Kingdom Blades (A Pattern of Shadow & Light 4)

by McPhail, Melissa

  Niko barely kept a glower from overtaking his expression; the effort to suppress it resulted in a strained twitching around his eyes.

  Alshiba regarded him levelly. “I should think you’d want to depart at once.”

  Niko’s jaw tightened. He seemed to want to say something, but he must’ve thought better of it, for he gave her a stiff bow instead, his eyes cold now. “Yes, Your Excellency. I should think I would.” He spun on his heel and stalked down the stairs to the left, radiating indignation.

  Alshiba watched him with a tiny furrow between her brows until he passed out of sight. Then she let out a measured exhale and shifted her gaze to Franco, speaking volumes in a glance, inviting of his company.

  He motioned with his hand for her to lead away. She started down the stairs to their right but had hardly taken three steps before her footing faltered, and she swooned.

  Franco grabbed for her. He heard her catch her breath as he pulled her back against him, and for a moment they hung in a delicate counterbalance. Alshiba felt unexpectedly fragile in his arms, as if she was bound to corporeality by tension and determination and little else.

  Then she relaxed somewhat, found her feet beneath her, and extracted herself politely from his arms. “Thank you.” She gave him a look of gratitude while brushing a strand of flaxen hair from her face. “I don’t know what happened just then.”

  He looked her over seriously. “You’re clearly exhausted is what happened.”

  A fretful smile attempted at her lips, but it vanished without gaining much for its effort. “Perhaps I might have your arm for a bit longer?”

  Frowning concernedly, Franco extended his elbow.

  She accepted it with another flickering smile.

  Silence accompanied them down the stairs. They walked closer than they had before, yet Franco felt propriety’s invisible wall now separating them.

  Propriety…and a canyon of secrets.

  He’d spent nearly every waking moment of the last score of days in Alshiba’s company. Each day he found more reasons to admire her; each day he watched her struggling to understand all of the factions in play, and each day he felt more guilt over the things he couldn’t explain.

  Though she’d subtly acknowledged that he served the First Lord, there were still many secrets that weren’t his to reveal; thus, they often danced around subjects, circling the sleeping giant rather than risk the ire of its waking. But in this caprice, the truths that were bound to Franco’s tongue became as burning blisters, too painful to release, yet just as agonizing to endure.

  The staircase ended in an atrium—vast, sheathed in pretension and awash with Adepts upon their daily tasks. If Franco looked with different eyes, he could see grooves worn into the polished marble floor, the ruts of the same political maneuvers being performed in endless repetition.

  Alshiba moved them towards the exit, her intent spoken by the firm hold she kept upon his arm. Franco needed no command to stay with her. In truth, it bothered him how drawn he was to her company.

  She was the First Lord’s lover for decades, the voice in his head pointed out. Did you imagine you would find nothing in her to admire?

  But his admiration for her wasn’t the problem.

  He forced himself to think of other things.

  “My lady, what are your thoughts on Niko’s comment?” Franco glanced at her as they were heading for the exit doors. “Could he actually have found someone qualified to…” he was about to say replace, but who could ever possibly replace the Fifth Vestal?

  Alshiba shook her head. “Alorin hasn’t produced a fifth strand Adept in centuries.”

  Franco winced and scratched at the back of his head.

  Her gaze sharpened upon him. “Has it?”

  “Well…”

  Secrets, secrets, the mad voice in his head goaded.

  “The First Lord…has found a few fifth-stranders,” Franco managed with a rather pained grimace. “He invited them to T’khendar to escape the ostracism they were facing in Alorin. And then…well, of course there’s Ean val Lorian.”

  Her brows lifted. “I recall Raine speaking to me of the val Lorian prince. He claimed Björn had Awakened him far past the usual age, but—” Noting Franco’s troubled expression, she narrowed her gaze upon him. “What are you not telling me?”

  Franco scrubbed a hand along his jaw, wishing he might’ve avoided this conversation altogether. Why did always it fall to him to tell her the most shocking truths? “I suppose you should know, my lady: Ean val Lorian is Arion Tavestra Returned.”

  Alshiba came to an abrupt halt, dragging him backwards since she still had hold of his arm. “Arion Tavestra has Returned?”

  What would she say if you told her this was the third time? The mad voice laughed hysterically at this.

  “Does he remember—” but she stopped herself, staring hard at him. Then she shook her head. “What does he remember?”

  “Enough, I think.” Franco looked off towards the doors leading outside the hall, pining for escape. “I pray enough.” He glanced to her with an entreaty to continue walking and she blessedly came without a struggle. “But I guarantee you Niko isn’t planning to present Ean val Lorian for your consideration as the new Fifth Vestal.”

  Alshiba regarded him speculatively. “You think Niko was serious about that.”

  He gave a sort of grunt.

  “Franco…” Alshiba frowned faintly, “you’ve hardly said an unkind word about Niko since arriving here, but I sense grave conflict in you. I would that you trusted me enough to speak candidly…to speak the truth.”

  Franco exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Truth is too subjective, my lady.”

  She really frowned at this, possibly because she felt the same. “Then tell me what appears true to you.”

  Franco cast her a troubled look.

  The Paladin Knights manning the massive doors opened them at Alshiba’s approach, and Franco escorted her outside into the long light of late afternoon.

  The Hall of a Thousand Thrones crowned the mountainside around them framed by sculptured pathways that wound through terraced gardens, administrative palaces and manicured grounds; hundreds of acres entirely surrounded by a high limestone wall. Locally, it was known as the Vestal City. Westward lay the expanse of Illume Belliel’s azure ocean. Around, below and eastward, back through the mountainous hills, spread the cityworld with its towers and grandiose estates, the embassies of a thousand realms.

  Keeping hold on Franco’s arm, Alshiba headed down a path leading towards a sculpture garden, with the sparkling ocean dominating the horizon. There was hardly a place within the Vestal City where one couldn’t see the water.

  She regarded him with equanimity. “I suppose asking for your trust is bold of me.”

  “Not at all, my lady.”

  “I assure you that whatever your counsel, Franco, I will accept it.”

  Franco pushed a hand through his hair and eyed her uneasily. His chest felt tight, the pressure of the hundreds of truths he hadn’t confessed all pushing to the forefront at once.

  “Several months back, at the behest of the Great Master, I answered a summons from Niko and attended him at his estate. There, he and Dore Madden told me of their plans to depose the vestals, specifically Dagmar and Björn.”

  He turned his gaze to Alshiba, feeling a resurgence of the fury and horror he’d experienced during that conversation. “This would be bad enough, my lady, but you can’t imagine they’ll stop there—not those two. Niko’s intelligence runs with the mean, but his ambition knows no bounds. And Dore Madden—” Franco had to stop himself from thinking too hard about Dore or his temper would come to a rapid boil. “I’ve never met a man so vile.”

  Alshiba frowned deeply at this and became silent.

  For a time, they strolled a promenade beneath blossoming trees whose petals covered the path, lending it their delicate purity, yet Franco saw each petal as another truth he’d failed to confess. He was fairly sure there w
eren’t enough petals on path or trees to account for the things he hadn’t told her.

  Finally, Alshiba let out a slow exhale. “I’ve perceived Niko’s duplicity,” she glanced to him, “though not to the degree you imply. But there’s one thing I cannot understand. If overthrow is truly his intention, why would he have proposed you as his deputy?”

  Franco shook his head. He couldn’t understand that decision either, but he didn’t doubt Niko hoped to gain from it somehow.

  “Does Niko know?” She searched Franco’s gaze with her own. “Does he know you serve Björn?”

  To hear this truth spoken so plainly…yet not simply, for her statement had rung as a chord of notes—low tones of regret sounding with middle tones of resignation, both resonating disharmoniously against upper tones of bitterness, the latter slightly sharp and out of key. She’d never before stated it so bluntly. It appeared they were no longer skirting the edge of that truth.

  Franco’s gaze strayed to the trees. Long rays of sunlight were streaming through the blossoming branches. He felt somehow that he was sullying the innocence of that place by his presence. “I don’t see how Niko could doubt my allegiances after what happened with Demetrio Consuevé.” Six inches of steel piercing his gut rather shouted Demetrio’s opinion of him—and Niko’s by extension.

  And the Lord Abanachtran…a Malorin’athgul, the first he’d ever encountered, except if…but he dared not think on those mysteries now.

  Of course, Niko claimed to have known nothing of Demetrio’s attack on Franco, but that was a laughable fallacy. Nothing happened on Niko’s estate without his sanction.

  “Do you think Niko hopes to gain something from Björn through you?” Alshiba was clearly following her own train of logic.

  “If he does, he hasn’t yet approached me.”

  “I suppose I haven’t given him much chance, keeping him in Alorin as I have. I thought…” but she retreated to silence without sharing what she’d thought. Franco tried not to speculate where her mind might be taking her.

  The promenade led into a park that offered incomparable views of the city as well as the mountainous coastline, Alshiba looked hesitantly to him. “Do you mind walking a bit more, Franco? I feel the need to clear my head.”

  “Not at all, my lady. I could use a walk myself.”

  She gave him a grateful look and they started off in a new direction. Soon they passed the pillared court of a soglia’re, one of the many portals that linked the city’s public spaces in a chain of easy travel, but Alshiba forewent the nodecourt and headed instead for the outer wall of the Vestal City.

  Somewhere between Hall and gardens, Alshiba’s Paladin Knight and truthreader, William, had joined their assemblage; but the latter lingered a polite distance behind, out of earshot if within quick reach of her call.

  Franco wondered what William thought, seeing the Alorin Seat walking arm in arm with him. Then he decided he didn’t care what he thought.

  Through the tunnel beneath the wall, Alshiba chose a route that took them over a bridge before a tumbling waterfall. She stopped at the bridge’s midway point, between two bronze statues, rested her hands on the wide marble railing and gazed out to sea.

  Then she sighed. “What a fool I’ve been.”

  Franco stopped close beside her, their shoulders nearly touching. The falling sunlight was glinting off her oathring as like the ocean waves, but all he really noticed was how frail her finger seemed beneath the heavy silver band.

  “I fear the events I’ve set in motion.”

  Franco turned and leaned back against the marble railing to face her. He crossed his arms and met her gaze. “Niko?”

  “I never should’ve thought to…” She closed her eyes and exhaled a slow breath. “I made a grave error in judgment—a desperate error. You’ll laugh at my folly.”

  “I wouldn’t laugh at anything you did, my lady.”

  Alshiba cast him a dubious look. Shifting her gaze back to the sea, she smoothed a strand of hair from her face and then stared boldly ahead, as if directly into the storm. “Raine had vanished. Seth claimed the Fourth Vestal had been tricked into T’khendar—by your hand, in fact.” She flicked a gaze in his direction, a stone to ripple the unsettled waters of his conscience. “It was as much as I could take, losing another vestal to Björn’s damnable game—still with no explanation for any of it!”

  Franco stared at her oath ring, feeling a familiar stone of guilt lodged his chest. It hadn’t been his idea to steal Raine from her side—he’d only been following orders—but her ring reminded him of the companion rings he’d seen on the fingers of her three vestal brothers, all of whom were now living in T’khendar. Men she’d trusted. Men who for all intents and purposes had abandoned her.

  How alone she must feel.

  And though her vestals had departed without explanation, though her entire life lay moldering beneath the shadow of that mystery, though Franco stood as a representative of all she didn’t understand…yet she hadn’t demanded any answers from him. She could have—it was within her right—but knowing the truthbindings placed on him, she’d chosen to remain ignorant rather than bring Franco to harm.

  The surprise and gratitude he felt over this ever assaulted him. Just that small degree of compassion from her was too much for him to stomach; it just sat there, indigestible, fermenting his guilt.

  Alshiba turned and leaned against the railing, as he was. The mountain now loomed above them, lush and elegant, its terraced sides studded with mansions, rooftop gardens peeping through the canopy of ancient trees.

  “I had hoped to stir at least one of my vestals to take action, and Niko seemed harmless. I had no idea he was capable of—” Alshiba let out a forceful exhale. “By Epiphany’s light, of inspiring mutiny, Franco? An entire strand in revolt? I never imagined such a thing could happen.”

  Franco thought mutiny was preferable to apathetic acceptance, though the rumor of a rebellion bothered him on several levels. But the idea that Niko might be trying to replace the Fifth Vestal with his own candidate troubled him far more.

  Alshiba pushed fingers to her brow and gazed absently at the waterfall tumbling down its deep and shaded ravine. “Now I’m caught in my own web. Having submitted Niko as a candidate, it’s up to the Council to ratify him or not.”

  They were both praying for not.

  She glanced to him and then straightened away from the railing. Franco offered her his arm again, and she took it absently.

  “When I proposed Niko, I thought it absurd to imagine the Council would approve his nomination, but now…” Alshiba sighed ruefully. “He cares nothing for the work we’re doing here; his only interest is in making alliances to solidify his votes—and the worst sort of alliances, with the most powerful and unscrupulous of Seats.”

  “Mir Arkadhi,” Franco muttered, having seen Niko too many times for comfort in the Eltanin Seat’s company.

  Alshiba gave him a telling look. “I’ve tried to keep him in Alorin as much as possible.”

  Franco clenched his jaw. The very idea of Niko van Amstel permanently becoming Alorin’s Second Vestal made him physically ill; yet the more he understood of Council politics, the more he realized it was a real possibility. Vestal appointments were meant to be for life, but Dagmar had been gone so long that it was feasible the Council would declare his absence as abdication and agree to replace him.

  Alshiba sighed. “Would that there was another candidate to challenge Niko.”

  Franco gave her a sidelong look. “What do you mean?”

  She aimed a glance his way. “Technically, Niko is only nominated to the position of Second Vestal. Until the Council ratifies him and makes his vestalship permanent, anyone can seek the appointment.”

  Franco wondered what made him more uncomfortable in that moment—the intimation in her words, or the voluminous look she was leveling him.

  He swallowed and looked off out to sea. “The Great Master is Alorin’s Second Vestal.”

&nbs
p; “For all the good it does us here.”

  He frowned deeply at this.

  She arched a brow in subtle challenge. “I had hoped Dagmar would hear of Niko’s advancement and come with sword at the ready to defend his stake.”

  No… Franco swallowed, he just sent me.

  Alshiba placed her other hand on his arm, drawing his gaze back to her. She must’ve seen the discomfort in his eyes then, for her gaze entreated him earnestly. “I don’t want to replace Dagmar, Franco, but I need a Second Vestal to advise me,” she looked back out towards the sea and frowned slightly, “more so now than ever before.”

  Something in her tone… Franco connected the memory of the Speaker so intently watching Alshiba’s departure that afternoon, and his logic took an unexpected leap. “Are you saying…” he stared at her harder, “Alshiba, are you saying you’re—”

  “Aldaeon has asked me to chair the Interrealm Regulatory Committee.”

  Franco gaped at her. “And you’ve accepted?”

  “Not officially, but I’m strongly considering it. I voted in favor of the measure. It only follows that I would want to see it fairly enacted.”

  “That’s…brave of you.” He shoved a hand through his hair. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to say. Obscenely dangerous seemed more apt.

  And after the outcry he’d witnessed that afternoon, it was abundantly clear that any one of a thousand Seats might take matters into their own hands to ensure their candidate became the Committee Chairperson—even if it meant permanently eliminating any and all perceived competition.

  With William always a watchful distance behind, Franco escorted Alshiba back to the Alorin embassy, overlooking the sea. The estate supported many residences, but Alshiba’s apartments were a mansion unto themselves.

  William opened the entry doors for her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Excellency?”