Meldier unbuckled Licanius, then tossed it on the ground to the side. Caeden hesitated, then moved over to the blade and picked it up, keeping a mistrustful eye on Meldier as he did so.
“Use that on one of us, Devaed, and our past will mean nothing. I will come for you, and I will make you suffer,” said Meldier quietly. There was no heat to his words. It was a promise, not a threat.
Caeden swallowed, but nodded. He could hardly blame the man.
“When I find whatever goes with the disc you found,” he said quietly, buckling the sword to his waist, “do you have any idea what the completed Vessel might be? What it might do?”
Meldier stared at him for a moment, eyes going from Caeden’s face, to the sword at his side, then back again.
He shook his head sheepishly.
“Something that allows the Lyth to leave Res Kartha without Decaying, and yet prevents them from going to war with us again—with you? No. The others and I have pondered the problem enough over the years to be quite certain. There’s nothing I know of that could achieve such a goal.”
Caeden nodded grimly. “Have you ever heard of something called a Siphon?”
Meldier stared, looking chagrined. “You really don’t know your own plan, do you?” he eventually said ruefully. He shook his head. “I have never heard of it. Perhaps one of the others will recognize the name, but I am just as in the dark as you.” He glared at Caeden. “Well. Perhaps not quite as much in the dark.”
Caeden gave him a vaguely apologetic look, then held the Portal Box in front of him and tapped his Reserve. He carefully funnelled Essence into the next face in sequence, suddenly pensive again as yet another leap into the unknown loomed.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the blazing tunnel opened with a familiar roar, though the sound was … muted, somehow. Not muffled but more warped, as if it were not traveling correctly through the air.
“I hope that what you say is true,” Meldier yelled over the sound. “I hope you are a new person. Someone better.” He paused. “But either way, the Lyth must be prevented from getting Licanius—because if they do, they will kill us all. Even if you trust nothing else you have learned thus far, trust to that.”
Caeden locked gazes with him for a moment, seeing the quiet certainty in the other man’s eyes.
He gave Meldier a grim nod, then walked once again into the vortex of flame.
Chapter 16
Wirr breathed in the early-morning air, feet dangling over the balcony as the first hint of dawn began to lighten his surroundings, silhouetting Ilin Tora against the sky.
He yawned a little as he gazed out over Ilin Illan, which spread out like a living map below. Despite his initial weariness, he hadn’t been able to sleep much. He was sitting just outside Karaliene’s rooms, flanked on one side by his cousin and on the other by Dezia; they’d been like that for much of the night, just talking, enjoying the relative hush and privacy that accompanied the early hour.
“Any idea where Aelric is?” he asked idly, suddenly realizing how long it had been since they’d seen him. Dezia’s brother had joined them to begin with—the only reason Andyn’s replacement had agreed to give him some privacy—but had hurried off after a while with a brief, muttered explanation and never returned.
“Probably asleep. He finds all of this new responsibility exhausting.” Dezia smiled to show she was half joking, then shifted slightly as she glanced at him, her hip touching Wirr’s as they watched the city below slowly come to life. Wirr could still see buildings in need of repair after the devastating fires of the Blind’s attack, but a pleasing amount of progress had been made toward getting the city back in good order.
“I know how he feels.”
“Poor Torin,” murmured Karaliene. “An entire month of being responsible. However have you survived.” She exchanged a good-natured eye roll with Dezia.
Wirr elbowed his cousin amiably, then sighed as he noticed the eastern horizon starting to become obviously lighter.
“Almost time,” he said heavily.
There was silence for a while—not an awkward one, but more contemplative. Dezia turned to Wirr, and Wirr was abruptly aware of just how close their faces were.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she said, expression serious. She looked him in the eye. “There’s no way Scyner has your best interests at heart.”
Wirr gave her an appreciative smile, but shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll hurt me,” he said. “He could have killed me—all he had to do was not intervene. And I hate the thought, but I’m fairly sure that he could get to me at any time.”
“Do me a favor? Be careful anyway,” said Dezia. Her tone was light, but Wirr could see the concern in her eyes.
Wirr nodded. “I will.” They stared at each other for a long moment, faces not more than a foot apart.
Then Karaliene gave a loud cough, making both Wirr and Dezia jump. Wirr turned to glower at his cousin, only to notice the man climbing the spiral staircase toward them. Wirr straightened, modifying his glare to include a hint of gratitude.
“Master Kardai,” he said as the man approached, dragging himself to his feet and offering a hand to each of the girls. They accepted graciously, allowing themselves to be pulled up.
Wirr frowned as he caught the expression on Laiman’s face. “Is something wrong?”
The king’s adviser hesitated, glancing at Wirr’s companions. “I hear that you will be taking some time at your family’s estate in the country, Sire. Leaving this morning. A well-advised move, if I may say so,” he said carefully. “But first, I wanted to … discuss something with you. Show you something, actually.” His second glance at Karaliene and Dezia indicated that he preferred to do so privately.
Wirr turned away from Laiman, giving the girls an apologetic look. “I suppose we should do that sooner rather than later, then,” he said regretfully. He kept his focus on Dezia and Karaliene. “You’ll see me off in a couple of hours?”
“Of course,” said Karaliene, and Dezia nodded with a smile.
Wirr smiled back, then reluctantly followed Laiman down the winding staircase. “What is this about?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “I thought I’d already made all the necessary arrangements for the next few days.”
“It’s about last night, Sire,” Laiman said quietly. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“It’s fine.” He was accustomed to being dragged away in the middle of personal conversations now. “What are you showing me?”
Laiman hesitated. “I want you to have a look at the men and woman who attacked you. I know you said that you didn’t recognize them, but I felt that it was worth having a try while they weren’t in the process of trying to kill you.”
“So we’re going to look at some corpses.” Wirr gave Laiman a flat look. “Perhaps I accepted your apology too quickly.”
“Probably, Sire,” said Laiman cheerfully.
Wirr allowed a wry smile at that, though it quickly faded. He liked Laiman; the man had been a good teacher when he’d returned to court. Whenever he saw him now, though, he couldn’t help but think about the mysterious conversation that Asha had overheard after the battle.
“I was surprised to hear that there were six of them, Your Highness,” Laiman observed after a while, casting a sideways glance at Wirr as they walked. “It must have been quite a fight.”
Wirr hesitated, then shook his head.
“I’m not exactly sure what happened. It was all so fast, but … they ended up turning on one another. I barely had to do anything.”
“Not according to young Iria Tel’Rath.”
Wirr blinked. “What?”
“She says that you single-handedly saved her, and then took on the rest to let her escape.” Laiman gave an amused cough. “The way she puts it, Sire, the one left alive fled from the sheer force of your heroism.”
Wirr rubbed his forehead. “That’s not even close to how it happened. Iria stabbed one of them i
n the leg, and I threw a plate at him to distract him. After that …”
He trailed off, not knowing how to describe the rest. Laiman, fortunately, assumed that he was just surprised at Iria’s description. “It’s not how she tells it, Sire,” he reiterated to Wirr with a slight smirk, “and she’s been telling it a lot. So if I were you, I’d be careful about making a Tel’Rath a liar. Especially given how well you come out of the entire thing.”
Wirr sighed, shaking his head. Just what he needed.
Soon enough they had reached the room in which the bodies were being kept. Wirr noted, much to his surprise, that it was one of the palace’s more out-of-the-way Lockrooms.
“You’re keeping them in here?” he asked in bemusement.
“Temporarily. I wanted to ensure that no one had opportunity to tamper with any evidence before I inspected them.” Laiman shrugged as he produced a key and inserted it into the lock. “And while there are already rumors about what happened last night, the less that prying eyes can discover, the better. Not even an Augur could see what’s in here without either having this key, or breaking down the door.”
They entered; the room was cold, probably a deliberate choice considering its contents. Wirr’s stomach turned a little as he saw the five pale figures lying side by side on the long table, their wounds exposed. His fortitude had increased significantly over the past year, though. He stared at the corpses without flinching, studying each face closely.
“I definitely don’t recognize them,” he assured Laiman.
Laiman inclined his head, walking over to the nearest man and pulling back the corpse’s right sleeve.
Wirr felt his brow furrow. The majority of the man’s arm was covered in an old scar, possibly a burn.
“Strange injury,” he observed slowly, not seeing the significance.
Laiman nodded, then proceeded to pull back the woman’s right sleeve. A near-identical scar lay beneath the cloth, stretching from wrist to elbow.
“The other three don’t have them,” said Laiman quietly. “But the man that was captured does, too.”
Wirr was silent for a few moments, processing.
“A Mark?” He rubbed his chin. “You think they did that to themselves to hide a Mark. You think that they’re Administrators.”
“Did any of them with that scar actually attack you?”
Wirr thought for a moment. The woman had shot Andyn; at the time he’d assumed it was because he was blocking her line to him, but now …
He shook his head slowly. “Not that I can think of. It happened fast, though,” he prevaricated. He’d told Dezia and Kara the details of the attack—he’d felt the need to tell someone—but he didn’t know Laiman well enough to elaborate.
He shifted uncomfortably as the implications of what Laiman was showing him started to hit home. He understood that he was unpopular; his position as prince gave him a lot of protections from people’s anger, but he’d still had to endure plenty of furious Administrators during the first couple of weeks after the battle.
Still—strangely, it hurt to think that the threat might be coming from within his own organization, almost as much as it unsettled him.
“At least we should be able to identify them,” he said eventually. “Administration keeps detailed records on everyone who takes the Oath.”
Laiman shook his head. “Take another look at those scars.”
Wirr did so, brow furrowing again as he stared at the disfigured forearms, and tried to ascertain what his uncle’s adviser was getting at.
“These are old. Healed years ago,” he said suddenly.
“Which means that these Administrators didn’t burn off their Mark specifically for this,” concluded Laiman. “You may not be able to find any documentation on them at all.”
Wirr gave him a blank look. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“There are, what—fifteen Oathstones held at Administration’s outposts around Andarra?” Laiman shrugged. “There have been rumors of Administrators ‘borrowing’ Oathstones for almost as long as there’s been an Administration. And except for a recent spate of concern over the past couple of years, I don’t believe your father ever particularly pushed for it to stop.”
“But why?” Wirr scratched his head; he’d never heard this before. “The Oathstones are tied to the Tenets. Whether someone gets their Mark officially or unofficially, they’re still bound by the same rules.”
“The same limitations. Not the same rules.” Laiman shrugged. “Administrators might act unpleasantly toward the Gifted, and I know that infractions often go unpunished—but ultimately, they are still constrained by the law. The old Fourth Tenet allowed them to issue commands, but there was always a recourse for anyone who was truly being taken advantage of that way. Always oversight, however light. And real consequences for those actually found guilty of abusing their power.”
Wirr’s stomach churned as he understood. “So there were people out there with the ability to make the Gifted do whatever they said—with their only restriction being that they couldn’t make them violate the other Tenets,” he said slowly. “And if the Gifted reported it, Administration would have no record of whomever was responsible. If they even believed them.”
“Exactly.” Laiman sighed. “The thing is, though—I doubt any of those ‘unofficial’ Administrators could have organized such a coordinated attack. Someone with inside knowledge had to have helped them, or at least passed them information.” He looked Wirr in the eye. “If you were not already leaving, I would be strongly advising you to do so. And if you felt like staying away from the city for a little longer than planned, I wouldn’t blame you.”
Wirr swallowed, then shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “I can afford a few days away to see my family, especially as it’s something that I already should have done. But if I’m absent for too long, what little authority I have will be eroded completely—and the longer I’m away, the more likely Administration are to try and revoke the Augur Amnesty. I can’t let that happen.”
Laiman gave another nod, this time a hint of respect in the motion. “You’re right, Sire,” he acceded. “But that’s even more likely to happen if you’re dead. At the least, I would urge you to keep your movements quiet and your bodyguard close for a while.”
Wirr nodded morosely, staring at the still forms of the people who had tried to kill him. He didn’t feel afraid, exactly. More a deep sense of unease, a sense that further violence was inevitable—but that he had no idea when it might occur.
Laiman watched him for a few more seconds, then sighed. “I’ve said my piece, Sire,” he said gently. “There’s probably a carriage waiting for you by now.”
Wirr gave Laiman a nod, then slipped out of the Lockroom and went to ensure that everything he needed for the journey ahead was in place.
It was time to leave.
Wirr hid a grimace as he saw the tall figure spot him and change course.
Lord Tel’Rath’s expression gave nothing away as he approached; Wirr came to a reluctant stop, barely restraining a sigh as he acknowledged that the man wanted to speak with him.
“Lord Tel’Rath,” he said politely, bracing himself for whatever remonstrations were coming.
“Northwarden Torin,” said Lord Tel’Rath, to Wirr’s surprise the greeting containing more than a hint of respect. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.” The older man hesitated, looking somewhat uncertain. “I … just wanted to … express my gratitude. To thank you,” he finished awkwardly.
Wirr stared at him. Perhaps for the first time since Wirr had met the man, he appeared to be genuine. “For …?”
“For saving Iria. She told us what you did.” Lord Tel’Rath’s tone was different from the previous night, different from how Wirr had ever heard it before. Gone was the careful intonation, the sense that he was guarding every word. This was unaffected. Honest.
“It was what anyone would have done. And Iria was far from helpless,” Wirr observed. “She h
elped me as much as I helped her.”
“You saved my daughter,” repeated Lord Tel’Rath firmly, as if Wirr wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say. “Whatever you may think of us”—he held up a hand as Wirr made to protest—“my family is important to me. I owe you a debt. I won’t forget this.”
To Wirr’s astonishment, he held out his hand.
A little dazedly, Wirr took it; Lord Tel’Rath shook it warmly, then nodded and left.
Dezia, much to his relief, was waiting for him when he reached his carriage. She raised an eyebrow when she saw his expression.
“Running from something?”
“Lord Tel’Rath,” said Wirr dazedly. “He was being … grateful.”
Dezia’s lips quirked upward slightly. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she admitted. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard about you this morning.”
Wirr rubbed his forehead. “I suspect I would, actually. How bad is it?”
Dezia bumped him with her shoulder. “Well, you saved Iria. And the Tel’Raths. Held off a dozen assassins with your bare hands, and looked dashing the entire time. So now, not only are you the most eligible bachelor at court, you’re also the most desirable one.” She grinned, unable to hide her amusement. “I think that about covers it.”
Wirr nodded slowly. “Well, at least they got the facts straight.”
Dezia’s smile widened. “I’ll be sure to tell anyone who asks that you confirmed it was all true, then.”
Wirr gave her a gentle return bump of his shoulder in reproof, then glanced around with a small frown. “Before I go—I don’t suppose you’ve seen Asha this morning?” Everything had been a blur since last night and he hadn’t had time to seek her out, but he’d been vaguely surprised that she hadn’t heard the news and come to check on him yet.
“Representative Chaedris?” Dezia shook her head. “Sorry. Not recently.”
Wirr sighed; he’d just have to fill her in on everything when he got back. He nodded an acknowledgment and turned reluctantly toward his transportation.
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