The warm anger disappeared. Arrow could only stare up at the Halsfeld lord, not one single word available to her. Her improper imaginings had never conjured up that. She wanted to run away, overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensation. She wanted to cling closer, such an odd impulse it made her want to run again. He was still glaring at her, amber bright, the planes of his face in sharp relief.
Arrow pulled herself out of the lord’s hold, heat scorching her face, and over his shoulder saw Zachary trying to hide a smile.
“What?” she demanded, voice sharp.
“Nothing.” The Prime bit his lip then gave vent to a full-throated chuckle, eyes dancing. His mirth did not dim even as Kester turned and added his own glare to Arrow’s.
“Stupid males,” Arrow muttered under her breath.
Seeking distraction, something she could understand, anything to avoid meeting Kester’s intense stare, she looked around the room. Kallish’s cadre were still on their feet, a few slices of blood and at least one broken limb. The tainted Erith, possessed by the rogue, had not fared as well, nor had the humans. More than one body lay too still, and of the others there was so much blood the healers would be busy for days to come. Not far away Charon’s head lay separated from his body. The ‘kin were still and quiet around their Prime, a few of them bloodied, Zachary apparently not in the least bothered by his shoulder wound, eyes still sparkling with humour and the aftermath of a good fight.
A soft groan called her attention closer. She turned to find the Preceptor, curled around his wound, normally bronzed skin an unhealthy shade. She ignored the various bruises clamouring for her attention and knelt beside him, rolling him onto his back with as gentle a hand as she could manage.
The bandages were soaked through, and from the way he trembled she guessed he had been wounded again.
“We need healers, svegraen,” she said to Kallish as the warrior joined them, face grave. Kallish gave orders, producing some of the warriors’ salve from within her coat, kneeling by the Academy master.
“He’s dead?” The Prime wanted to confirm, standing a few feet away, hand twitching reflexively towards his sword as he eyed the corpse at the centre of the room.
“The room holds some of the strongest containment and banishment the Erith can work,” Arrow told him. A last resort. A final protection the Erith had never thought that they would actually need.
Zachary lifted an eyebrow, mouth flat.
“Yes, he is dead. The surjusi is gone.”
“Evellan!” A shriek from the door caught all their attention. Vailla.
“What happened?” Seggerat vo Regersfel was at the door, ashen pale, Eshan beside him with tears openly coursing his cheeks.
No one had much attention to spare for the infuriated elder. There was a clutch of healers around Lord Evellan, White Guard were moving about the room, some very stiffly indeed, checking on the fallen Erith and humans, with a few more healers scattered about. Orlis, for once not wide-eyed or spouting questions, was standing near the Preceptor, watching in concern as he was treated. Near one of the doors Gilean vo Presien was still, the folds of his cloak motionless around him, looking around the room with a blank expression, skin pale. Arrow frowned slightly, wondering when the war mage had arrived, and what had held him back. She did not remember him during the fight.
“Orlis, the place needs cleansing, and there are many more wounded in the corridors. Tell the Archivists to marshal the Academy.”
“The Archivists?” His eyebrows lifted.
“They are next senior to the Preceptor and Lady Seivella,” she confirmed, sending him off. She was swaying on her feet and opened her bag, searching for something to keep her standing.
“Here,” Kallish handed her a small vial, “this should help.”
“What is the tally?” Arrow took the vial and downed it in one swallow, nearly choking on the bitter taste, thankfully finding a contraband chocolate bar stuffed into her bag. She offered some to Kallish, who took it with a lifted brow and spark of curiosity in her dark eyes.
“All the humans are dead. We have three dead guard.” The warrior would mourn later, her voice all business as she continued. “Numerous tainted. The young mage has gone for assistance?” Arrow nodded. “Good, we will need cleansing rituals for the Steward and his staff before healing.”
“The warriors?”
“All those who were at the hut yesterday are clean. The silver dust,” Kallish lifted a hand to demonstrate, the faintest glimmer of silver visible, “has protected us. Most useful.”
“I hope it fades eventually,” Arrow said, dismayed. She could not imagine Erith warriors being happy dusted silver for the rest of their lives.
“There was no sign of it until we encountered the taint.”
“There was so much damage.” Arrow heard the pain in her voice.
“Much can be repaired,” the warrior said practically, turning her head slightly as a lowering presence descended on them. “My lord.” She bowed to the elder.
“I asked a question.” Seggerat was not used to being ignored. He had clearly had time to access the situation further and continued. “And why are there shifkin in battle gear within the Taellaneth, Arrow?” It was a sign of how disturbed he was that he identified her, she thought.
“The Taellaneth was attacked by the rogue magician who brought surjusi taint with him.”
“There is taint?” The elder stilled, eyes wide as he looked around.
“Very little now,” Arrow reassured him. “The surjusi is gone.”
“Gone? Not dead?”
“Banished,” she confirmed.
“This is unacceptable,” the elder pronounced, glaring at her, “another failure.”
“Another one?” Arrow was beyond being polite.
“He’s defeated,” Zachary pointed out. Xeveran appeared nearby and made a rapid translation for the elder.
“Prime.” The elder recovered bare courtesy for a moment and bowed slightly. The Prime lifted an eyebrow in response, sword point on the priceless wooden floor, hands resting on the hilt. Arrow was sure he had sheathed the sword a few moments before. He was making a potent statement, a ‘kin weapon bared in the heart of the Taellaneth and not lifted in threat.
“Seems to me you’ve got some serious house cleaning to do,” Zachary continued.
“I do not clean,” the elder said stiffly.
“The surjusi has been sheltered and protected,” Kester put in, “and for a long time. Conspired with others. Gesser was not possessed on his own. We must investigate.”
“What did he say to you at the end?” Zachary asked.
Arrow opened her mouth to lie, to say that she had not been able to understand because she could not hear. His eyebrow lifted, and she swallowed.
“He said: this is not over.”
Silence.
“Unacceptable,” the elder said again. “You will not permit this,” he told Arrow.
“I am no longer at your command, my lord.”
Before the outraged elder could answer, Zachary lifted his sword, sheathing it with a quite unnecessary flourish, unholy gleam of amusement still in his eyes. She bowed slightly, “Thank you, and your kin, for coming to our aid, Prime.”
“We haven’t had a good fight for a while.” Zachary’s smile was full of white teeth, and she could not help but smile back.
“You called them?” Seggerat was astonished.
“It was necessary, my lord.” Kester managed a polite tone. Arrow could feel heat scorching her face as he came closer. Had he really kissed her? She was no longer certain. Perhaps her imagination was better than she had thought, or the freedom from the Erith’s spells was turning her mind.
“Always a pleasure,” Zachary said, pure mischief across his face. Arrow bit her lip to hide her own smile.
“Your residence is available,” the elder told Arrow. She thought about the pair of rooms, the ice on the inside of the windows in winter, the permanent draft, and shook her head.
&
nbsp; “You will stay,” Eshan hissed at her from the elder’s elbow. She opened her mouth to refuse.
“You should stay,” Kester said quietly. Arrow lifted a brow. “You need training,” he reminded her. Her teeth ground together. “And you have no home to go to.”
“I will manage.” She clamped her jaw shut before she could say more and turned away, halted by his hand on her arm. He was far too close and touching her again.
“Stay.” The sharp note made it a command. Her spine stiffened, and she shook out of his hold.
“My lord.” She bowed her head and stalked away, trying to tell herself that she was not running away, somehow not surprised to hear his footsteps coming after her. She made it out of the Receiving Hall before he caught her.
“Arrow, wait. This is foolish. You need to stay here where it is safe.”
“Safe? Foolish?” She whirled on her heel to face him, abruptly face to face as he stumbled to a halt with a bare hand’s width between them. “There is no place for me here,” she nodded past his shoulder towards the elder, “and I am banished, if you recall. I will manage perfectly well. I always have.” He was holding her again, hands on her shoulders, a much gentler touch than before, anger in his face. She was angry too. “Unhand me, my lord. I am not your kin.”
“I am aware of that,” he snapped back, but removed his hands, flare of colour in his face. Amber bright eyes glared down at her. “I had no notion you found me so distasteful,” he bit out.
Arrow frowned in confusion, having no notion what he was talking about.
“I had not …” she began, not certain what she would say next, but footsteps behind him drew her attention.
“Arrow.” Never had the Prime’s voice been more welcome. She took a step away from the Halsfeld lord and turned to find Zachary coming towards them.
“We can give you a lift back to the workspace, if you like,” he said.
“I can still use it?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager. Warm, safe, familiar.
“As long as you wish,” he confirmed, gleam in his eyes. “We finally have Marianne’s killer. You have done the shifkin nation a great service.”
“Thank you, Prime, that would be most welcome.” A smile rose on her face, dying as she turned to the seething Erith lord. “My lord.” She inclined her head slightly in farewell and stepped away, walking towards the exit.
She did not look round but felt the ‘kin close by.
“He is young yet,” the Prime said, warmth in his voice. Arrow had no idea what he meant and shook her head slightly. Zachary glanced across at her. “Do not fret, young thing,” he said, smiling, “these matters have a way of working themselves out.”
CHAPTER 21
The knocking at the door eventually caught her attention from the scattered items on the workbench. She hissed in irritation as she saw her sleeve already spattered with the contents of one of the pots. Turning down the burner, she went to the front door, bare feet making no sound on the frozen concrete. She needed to remember to buy more socks. The small magnifying lens in the door showed her a pair of White Guard, identities obscured by the poor-quality reflection.
Opening the door, she found Kallish and Xeveran waiting, in everyday uniforms. Behind them, neatly parked on the otherwise empty street, was one of the Erith’s large, black vehicles.
“Svegraen, good day. Would you come in?” She stepped back, holding the door as they passed by.
“Mage.” Kallish acknowledged as she stepped into the building.
“If you would come with me,” Arrow suggested, “I have left something brewing.”
“Of course. Lead the way.”
Taking the warrior at her word, Arrow turned her back and led the way through to the workspace. She went straight to the burner and saw with relief that she had caught the mix in time. Taking it from the heat, she set the pot aside to cool and turned back to her visitors to find them looking around the room with open surprise.
“Three days only,” Kallish murmured to Xeveran. Arrow looked around, too, trying to see the place through their eyes.
The room was a luxury of space never available to her before and, despite the temperature, she had made full use of it. There was a shelf or two of books, herbs hanging, various pots, jars, cloths, knives, spoons and other utensils on other shelves, and an open cupboard which showed several shelves with a collection of sealed jars. And tucked away on a shelf, carefully hidden from casual eyes, was a map of the human world, various points of interest marked with human symbols, tempting her.
“You have been busy, mage,” Xeveran commented, tone making it a compliment.
“Thank you, svegraen. I was not permitted before,” she explained her enthusiasm with a shrug, “and the freedom to do so is quite heady.”
“Not permitted?” Kallish lifted a brow, glancing back at the open cupboard. “To prepare basic spells?”
“To use any of my powers or learning in a way not directly connected with the task assigned to me,” Arrow clarified. It had been a restriction that had chafed badly over the years. “However, svegraen, I doubt you came to inspect my medicine cupboard. How may I serve?”
“We are sent by the Taellan.” Something in Kallish’s words, and the high colour on her face, the way she would not meet Arrow’s eyes, cued her that this was to be unpleasant. “To gather in what materials you may have left from the Taellaneth and the Erith.”
“Oh,” was all she managed to say for a while. She had been expecting this, but it still stung. “I have very little that belongs to the Erith. Much of what I had with me was human-made, and I assume the Taellan do not want that back?”
“That is so,” Kallish still would not meet her eyes, “though they have required the return of any Erith clothing as well.”
“Of course, svegraen.” Arrow felt heat in her face as well. The errand was demeaning for warriors of their stature, a deliberate slight by the Taellan, doubtless the elder still furious at the fact it had been Kallish’s cadre that brought the ‘kin into the Taellaneth.
She moved across the room to a pair of flat boxes and brought them to an uncluttered part of the bench.
“This is for the Taellan.” She indicated the first box, which contained the credit cards, gems and other items provided by the Chief Scribe over the years. Giving the items back left her reliant on the ‘kin, and her own resources. The sense of lightness as she released the box to the warriors was the obligations that went with the Erith’s items leaving her shoulders. Finally.
She indicated the second box. “This is for the Academy.” Spell items that she had not used. “And this,” she put a hand on the paper-wrapped bundle on top of the first box, “is for the warrior or warriors who were kind enough to lend me the clothing. It has been cleansed, and I return it with great thanks, svegraen.”
Kallish nodded, she and Xeveran each taking a box.
“Thank you, mage.” The quiet tone was heavy with something Arrow could not place.
“What of the Taellaneth. Were there many dead? Have the Preceptor and Lady Seivella recovered? Sir Messian?”
“We are forbidden from discussing such matters,” Xeveran put in unexpectedly, with a wary glance at his leader.
“I understand,” Arrow said with a small bow, pure reflex to deflect their mutual awkwardness.
“You seem content here,” Kallish remarked, something that had definitely not been in the Taellan’s script when they sent this particular pair of warriors to fetch items back from an exiled mage.
“I am.” Arrow felt a genuine smile cross her face. “The local muster has been welcoming, and it is a luxury to have a proper workroom to use.”
Something loosened in Kallish, the warrior’s shoulders dropping slightly, mouth curving in what might have been a smile.
“Do you know what you will do now?” Xeveran asked, openly curious.
“I am not certain,” she answered honestly, “I have not had much time to consider. The Prime has said he will have work f
or me if I wish,” she added, knowing that the information would rankle the Erith, but also because it was true.
“There is time to decide,” Kallish said. She went perfectly still for a moment, then reached into a pocket, holding something out to Arrow. “If you have need of us, mage.”
In the warrior’s hand was a small, dark disk. A long-range communicator disk. Arrow went still in her turn. The warrior was going against the Taellan and Lord Whintnath’s orders, offering her help. The offer made her heart swell a moment, a smile bidding for freedom on her mouth. For all that the warrior’s care had irritated her, she had found, perversely, that she missed Kallish’s acerbic manner when it was gone. Along with others.
“That is generous. Thank you, svegraen.” She took the disk carefully, like the precious object it was. “And I have one for you.” She dug into the drawer under the workbench and produced an equally small disk. Kallish took it with a nod. “You and your cadre are welcome here.”
“We will remember.” Kallish made a small bow, then sighed. “Now we must go.”
“Good hunting, svegraen.”
“Good hunting, mage.”
BETRAYED, THE TAELLANETH - BOOK 3
CHAPTER 1
The air was saturated with the heady scent of spring, fresh green and citrus cut through with the coolness of water. The burner was turned as low as Arrow could manage, the pot simmering gently, mixture almost the right shade of green. Almost. Almost.
Even as she reached for the handle to take the pot off the heat, the colour shifted in a blink from forest green to mud brown, the scent of growing replaced by a stink Arrow had no reference for.
“Oh, fur and fang,” she said to the uncaring air, borrowing a favourite phrase of the ‘kin, and ducked under the workbench, tucking her legs and arms underneath its shelter, covering her head with her hands.
Above her the pot exploded silently, the brown, sticky, stinking stuff spattering every surface. An impossible volume from such a small vessel. It coated the large workspace. The wooden bench. The concrete floor. The pale, painted walls. The plasterboard lining the ceiling, high overhead. The skylights. The side of the vehicle parked several feet away.
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