
Sebastian turned. Two guards stood on either side of the Pixie, whose hands were bound behind his back. A rag had been stuffed and tied in his mouth.
Sebastian motioned to a bench that stood next to the balcony's railing. “Sit,” he ordered the Pixie.
The Pixie's glare burned furiously into him, and Sebastian smiled, amused. He watched as the guards forced the Pixie onto the bench and looped a chain from his wrist manacles around the balcony railing. They bowed to Sebastian and departed, leaving the King alone with the Pixie.
Sebastian yanked the gag from the Pixie's mouth. The creature looked out over the courtyard, his jaw set.
“What's your name?”
The Pixie didn't answer for a long moment. At last his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Lincoln,” he murmured.
“Lincoln,” Sebastian repeated. “I've seen you before.”
“Aye.”
Pixies' brilliant hair was their trademark trait, and Lincoln's was no different, but he stood out in
Sebastian's mind because of the companion who had accompanied this Pixie on a visit to The Crossings and before his throne.
Liam's brat, Kinna.
Sebastian stroked his beard as he considered the Pixie, mentally reviewing the few facts he had gained from the steelworker's distraught wife before they'd left the hut. He 'ad no right to come back and take our daughter away. Just because e's her legal father—don't take Marigold, too! Please!
Sebastian crossed his arms. “I thought I only held Helga's Pixie son in my dungeons. But,” his niece's face framed in flaming red hair taunted his mind's eye, “it seems I also hold the guardian of one half of the upstart twins who seek to bring an uprising against me.”
“A two for one deal,” Lincoln said sarcastically. “The Stars must look kindly upon you.”
Sebastian's hand cracked across the Pixie's cheek, snapping his head sideways. “You'll find, Pixie,” the words dropped from Sebastian's mouth like stinging nettles, “that I do not like caustic humor, nor do I overly care for Pixies themselves. So you'll do well to listen when I speak and talk only when I tell you to.”
The Pixie said nothing. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth where Sebastian's hand had hit the hardest, and he spat to the side, his angry gaze returning to the King's.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“I don't doubt it.”
Sebastian nearly cuffed his cheek again, but he restrained himself. There were more important things. “I wish you to turn mole for me.”
The Pixie stared at him incredulously. A burst of laughter issued from his throat. “And why under the Stars do you believe I would consider such a thing? My loyalty does not lie with you.”
Sebastian smiled. “I have no illusions that it does. However, I do have your daughter in my dungeons—”
The Pixie's face whitened beneath his sprinkling of freckles.
“—and what a waste of talent and Pixie magic if she should be forced to her untimely death because of her father.”
Lincoln's hazel eyes darkened, highlighting the orange flecks in them. “You're cruel, Sebastian,” he rasped.
Unleash the Inferno (Heart of a Dragon Book 3) Page 9
