“You have done well, as I said.” The words came from Father’s mouth clipped and firm. “Don’t push it, Priva. Don’t choose this fight. The Hooded is defeated, and it is only a matter of time before—"
Priva turned and stormed from the room. Father’s angry demands followed him, but he rounded the corner and left the ravings of the madman behind. If he hadn’t made off, he would have killed the man. Frale hurried to catch him, her feet pattering the stone floor.
“Priva!” She reached him, face still flushed. “What now?”
“I need to find Maja Josslea.”
“Your Father’s wife?”
“The very one.” He bit down on his tongue, fueling the rage in him to the pain. Better that than destroying everyone in this bricking place and grinding them to dust. “And while you’re here, Frale, you might as well face the facts. The Finders will try to kill you. Be on alert.”
“But...” she faltered, and then hastened to catch up again, remaining silent. Good. Maybe she was growing in wisdom. Like a Jin’tai.
He laughed. The concerned look she shot him made him laugh even harder.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Clyfe Fleetfoot
Clyfe, flanked by several warriors, shouldered through the crowd forming at the docks. The afternoon sun beat down on his head but wasn’t smoldering, a telltale sign that Bara Bayan was pleased. Justice was on his side. Even with the cooler temperatures, one could always tell Bara Bayan’s mood by the sun.
When the crowds recognized Clyfe they parted and tried to scurry away. They were Greigans, after all. Let them flee before the might of Jattal. Elder Finnon, son of Grayfin and now leader of the Xeal’s, was arguing at the gangplank leading to the first transport ship that would take them to the warship further out at sea. He gestured wildly, and when he caught sight of Clyfe, he left the commanders and stalked to meet him. Clyfe stifled irritation. The Elder was useful, and although working with a traitor’s son left bitter acid on his tongue, he would put up with it. For now.
“Clyfe! Get these Liar cursed commanders to see reason!” Finnon’s dark hair blew in the breeze, voice low and hurried. “The Car’abels will be expecting you by water. Land is your –”
“We are water gods, Elder.” Clyfe stopped, raising a hand so the others would follow suit. “You cannot blame Jattalians for being Jattalians.” He gazed over Finnon’s head at the commanders, who were shaking their heads and starting to load up the transport. Hundreds of warriors began to file onto the boat.
“Water gods or not, you will—"
“Take your men by land, Elder.” Clyfe leaned forward, towering over the Car’xeal Elder. “I will accompany you, along with my brothers.” He turned to the two-dozen faithful who stood behind him.
“You expect me to fight?” Finnon folded his arms across his chest. “No such agreement was made. Father vowed to your Hooded that we would not encumber you, but to send my clan to assault the Hovering City is another matter.”
“I have been voted to take the Hooded’s place.” Like it or not, Clyfe was now tasked with leading this war. All he wanted was for his blade to taste Car’abel blood. If stepping in to lead was what it took – well, he would do what was necessary. At least until the Chiefs arrived. The storms, curse them, were blowing the Chiefs off course.
“You? You are not an accessor.”
“How astute of you.” Clyfe shook his head, shoving by Finnon. “Assemble your clans, Elder. Meet me at the gates in two hours.”
“Two –” But the rest of his response was lost as Clyfe strode to the transport. Commander Froth was shouting at the warriors as they filed on, but when his gaze rested on Clyfe, he stopped and came to meet him.
“Are you sure about this? Splitting our forces?” Froth shook his head, raising an eyebrow. “I know you are a strong, able warrior, Clyfe, but this seems foolhardy. We strike best by sea.”
“We used to strike best by sea. The Greigans are not stupid. They will account for our strengths and be ready. We will use that against them.”
“There will be no mistaking the fact that you are coming by land. As soon as you leave the city birds will be sent to the King. As you said, they are not fools.” Froth turned to look back at the transport before sighing and turning back to Clyfe. “But as you have said often, more clans will join you, if they are wise.”
“If they don’t we will burn their villages to the dust and sky and enslave any survivors.” Clyfe grinned and clapped Froth on the shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, my friend. Losing the Hooded was a blow, but we will recover. It is what Jattalians do.”
“And the Sensor?”
At the mention of his name, a darkness invaded Clyfe’s mood. Yes. The Sensor. His sister’s blood trickling to the stone floor had been satisfactory. Yet why the twinge of guilt whenever he remembered? It had been justice.
Thunder rolled across the skies, clouds forming and covering the sun. Bara Bayan hid his pleasure. Clyfe ignored the omen and grinned, pushing aside the unease following the darkness within his soul. Some things were worth it, just or not.
“Leave the Sensor to me.”
***
Priva Car’abel
The inn was as Priva had seen it hours before. Silent. The rest of the village had fled and not a single soul stirred. Priva stormed inside, Draper only nodding and casting an idle glance at the others assembled.
“Keep your temper, Priva,” Josslea muttered from behind him.
Seven of his siblings turned to gaze at him from the common room. Their guards were assembled along the walls or sitting at the rest of the tables. Several smaller tables had been clustered together to so that everyone could fit.
“Remember –” Frale cut off whatever she was going to say when she walked in following on his heels. He hadn’t told her about this insane plan, only that this meeting would decide the future of the Bright Lands.
“Brother,” Boll said, standing tall and broad shouldered beside Juliette, the eldest sister.
She flicked anxious eyes to Frale. “You brought the witch?”
“Come now,” Josslea purred, removing her fur coat and laying a hand on Priva’s arm before joining the others at the table. “Play nice, all of you.”
“You’re one to talk,” Grrale said. He was only fifteen, and Priva had never spoken to him. The lad’s smooth face had never seen a razor. What possible influence could he hold?
“Oh, dearest. Are you weaned yet? Your mother let you come?” Josslea sat beside Juliette, movements smooth as honey. Priva removed the hood from his head and folded his arms. Who was in charge, now that Callum was dead? Josslea?
Grrale’s brows lowered and his mouth curved into a snarl. “Using insults and manipulation to still get your way, I see. Tell me, Joss, have you finally taken to Priva’s bed yet? Oh wait. He rejected you.”
“Children, children. Enough with your catfights. Don’t get sucked in, Grrale. Joss will have you for breakfast and still leave room for brunch,” Hux said as he unwound his lanky form from a chair and stood, eyes on Priva. Just a year younger than Priva himself, Hux had always ignored Priva’s pleadings to join him in bladewielding, preferring to read and study, instead. They had been childhood friends, but by the time manhood hit, they had gone their separate ways. Hux had built a fortune for himself apart from the King’s yearly inheritance. Politics only got a man so far, and like Priva, Hux had desired to stay out of it. Well, maybe not as out of it as Priva had assumed.
Grrale grunted and sat back with a frown.
“More ale, Draper. And food for the newcomers.” Kendall waved a slim hand sparkling with jewels. Married to a Car’faal, her husband’s wealth almost rivaled Father’s. Something sparked in Priva’s soul. Hope? Did they all support him? Looking about, it appeared that all seven present, save Grrale, were influential and wealthy. Yet something stung. Callum. She was missing, and it was his fault.
“None for me,” Frale said, frowning and staying by the door. “Priva, may we spea
k privately?”
“Later.” Priva sat beside Vic, who was muscled, short of height, and very good at predicting currency falls and rises. To his right was Wells, quiet and unassuming, but with the fervor of a Finder when it came to religion. Only he was no Liar worshipper, but a devout seeker of the Creator’s will. What was it he used to claim? That the Creator would soon return? Some sort of nonsense, but there were those who agreed. Father had cast him out. He lived in relative isolation, except for some ardent followers who believed the same drivel. This sect had grown and grown, until they were given a seat at the King’s Council. What were they called again? The Faithful, or something ridiculous like that.
“See with what callous disregard he tosses about orders,” laughed Olive, skin the same hue as her name. She was cunning, having made it clear she desired to be named Inheritor. Priva was glad he hadn’t been around to see her reaction when Jasper had been named instead. So, no surprise she was behind this – what was it exactly? Treasonous uprising? But could he really trust her? No. Definitely not.
“We must get our poor brother caught up,” Boll said, glancing at Olive and then back to Priva. “Without Callum here, I would think that —”
“Yes, yes, enough.” Hux cleared his throat. “We all know Callum wouldn’t have gotten as far as she did without me. Listen, Priva. Things are all set for you to step into place. All we need are your assurances that the change will be lasting and complete. The change we all know is needed.”
“It doesn’t bother you I’m an accessor?” Priva leaned back and crossed his arms. It was the one thing that didn’t make sense. Why? Surely, they were not immune to the normalized hatred Greigans held for those who could use the Deep.
A strange silence settled over the room. The others cast sidelong glances at each other as if there was something they wanted to say but had no idea how.
“Priva.” Juliette looked at the others before turning back to him. “We are all accessors.”
Blood rushed to Priva’s head. Surely he had heard wrong. All of them were accessors? Frale sucked in a breath and hauled in the Deep. It rippled around her with such force that he thought she was going to cast an enchantment. Then the Deep roared as each sibling grasped it as well, until the whole room almost glowed with power.
“Now, now, Sister. All is well. All is well.” Juliette raised a gentle hand toward her, beseeching. Calming. “I would think accessors wouldn’t frighten a Sister.”
“I don’t understand.” Priva swallowed, sitting straight in his chair. “I thought...” What did he think, exactly?
“You thought you and Callum were the only ones,” Josslea finished for him.
Yes. He had.
“Not exactly the easiest secret to keep,” Boll muttered, marching from the room, presumably to check on Draper and where the food was.
“There he goes, all worried and wondering if we will get caught and die,” Grrale laughed, grinning at Priva. “He’s the coward of us all.”
“And you’re the idiot!” Vic snapped, glaring at the lad. “Keep your snotty nose clean and your mouth shut.”
“You have no power over me,” Grrale replied, arrogant sneer on his face. “Your access is middling compared to mine. All of yours is, otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. So shut up and—"
Frale severed Grrale’s access with a fast, single casting. He whirled around to face her, eyes alight with rage. Priva sprang upright and grabbed him as he shot from the chair toward her.
“Not so fast, baby brother,” he said calmly while Grrale tried to pull away. “Your arrogance will be your undoing.”
“Let me go!” Grrale tried to snatch his arm away again, but Priva tightened his hold and began to drag him toward the door. He would throw him out if need be. It didn’t matter how strong he was in the Deep, if he was going to act like a brat he would be treated like one.
“It’s okay, Priva. We are used to it.” Wells’ tone held a hint of amusement. “He’s all bark and no bite.”
“Stop! I’ll behave.” Grrale stopped struggling, looking up at Priva with fear. “I promise.”
Priva threw him toward his chair. “Don’t speak again unless I ask you a direct question.”
Grrale flopped forward and darted to sit with one last glare at Frale. She smiled sweetly at him. Priva almost laughed. Maybe he had underestimated her.
“Start at the beginning,” Priva said with a growl at Hux. “Everything.”
Boll returned with Draper, both carrying drinks and food. It was set before him, but Priva didn’t take his eyes from Hux. If this was where he would decide whether to take the throne or not, he would need to remain focused.
“You must have had questions when it became apparent both you and Callum were accessors.” Hux waited, and when Priva didn’t say anything, he continued. “It’s not all that hard to explain, really. Our clan is cursed.”
A bout of laughter shook Priva’s chest. The others stared at him as he chuckled, rubbing his eyes. Cursed? Really? By whom? This was the exact type of ridiculous filth that spewed from the Finders. His siblings believed it?
Hux waited until he stopped laughing. “You don’t believe me?”
“Neither do I,” Wells muttered. “But none of you will listen.”
“Yes, we know, Wells,” Juliette remarked with a shake of her head.
“You swallow what the Finders hand you without asking any questions. Cursed? Really?” Priva laughed again, shaking his head. “If it is a curse to have the spark, then clearly that curse is not destined to destroy us. Surely you have felt it?” He looked about at them. Had they not tasted of the same waters as he?
“It is not folly to think such a thing,” Kendall said softly. “And besides, we are not the only Car’abels who are accessors. The others couldn’t come.”
“How many?” Priva asked, stilling the mirth inside of him.
“Fifteen,” Grrale said proudly, leaning forward. “Fifteen, and I’m the strongest.”
Priva stared at him until Grrale leaned back, averting his eyes. The boy needed to learn some humility. “Fifteen of us, and the Finders haven’t found out yet?”
“Let me finish,” Hux answered. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless anyone else would like to interrupt?” Silence. He nodded and folded his hands. “The Finders’ powers only extend as far as the Liar allows. And right now, all attention is to the west and north, as it has been for a generation. The Odias Globe has its limits.”
“It would seem so,” Priva scoffed. “What is Pale up to? If the Globe is directed elsewhere, then it stands to reason we are not the only accessors popping up in the east.”
“You aren’t,” Draper interjected, stepping forward from where he had been resting against the bar. “Hence the unrest that is starting to stir across the Bright Lands.”
“You know how many accessors there are?” Priva cocked his head. “Who are you, old man?”
“I don’t know exactly, but current projections are in the thousands.”
Thousands. Could it be true?
“Where are they?” Priva managed to ask.
“Where else would they be? In hiding. But Draper has been slowly but surely contacting all of them he can. The last year he has been busy.” Hux grinned at Draper before turning his attention back to Priva, leaning back with a relaxed air. “It seems as if the last two generations of accessors born in the Bright Lands have been born automatically shielded. It’s a strange occurrence. Somehow, the Deep has... evolved. Perhaps like the raainsmok beetles that can grow a beak to dig further for food if need be, the Deep is learning to mask itself through accessors. Of course, we have no way to verify this theory, but it is the only thing that currently makes logical sense.”
“So, what do you have in place so far?” Priva tried to still the racing of his heart and the thundering of his pulse, but to no avail. This was unprecedented. With that many accessors at his bidding, all it would take was to form them into a formidable force, train them to fight, and the Triump
hant King’s march would be stopped in hours.
“Very little, I’m afraid,” Hux said with a sigh.
“The Finders have their ears in every crevice. Unifying the accessors is almost impossible. Although the Globe doesn’t seem to be working, our fight is not only against Father. It’s against a large force of clans who hate accessors.” Vic leaned back until his chair was close to tipping over. “But no matter. The seven of us, and the others, can stop the Jattalians or overthrow the King. But we cannot do both.”
“What would you have me do?” Priva asked. Vic spoke sense. Twenty accessors were a sizable force against one army. But against Finders and skrales? At least a hundred resided in the Hovering City.
“You are the Sensor. Like it or not, every single soul on the sphere needs you.” Kendall leaned forward, eyes alight. “Brother, you are the single person who can unite us all. Even if Father will not see reason, he cannot kill you. He knows that your death spells ultimate doom for the Lands. The Finders are touching the Rift by the Liar’s command, but even they do not want it busted open. They do his will, to a point. And the Jattalians?” She grinned, teeth straight and sparkling in the sunlight slanting through the windows. “If they knew what we had planned, surely they wouldn’t even attack.”
It was genius. Except for one thing. “The Jattalians are responsible for Callum’s death.” Ice-cold hatred shot through him. He would kill Clyfe, and no one and nothing was going to stop him.
Hux sighed, eyes filling with compassion. “So we have been told. But Priva, we have to lay aside hatred for the common good of the Land.”
Debatable. “Why didn’t she tell me about you?”
“About us being accessors?” Juliette asked.
“Yes. About it all.”
“Were you listening? Did you give her time?” Grrale snapped his mouth shut when Priva cast him a glare. But the lad had a point. Priva had done nothing but call her motives into question and argue.
The Last Steward Page 27
