Delani sighed, folding her hands together over the table. “We allot three years to be certain a warden is deceased. Sometimes we are able to find bodies, lost vehicles, and tools. Mostly, we find nothing.”
Because even supposedly cleansed land had its risks and dangers. Caris had seen enough of that in the Eastern Basin.
Honovi eyed the archivist’s book. “You said Daijal. Was that always where he was sent?”
The archivist ran her finger across the row to a different column. “According to the records, most of the time. He occasionally handled the northern span of the center border between Daijal and Ashion.”
“We don’t switch up borders between wardens often unless there are problems that need further addressing. If the land is growing more toxic, we’ll send a team of wardens to handle the alchemy needed for a cleansing. If there’s a settlement turned into revenants, we’ll send support. But wardens know the borders they guard year after year. They know what’s out of place beyond the chemical records they bring back,” Delani said.
“But there’s nothing stopping a warden from walking away and becoming a civilian of any country,” Honovi pressed.
“The countries of Maricol would not be what they are today if wardens consistently left as you are suggesting.”
“You said it was warden work that created therionetkas. Nathaniel said the one who performed the operation looked like a warden. ThisKlovodcould be one,” Caris said. She had no skill with mind magic, but Ksenia had been able to uncover some of his memories theKlovodhad tried to hide. They were flashes, glimpses, really, of a scarred face, Nathaniel had said, and a name.
He didn’t remember the operation itself. Trauma, the warden had told her. Sometimes the brain refused to remember some things, burying those moments so deep no amount of mind magic could draw them to the surface. But he’d given them a name—theKlovod—and that was more than what they’d had before leaving Veran. It was information they needed to send back to Meleri and the others, but Caris didn’t trust sending it over wire.
This was a message that needed to be relayed in person.
Delani shook her head. “Whether or not he is one, it’s our teachings that have been used to harm. We cannot turn our backs on that.”
“So what will you do? Will you ally yourself with those fighting against Daijal?”
“We are neutral.”
“Neutral won’t mean anything if Eimarille conquers the continent.”
It was strange to think Eimarille could be—was—her sister. Caris couldn’t understand how someone who claimed to be a Rourke would do such harm to their people.
“The Poison Accords have stood through Ages and war before, as have wardens. This will be no different.”
The wardens around the table nodded agreement. Caris couldn’t fault them their loyalty to a way of life that let others live, but this time was different. Of that, she was certain. The Age of Progress had been a long one, and the star gods typically didn’t show their favor until it was time for a new Age. She didn’t want to be the catalyst for something new, but Caris doubted she’d get a choice in the matter.
“While we are incredibly grateful for your aid in helping Nathaniel, this is information we need to get back to Fulcrum,” Blaine said after an uncomfortable silence. “When we find morerionetkas, we would like to bring them to you.”
“Your politics aren’t ours,” Delani said.
“Yourpolitics infringed on our sovereign rights,” Honovi said sharply. “My country’s Seneschal was made arionetka. That was only possible by your own admission. It was warden work that did harm. It should be warden work that undoes it as much as possible.”
“Wardens are neutral. We guard the borders. We cannot pick sides under the Poison Accords.”
“Your neutrality doesn’t absolve you of aid.” Honovi stood, leaning his weight against the table, dark eyes snapping with anger. He commanded the room with an ease Caris couldn’t help but be envious of. “Word will get out that one of yours perpetuated this horror. Whether it was on Eimarille’s orders or someone else out of Daijal, you cannot escape the ties theKlovodwove with her. Daijal is a threat to all of us. If you ignore that, if you ignore what your alchemy wrought, then you damn the world you’re so hell-bent on saving.”
The silence in the conference room was tense, most of the wardens appearing displeased by the accusation, though Delani had grace enough to look resigned.
“How will breaking the Poison Accords further aid any of us?” Delani asked. She held up her hand when Honovi sought to argue, silencing him momentarily. “We know Daijal is a threat. I’ve had wardens watching the Daijal court for years since the Inferno. It is not the only court we keep an eye on. Your politics leave bodies behind, andweare tasked with cleaning up those messes. We aretryingto contain what damage we can find.”
“Not well enough,” Honovi bit out. He pushed away from the table, jerking his head at the door. “This is information I can’t deny my people from knowing. Our Seneschal deserves the same chance you gave Nathaniel. If your duty is to Maricol and her children, then you won’t decline theComhairle nan Cinnidhean’s request when it comes.”
Delani stared at him with an unblinking gaze and promised nothing in her silence. Caris wasn’t politically savvy enough to know how the fallout would be dealt with those affected. Meleri would, perhaps, but she wasn’t here.
“We thank you for your aid, but we must get back to Ashion,” Caris said, drawing the room’s attention. “I would ask for a supply of pain pills for Nathaniel and the authority to request such from resupply stations.”
She knew an apothecary would not be able to mix the cocktail of chemicals Ksenia had come up with to medicate Nathaniel over the course of attempting to undo what theKlovodhad done. Chemists weren’t the same as alchemists, and wardens were in their own class compared to any who would call themselves such in any country.
Nathaniel hadn’t complained much, but she’d seen the pain lines etched into his face when he thought no one was looking. Caris wanted to have the medication on-hand even though Nathaniel was adamant about not taking it, fearful of becoming dependent. The medication was of a strength she was certain only hospitals would be able to dispense, and even then, only under strict observation.
Ksenia shoved her chair back with a huff. “I made enough pain pills to last you to Twelfth Month. They lose potency after that, and you’ll need a new batch. It’ll be winter at that point, and a resupply station will be easier to reach rather than trekking back here. I’ll issue an alchemist’s script for you.”
