Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One

by McPhail, Melissa

  “Fetch the duke immediately!” Rhys ordered in a not-to-be-brooked-with tone.

  The steward motioned behind him for it to be done. Turning back, his lined blue eyes swept the captain, and his lips puckered reproachfully as he complained, “Lord Captain, this is most unusual.”

  “Make way for the Prince of Dannym!” Bastian announced from his position just behind the captain.

  The steward’s eyes widened with this announcement, and he did stand back as Ean ascended the steps and swept past him and on inside. Rhys and the others followed, collecting in the vast and elegant entry hall.

  The steward looked distressfully at Ean. “Your Highness!” he managed, his lined face pale, “I humbly beg pardon. This is a most unusual visita—”

  “I’m looking for Lord Brantley, Earl of Pent,” Ean interrupted brusquely. “Is he in audience with the duke?”

  The Steward looked befuddled. “Lord Brantley? Certainly not. The duke is most displeased with the earl at present.”

  “Then I’ve news that won’t hearten His Grace,” Ean said.

  The Steward arched brows at the remark. “How may we assist Your Highness? Obviously the matter is pressing. We are at your disposal. His Grace should be here any moment—”

  “Indeed,” said an entering Thane val Lorian, who was rolled into the room in a wheeled wooden chair by a dark-haired woman of middle age. The duke sat proudly with an elegant blanket draped over his useless legs, and while his hair was iron grey and his face deeply lined, Ean suspected there was strength in him still.

  Thane’s brown eyes swept Ean, and then he nodded. “You’ve grown into a fine young man, my prince. Would that we might’ve met under better circumstances. Apparently you’ve ill news for me.”

  “I do, Your Grace.”

  Ean told him everything that had transpired with the Earl of Pent, watching as the duke’s expression darkened with fury.

  “I will have his head, the viperous upstart,” he hissed when Ean was finished. At once the duke called for his captain, and as soon as he learned that some of his men were playing host to Lord Brantley’s machinations, he seemed to know at once who and where to find them.

  “’Twould be the River House where they’ve taken them, Your Grace,” the captain told his duke. “There’s been suspicious activity in that area. Several patrols have found tracks around the yard and reported the stables had been in recent use, but we’ve never found anyone on site.”

  “Find them tonight, Captain Gerard,” the duke ordered.

  The captain nodded dutifully. He looked to Prince Ean. “Your Highness, if you and your men would come with me…”

  Ean turned briskly to follow, but the duke called him back, saying, “Your Highness, a moment?”

  Ean nodded for Rhys and the others to go ahead then gave his attention to the duke. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  The old man looked mortified. “Whatever heinous act Lord Brantley is about this eve, Raine’s truth, I did not countenance it.”

  Ean held the older man’s gaze. “You may not be complicit in Lord Brantley’s crimes, Your Grace, but if you knew he was disloyal and did not treat the matter appropriately, then you are as culpable for your inaction as he is for his treasons.”

  “I am loyal to the crown,” the old man said, looking suddenly as frail as his seven decades would indicate. “You will assure your father of that, won’t you?”

  Ean considered him. After a moment, he returned quietly, “Actions speak louder than words, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be better to show him that you are still his loyal subject.”

  “Of course,” the duke said, his face ashen. “Yes…of course.”

  ***

  Alyneri struggled against the Earl of Pent, but his arms were strongly wrapped around her, and his expression was no longer haughty. Something had gone very wrong with Tanis’s ‘testing’ and now the Ascendant was livid and shouting at his Marquiin in a foreign tongue whose every word sounded a fell enchantment.

  “You must release me, Lord Brantley!” Alyneri pled, keeping her voice low. “At least let me see to Tan—”

  Looking fierce, the Earl clapped a hand across her mouth and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know what your boy did,” he whispered warily into her ear, “but I can tell you what he didn’t do. He didn’t fall to the floor screaming like the others. He didn’t tear out his hair in madness. He didn’t beg for mercy, and he most certainly did not experience Bethamin’s Fire as the Marquiin intended it.”

  Alyneri struggled in his arms, but he only gripped her harder. “Keep quiet, Your Grace!” he warned. “You don’t want to get in the middle of this!”

  Indeed, the Ascendant’s fury finally peaked, and he struck his Marquiin as he’d done to Tanis. The taller man regained himself with only a motion of his head, and then—much to Alyneri’s dismay—he rolled back his veils of gauze to stare at the Ascendant with black, malevolent eyes.

  Wholly black eyes.

  Dear Epiphany! This was no Truthreader. This man was something else, something poisoned and vile. Long lines of symbols had been tattooed across his face, marring even his eyelids; he seemed a twisted, perverted caricature, more a marionette than a man.

  “You dare to strike me,” the Marquiin hissed, pinning the Ascendant with his inhuman gaze.

  Immediately the Ascendant shrank back. “Perhaps I was h-hasty,” he hedged. “Perhaps you did in fact administer the Fire, as you say.”

  The Marquiin held out his ghostly hand toward the Ascendant. “I poured everything I had into that child,” he whispered in a barren and pitiless voice. “The boy ate it up. He ate Bethamin’s Fire!” It came as a desperate plea and shocking accusation in one.

  The Ascendant looked to the Tanis, his eyes glaring and full of hate. “Impossible!” he snarled. “No one is immune to Bethamin’s purification!” Abruptly he turned on the Marquiin. “Blasphemy!” he shouted, at once incensed. “Blasphemer!” He raised his hand to strike the man down, but the Marquiin was quicker. He caught the Ascendant’s flailing arm and pulled him into an embrace. Alyneri watched in horror as they struggled against each other, stumbling around the room like drunken dancers.

  “Come, Your Grace,” the Earl of Pent urged, dragging her toward a near door.

  “Not without Tanis!” she cried, struggling with renewed fervor.

  “Leave the boy!” the earl snapped exasperatedly. “He’s done for!” Finally, Brantley picked her off her feet and carried her, kicking and screaming, to the nearest door.

  “Let me go! Damn you! LET ME GO!” Alyneri shrieked and struggled, but to no avail. The earl had the door open and launched her through into the dark passage. She stumbled and fell—

  And was caught in strong but gentle arms. “Alyneri,” a voice murmured.

  Her heart leapt to her throat as she looked up to find Ean’s grey eyes gazing into hers. “Oh, Ean!”

  Alyneri threw her arms about his neck and hugged him fiercely. She heard Rhys barking orders and felt the rush of men pushing past her and on into the room, but she cared only to know at that moment that Ean’s arms were firmly around her, taking comfort in the feel of his chin resting on her head, of his strong form close against hers.

  It was only a moment, but it could’ve been a lifetime. Ean reached to take her hands from his neck and stepped back. “Are you all right?” He searched her eyes with his own.

  She sniffed away her tears and nodded, suddenly then remembering Tanis. “Oh no—oh, Tanis!” She spun and dashed back into the room.

  Rhys and a man in the livery of House val Torlen already had the scene in hand. Rhys was holding the Ascendant by his torque with a dagger pressed to his neck, while the other man, who she quickly learned was Captain Gerard of the duke’s household guard, was holding the snarling Marquiin.

  Bastian was helping a still groggy Tanis to sit up, and Alyneri pushed her way through the throng of the duke’s soldiers to his side.

  “Give him to me!” she said urgently as B
astian finally helped the boy to sit. Alyneri threw herself to her knees and immediately placed her hands upon the lad, sinking quickly into rapport. Healing bones always took its toll on both sides, but she was resolved that the dear boy would not suffer another minute from it. Fortunately, she saw at once that his jaw was only dislocated, not broken, though a tooth was chipped and he’d bitten his tongue deeply. She set to work.

  ***

  The men convened in the circular drive before the river house. Ean watched with cold anger as Lord Brantley was helped onto his horse, his hands bound before him and a chagrined expression on his face. His men, disloyal to their duke, had been stripped of their livery and now waited in a circle, bound at the hands and held at sword-point.

  Once his jaw began working again, Tanis had told Ean of the other two boys, and now freed, they were being helped onto horses as well. Ean didn’t want to entrust them to the duke’s care solely, for the old man seemed somehow broken to him, but he trusted Captain Gerard to see the boys safely returned to their families.

  What could be done for the lad Piper had been done; Alyneri gave him a sleeping powder which at least had allowed him fitful rest, but she’d told them after examining him that the boy was dying.

  Last to be escorted from the manor, the Ascendant came out snarling and spitting, cursing his captors in three languages, while his Marquiin walked forward with a deathly calm. His face remained free of its veils, free for all to see and marvel over. But this was not what held Ean’s attention.

  The nimbus that surrounded the man was strangely familiar to him. Incredibly, it seemed somehow like the trace-seal he’d seen upon the wall. But how could it be the same? Intensely curious now and hardly noticing what he was doing, Ean walked toward the man.

  “Your Highness?” Rhys asked uncertainly as he watched him pass.

  Ean walked until he stood before the Adept, who was clearly an Adept no longer. He gazed at Ean with his coal-black eyes, inhuman eyes, more like a darkhound’s than a man’s.

  How intriguing, Ean thought. Their eyes are so similar. I wonder what is the connection? He was barely aware as he lifted his hand and placed it on the Marquiin’s chest.

  “Why not allow me the same liberty,” the man suggested with vile intimations, but Ean ignored him. He closed his eyes to the world and let his mind’s eye see.

  It was the strangest experience. The pattern he began to sense was very different from that of the trace-seal, yet there was something similar about them. Of course, this pattern and its purpose were different from a simple trace-seal upon a portal. Far more intricate and complex, Ean found that he could see the pattern only if he didn’t try to look directly at it. Without knowing how he knew, Ean was yet certain that the pattern was actively consuming the Marquiin.

  While his companions stared in wordless wonder, the prince let instinct guide him, and this time it was easier to find that singular mental focus. The pattern he faced now was much, much larger than the simple twisting trace-seal—easily four times larger. Yet again, he knew where it began and ended without question.

  He fixed the pattern in his mind, taking hold of its concept fully. He then carefully took hold of the end and pulled.

  As with the trace-seal, at first he sensed no change. So he pulled harder, concentrated more intently—hard enough to make his head ache from the strain. When the pattern still didn’t budge, he let go of it and mentally stepped away, letting the pounding in his head subside. As he recovered, he realized that stepping back from the pattern was exactly what he needed to do, for here he now saw what was stopping it from moving. The single thread of the pattern which he held apparently fed through a tiny hole in a vast dam. Attached to the thread was a wider band that sealed the tiny hole and kept the dam waters from leaking.

  It was such a simple solution—taking hold of the thread again firmly, Ean reached out with his mind and widened the hole.

  The dam burst.

  The Marquiin threw back his head and screamed, startling all but Ean, who stood immobile, one royal hand splayed upon the Truthreader’s chest. As the Marquiin began to convulse, the startled guards didn’t know whether to drop him or hold him fast, but since their prince stood before them with his eyes closed, looking for all the world like he slept on his feet, they decided holding the man up would be best.

  Ean felt the vast power behind the dam washing over him, a malevolent storm similar to and yet vastly different from the terrible darkness of his dream; but he knew the only way to survive this flood was to keep pulling on that pattern, drawing the strands in toward himself, letting their now-fragile ends evaporate after leaving his touch, dissipating in his wake. He untied the pattern as quickly as its voluminous folds washed toward him, pealing off the unraveling thread in huge choking gulps.

  Unknown to him, for his concentration was complete, the Marquiin shuddered constantly in the arms of his captors. While the Ascendant spouted a litany of vitriolic threats in one ceaseless stream, the others watched in fascinated horror until the Marquiin finally stilled and slumped in the soldiers’ arms.

  After a moment, Ean withdrew his hand and opened his eyes. He staggered and swayed, but then steadied himself.

  “My Prince?” a befuddled Rhys inquired in a low voice, stepping closer. “Are you…?” but he didn’t seem to know quite what to ask. There was a tense silence among the group, no one understanding what had just happened, least of all Ean.

  Finally Tanis walked to the Marquiin. He motioned for the soldiers to lower the man, and they did so gratefully.

  The Ascendant hissed at him and shouted expletives. “You filthy brat! Dare not touch the sainted vessel of Bethamin! You befoul him with your unpurified witchery! Evil spawn of Belloth!”

  Ignoring the Ascendant as he continued to rant, Tanis knelt beside the once-Truthreader and took his hand. “It’s over,” he murmured, sounding both fragile and infinitely wise. “You can sleep now. You’re free of it.”

  “Tanis, what—?” Alyneri began.

  But Ean silenced her with an upraised hand. “Wait,” he whispered. He turned to watch the exchange, desperate himself to understand what he’d done.

  Thus followed a long moment of silence, and then the Marquiin opened his eyes.

  Alyneri gasped. Rhys hissed an oath. Most of the soldiers spat in the dirt and ground their boots over the mark, and the Ascendant flew into a shrieking frenzy of uncontrollable rage. He tore loose from his bounds and ran, raving and snarling in rabid fury, throwing himself into the fast-rushing waters of the Glass River. By the time the soldiers chasing him reached the edge, he’d vanished among the waves.

  Tanis meanwhile smiled gently into the colorless eyes of the Marquiin, who was a Marquiin no longer.

  The man opened his mouth, but words wouldn’t come. His face twisted in a spasm of pain, but it was fleeting, and soon his expression resolved.

  “It’s okay,” Tanis soothed. He stroked the man’s hand. “It won’t be long now.”

  Still not understanding, a confused Ean knelt beside Tanis. The lad turned to him resolutely. “He dies now, Your Highness, but he’s grateful for death—he’s prayed for it for a long time. He wishes to thank you for saving him.”

  “Saving him?” Ean’s face showed his confusion. “But…he’s dying.”

  “He dies as a man, Your Highness,” the boy whispered, dropping his eyes to the man’s hand he held in his lap. “Instead of a monster. Whatever you did, you gave him back his humanity—if only for a few minutes.”

  Ean stared at the man before him unsure how to feel. The Marquiin were monsters, yet here this man had been…healed of it? He could make no sense of what had happened, and he couldn’t bring himself to pity the man before him, knowing the evils he’d brought down on others. But he held the man’s clear-eyed gaze all the same.

  They stayed that way, gazing into each other’s eyes, until the Truthreader sighed his last breath, and his head fell to the side. Only then did Ean realize that there had been some
absolution in the exchange.

  “It is done,” Tanis murmured. He released the man’s hand and stood, and Ean stood with him and looked around. Everyone was staring at them.

  Abruptly Alyneri rushed up and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Ean held her for a moment, comforted by her warmth, feeling far, far older than his eighteen years. When she pulled away with downcast eyes, Ean turned to the captain. “Rhys, are we ready?”

  The captain shook himself as if from a stupor. “Yes, Highness.”

  “And you, Captain Gerard,” Ean said, looking to the other captain. “Can we count on you to see these traitors brought to justice and these children safely home?”

  The captain was gazing wondrously at him. “Without question, Your Highness.”

  Ean looked to Tanis. The boy nodded.

  “Then it’s time we moved on.” Ean returned to Caldar, mounted up and reined the horse in a circle.

  “Seven bloody hells, Ean!” Fynn hissed under his breath as he drew rein at his cousin’s side. “I hope you’ll explain this to me one day soon.”

  Ean turned him an inscrutable look. “As soon as someone explains it to me, Fynn,” he replied heatedly, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  Rhys drew his horse alongside the prince’s. “All is in readiness, Your Highness.”

  “Lead on then, Rhys.”

  The captain heeled his mount forward, and the small company headed off down the long drive of the val Torlen estate as dawn broke into the world in rose-gold splendor.

  Forty

  ‘Everything begins and ends with a single thought.’

  – The Vestal Björn van Gelderan to his Lord of Shades

  The round stone room where the four of them met was cold; cold enough that a layer of ice covered the pale stones, turning what would otherwise have seemed plain into a gleaming crystalline cavern. Cold enough that birds froze to death within moments of coming to that place, and the floor was littered with their tiny, fragile bones. So cold that a human’s unprotected flesh would blacken and die before the sand passed once through an hourglass. Still, it was not as cold as their home.