“Do you think I enjoyed this?” Darien demanded, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know, Darien. Did you?”
Behind them, the beast growled, standing up. The hair on the back of its neck was raised, its mouth open and cavernous. Darien put a hand out and the creature calmly sat back down, closing its mouth with a snap.
Swain sighed, shaking his head. “Look, Darien, I’m not here to argue with you. Either Transfer your gift to Kyel, or I’ll be forced to end this myself. You’re the son of Gerald and Emelda Lauchlin. Honor their memory and die with some dignity.”
Naia gasped, and even Kyel felt his anger rising. Staring down at the iron chains on his wrists, he remembered the resolution he had made, back in Romana’s cell. The reason he had put the Soulstone on in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to be letting this happen.
“You can’t touch me,” Darien said simply, spreading his hands. The sleeves of his faded shirt fell back, revealing a set of fresh pink scars that encircled both of his wrists where the marks of his Oath had once been. Kyel found the sight of them appalling, and not just because of their gruesome appearance. What was much more ghastly was how much of himself Darien had sacrificed because of those scars. His Oath had once meant so much to him, and now Kyel understood why. One look at the mage’s eyes told all there was to know.
Swain sneered down at the scars, unconvinced. “Look at you,” he growled. “You’re wiped out. You couldn’t even think of touching the field in your condition.”
Darien calmly shook his head. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Kyel. “Show him.”
“Show him what?” Kyel frowned, not understanding the directive.
Darien’s eyes flared menacingly. “You know damn well what I mean.”
Kyel thought he did. Only, it took him completely aback that Darien already knew about it. Still, he found himself holding his breath as he reached out with his mind and did the only thing he knew how to do with his ability: he bent a link on each chain.
The iron bracelets slid off his arms, falling sharply with a clinking noise to the stone. Swain stared down at them, visibly stunned. Kyel just hoped it would be enough.
In front of him, Darien pushed himself up, drawing himself roughly to his feet. He still looked unstable, but the dark shadows in his eyes compensated for any weakness his stance implied. Glaring down at Swain, the mage warned him, “You can take your chances against two of us, Unbound. Or you can listen to my offer.”
Gazing down at the chains on the ground, the blademaster uttered stiffly, “I’m listening.”
Darien nodded. “Come with me to Aerysius. Let me finish what I’ve started. After that, you can do whatever you desire with me. You have my word I’ll do nothing to resist.”
Nigel Swain appeared to be thinking, his eyes gazing consideringly at the beast behind Darien. Softly, he answered, “I don’t know if I trust your word.”
“Do you trust mine?” Kyel asked him, stepping forward.
The captain turned to regard him. “You came to me claiming to be an acolyte. That doesn’t do much for my trust.”
“I was,” Kyel assured him. Reaching into the pocket of his cloak, he withdrew the Soulstone, letting it swing by one of the heavy silver bands. “The stone contained his mother’s gift,” he admitted. “I put it on and received the Transference in the cell.”
He took a deep breath, wondering how far he dared go. Glancing at Naia with a look of apology, he turned back to Swain and told him, “Darien will no longer be a threat to you if we close the Gateway. The Well of Tears demands a sacrifice in order to seal it. He’s known about it all along. It’s always been his intent to offer himself.”
Naia surged up, demanding, “Is this true?”
Darien nodded callously, turning to fix Swain with a look of rigid contempt. “When the Gateway collapses, my soul will be trapped in the Netherworld. Is that end dignified enough for you?”
Kyel looked down. He had seen this coming all along; only, he had been hoping that Darien would have somehow figured out another way. But there was no other way, he realized. Swain was right; one look at the hideous beast confirmed it, and the shadows simmering in the mage’s eyes. Darien had planned this well. He had known from the beginning about the Well, and had also known the price of giving up his Oath. He had devised a perfect strategy to pay both tabs with a single coin.
Swain never took his eyes from the creature as he grated, “I guess it’ll have to do. You’ve already damned yourself, anyway.”
Naia’s hand shot up and slapped him across the face.
The captain just looked at her for a long moment then turned and strode away. Kyel glanced after him, wondering what Swain was going to do. But the sound of Naia’s voice made him turn back around.
“Darien, no,” she was pleading, reaching out for him.
But the mage jerked his arm out of her grasp as he growled at her, “You should never have come back.”
Darien took a staggering step down the stairs away from her, followed by another. Not knowing what else to do, Kyel rushed forward and supported him, glancing back at Naia in sympathy. He helped Darien down the last few steps as the priestess stared at his back, looking just as devastated as the surrounding landscape.
They hadn’t gone far when the sound of Darien’s voice halted him. “Give me the Soulstone.”
Kyel gazed at him, taken aback. But nevertheless, he drew the medallion from his pocket and handed it to him. Darien clutched the stone tightly in his fingers, holding it against his chest for a moment before dropping his hand. Kyel could feel his body trembling with the strain of just staying upright.
But Darien reached up and firmly removed Kyel’s hand from his arm, gritting his teeth as he said, “Now, repeat each word I say, exactly as I say it: ‘I swear to live in Harmony with all of creation.’”
Kyel gulped, realizing immediately his master’s intent. Numbly, his lips moved, uttering the phrases of the Oath of Harmony that had never been taught to him:
‘I swear to live in harmony with all of creation,
To use my gift with temperance and wisdom;
Always to heal and never to harm,
Or my life will be righteously forfeit.’
When he heard the sound of his own voice trail at last into silence, Kyel looked down at his right arm, reveling in the beauty of the shimmering new chain that had appeared of his own inception, engraven into his skin by the conviction of his words.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A Deeper Look
KYEL PULLED BACK the flap of the tent and ducked as he entered. It was dim inside, though still bright enough to see by the ambient light. Once inside, he was able to stand upright, letting the flap swing back into place. Naia turned to look up at him, her veil rendered almost opaque in the poor lighting. She was kneeling on the floor, fingers resting on Darien’s hand. The mage was curled at her side in a bundle of covers, for all appearances deep in sleep. A sleep that had lasted for three days.
In all that time, the priestess had not once left Darien’s side. Kyel had come often to look in, making sure that she didn’t need anything. Each time he did, he was reminded again of Luther Penthos, the High Priest of Death. Naia’s father. He had almost confronted her on it, the first night. But then he’d thought better of it. It was Naia’s life; it was her choice, not her father’s. Also, her very presence stirred his hopes. If anything could possibly save Darien from himself, it was Naia’s willing love. From Kyel’s perspective, the priestess was the last best chance Darien had of salvaging his soul before he died.
Kyel knelt down beside her, his eyes studying Darien’s face. Asleep, he looked much as he always had. Thinner, perhaps; he had noticed the man had a tendency to skip far too many meals, and that was even before they had parted in Glen Farquist. He wondered how many Darien had missed since. It was a symptom of whatever disease had hold of him. Not so much a disease; a sickness of the heart. It had always been there, Kyel realized, ever since he had kno
wn him. He had seen it in Darien’s eyes the first night they had met. Before vowing the Bloodquest, Darien had been just managing to keep it in check. But ever since, the bleakness that had taken root deep within him had spread vigorously. Kyel feared for him. He feared for them all.
“How is he?” he asked, glancing sideways at Naia.
“The same,” the priestess sighed. “He still hasn’t awakened.”
He could tell by the sound of her voice that she was worried. It seemed incredible, how much she had fallen for the man in such a short period of time. Naia was fiercely protective of him, especially when Nigel Swain was around. Whenever the captain came to glance in, Kyel could almost see the priestess’s hackles rising. It was almost a reflection of the way that strange beast looked whenever Kyel came too near it.
“The sleep’s normal,” Kyel assured her for what seemed like the hundredth time. “He did the same thing the last time he wore himself out.”
He was referring to the battle in the canyon when Darien had pushed himself too hard healing the injured. Then, the mage had fallen into a similar state of unconsciousness, but it hadn’t lasted nearly as long as this. He had slept for a day and awakened the next morning as hale as if nothing had ever happened. But this time, it was taking much longer. He must have extended himself well beyond his limits.
From its place at Darien’s feet, the hideous creature stirred from sleep, awakening with a wide, cavernous yawn. Kyel found the thing revolting. Like Naia, the beast hadn’t moved from the vigil it kept at Darien’s side. Whenever Kyel came near it, the thing uttered a low growl, its whiskered nose wetly quivering. Kyel wasn’t sure why, but he thought that the creature would have attacked by now if it wasn’t for Darien’s presence holding it at bay.
“What is it?” he whispered, giving voice to the question that had echoed so often in his mind.
“A thanacryst.”
Kyel glanced up at Naia in surprise. She had never mentioned knowing anything about it, and he wondered where she had come by the knowledge. The thing made his skin crawl, especially the way it was always avidly studying him with its glowing green eyes.
“It doesn’t like me,” he muttered, staring at it.
The priestess nodded, her face pensive. “I think it’s hungry. It senses food.”
Kyel didn’t like the sound of that. The thing had no teeth in its enormous mouth, so he wasn’t afraid of it mauling him for a few shreds of meat. But he couldn’t get over the feeling that the beast was eyeballing him hungrily, as if there was something else inside him that it desperately wanted to feast on. The creature turned away from him at last, laying its head back down across Darien’s legs with a low, desolate whimper.
The mage stirred, groaning a bit and tossing in his sleep. Naia’s hand moved to fix the blanket that had slipped down to expose his chest. As if comforted by her touch, Darien’s face immediately relaxed. Almost, Kyel thought he could see the man he remembered from back at Greystone Keep.
“How could he have changed so much?” Kyel found himself wondering.
To his surprise, Naia calmly shook her head, her veil rippled by the movement. With an air of conviction in her dark brown eyes, she assured him, “He hasn’t changed.”
Kyel was amazed by her statement, by her confidence. Was she so blinded by her feelings that she hadn’t noticed the shadows that consumed Darien’s eyes? Did the significance of the thanacryst elude her? It didn’t seem possible that she could be so ignorant of what was right there in front of her, as if the veil before her face obscured her every perception.
“Don’t you see what’s happening to him?” Kyel whispered, looking warily at the thanacryst as if afraid the thing would comprehend his words and retaliate. “He’s changing, Naia. He’s becoming like them.”
But the priestess was unswayed; if anything, she looked even more resolute. With a loving smile on her lips, she reached out and tenderly stroked a lock of Darien’s dark hair back from his face. “I felt the same, at first,” she stated wistfully, eyes only for Darien. “But now I disagree. He is the same man now as the night I met him. Darien is a man devoted wholly and utterly to duty. No matter what it takes out of him, or how much he has to sacrifice.”
“No,” Kyel shook his head. “Maybe it started out that way, but it’s gone beyond that, now. Perhaps...perhaps you’re just seeing what you want to see. Because you love him.”
The soft smile on Naia’s lips faded. Looking at Kyel, she muttered softly, “And perhaps you are just seeing what you want to see...because it’s easier that way.”
Kyel frowned. “I don’t take your meaning.”
“Think on it,” the priestess told him. “Try to have faith. Look deeper. Give him a chance, and perhaps someday you’ll see in him what I do.”
Naia’s veiled face was the first thing Darien saw when he opened his eyes. He had been drifting in and out of sleep, each time coming a bit closer to full wakefulness. It was difficult; his body was achingly snug and comfortable, resisting even the most fundamental impulse to stir from the heavy weight of the covers and the soft pallet beneath him. He stretched languidly, for a tantalizing moment basking in the soothing warmth of Naia’s tender smile.
And then he saw the thanacryst, and remembered.
Her smile was anathema, as poisonous to him as deadly nightshade. If he succumbed to it, he would lose every advantage he had gained by consummating his sins between Arden’s legs. Then he would be prey once more for the necrators. Even the thanacryst would turn against him, would feed off his gift to slake its ravenous thirst for the lifeforce of a mage. And he would lose the only opportunity he had to prevail against his brother; Aidan surely would have surrounded himself with such fell beasts. No; love was a luxury his impoverished heart could simply not afford.
He could barely stand to even look at her after what had passed between Arden and himself. There had been no love in the act, but there had been passion. Desperate passion. It was a requirement. If he hadn’t enjoyed the moment to its fullest, then his ploy would have failed utterly. The necrators would have probed his heart and found him still wanting. He would have never regained his perception of the magic field and, in all likelihood, he would be dead by now. That, or on his way to Bryn Calazar in chains. But nevertheless, the guilt plagued him fiercely. He could never expect Naia to understand, or to forgive him. He doubted he could ever bring himself to ask. He didn’t want to.
He must find a way to make her leave. Her very presence was a corruption, a temptation he knew he did not have the strength to bear. The part he still had left to play was going to be difficult enough already. If she stayed, he doubted he could make himself go through with it at all.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” he stated. He didn’t have to work very hard at instilling the cold dispassion that came through in his voice. It was there naturally now, a brittle outgrowth of his twisted soul.
“I’m not leaving you again,” she assured him, ignoring the cruelness of his tone. “You need me by your side.”
He seemed to recall her saying something similar once before, though he couldn’t remember when. Grimly, he shook his head. “This is no place for you.”
But Naia just smiled down at him, that poisonous, rapturous look. “Listen to me,” she insisted, taking his hand. “In Auberdale I asked you to make a decision that was not yours to make. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was my decision all along.”
“Naia, that makes no difference—”
“It does,” she insisted firmly, her raised voice ringing out above his own. But there was no malice in her tone; the force of conviction alone lent strength to her words. “I told you I can either be a priestess or your lover, and I’ve made up my mind.”
“No,” Darien growled, jerking his hand back and sitting up. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want you here. Go home.”
“Darien—”
“Go home, Naia,” he raged coldly, feeling frustrated and lost. “I want you to leave. Just
go.”
“No.”
He frowned, confused by her infuriating tenacity. He watched her eyes trail down to the thanacryst at his feet. The creature noticed her attention, growling softly as it rolled over on its side in a submissive posture.
Holding fast to her quiet smile, she stated enigmatically, “I’ve sat here for three days looking down at this wretched creature. People come and go. It ignores everyone completely. Yet, strangely, it doesn’t seem to like me. It’s appalling, really, the way it keeps sniffing at me, almost as if it’s hungry.”
“Perhaps it is,” Darien uttered, staring at the thing.
“It doesn’t seem to like Kyel, either,” Naia continued, unruffled. “Every time he comes here to look in on you, that beast stares at him and growls dreadfully.”
Darien frowned as the meaning of her words slowly sank in. Swinging his eyes from the creature back to Naia, he fixed her with a look of wary astonishment.
The priestess continued serenely, “I found myself starting to wonder, isn’t it odd that the beast ignores the presence of every other person, with the exception of Kyel and myself? And then I began wondering, what in the world could Kyel and I possibly share in common?”
Any feeling he might have had left was drained away completely by the time she had finished speaking. He stared up at her, his mind and heart utterly bereft. It was impossible. And yet...it also made sense.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Naia did. Her dark eyes were wide and clear through the fabric of her veil, those eyes that before had consumed his dreams, his hopes and desires. He must believe they held nothing for him, now. Naia’s eyes were perfect in every way, wide and glinting with the fierce spark of intelligence he had once found so compelling. Compassion was there, too; her gaze was suffused with it, along with a caring tenderness that made him ache to the depths of his soul. But if there was anything else mired in the poison cauldron of her eyes, the translucent fabric that hung between them obscured it from his sight.
“Without the veil,” he directed softly, feeling an urgent flair of guilt. What he was asking was tantamount to ordering Naia to strip naked there in front of him. Before, it had been a wondrous gift she had shared with him willingly. Now, with all that had transpired since, asking the priestess to remove her veil felt immoral.
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