Throne, be damned. I’ve been a fool.
*
MERCIFULLY,IT’SONLYa short walk along Galtair’s twisting maze of lanes before we pass through the great iron doors to Viklari: our home for the duration of our remaining stay in Galtair. It’s near-identical to the Stone Keep, only on a more modest scale. Made from the same cold, grey stone, furnished in a similarly archaic style – once lavish, now tired. A large hearth dominates the hall. Logs crackle in the grate.
One of those veiled phantoms is offering us pies, the warm gamey scent thick as the woodsmoke lacing the air. My stomach growls. Blayze is already reaching for the platter, lifting one in each hand. Making some lewd joke about bedding down with Maris for the night.
I consider him. Really look at him for the first time too, probing beyond my lens of hate. I glance over the straight sweep of his nose, the proud thrust of his chest, the battle-hardened planes of his body. He’s a man. Weather-beaten and arrogant, but a man not a monster. Can it really be that I’ve laid the blame at the wrong feet all this time?
He lied.
Over and over.
The veiled creature is back with a tray of crystal goblets. Mindlessly, I pick one up – a restorative is just what I need. I’m chilled to the bone. Blayze drains his, choking in his haste.
He’s laughing now, through his sputtering. ‘Strong. Warms you up a treat, though.’
A man, but still an oaf.
His kin might be innocent of my father’s death, but that doesn’t absolve the clans of all their sins. They’re still bloodthirsty and coarse, still responsible for the Sickening. Still our mortal enemies.
And yet… He’s here, isn’t he? It’s like Leilani said: he’s made sacrifices to be here, to help us. He saved Leilani when her horse bolted, helped the pearlsprite too, when he didn’t have to. The horses liked him, and they’re better judges of character than most. He’s proved himself a man of his word, a man of honour.
More of a man than the one I’ve served so faithfully all my life.
Mind swimming with thoughts I’d rather ignore, I toss back the amber liquid. Getting warm sounds good just about now. For that matter, so does getting drunk.
As it meets my lips, burning and bitter, a yell pierces the room. Leilani’s lips moving, eyes wide, fingers scrabbling at her neck. Her own goblet smashing on the floor.
‘Don’t drink it.’
But her warning comes too late. Choking fingers close around my throat. Dark spots mist over my eyes.
A fitting end. I’ve been blind my whole life.
*
‘ASTROPHEL.’
I lift my head from a musty pillow, dart glances left and right, trying to make sense of the disembodied whispers, the unfamiliar bedchamber. It’s small, sparsely appointed, with dark wooden furnishings. Windowless.
‘Astrophel,’ the voice comes again.
Orthriel’s voice. Only their voice. The cielsylph hasn’t materialised.
I sit up, and almost swoon. ‘What happened? Where am I? Where is… Where’s Leilani?’ Panic spreads, cold as frost. A vision of her screaming, fumbling at her throat. Had she already drunk from the poisoned cup before dashing it to the floor, or did her second-sight protect her? I struggle to my feet, reach for my sword, realise it no longer hangs at my side. I promised – I swore to defend her. I try the door to the cell, but it’s locked fast.
‘She’s safe,’ Orthriel whispers. ‘For now. She’s not awoken yet, but the Arx Magnum means to hold her hostage, use her to bait the King.’
My pulse slows.
‘I can’t say the same for the others. They’re chained in the hall, but they’re to be moved. I don’t know where. I think he plans to make use of the Guardians’ magic. As for the rest…’
‘Orthriel, you must flare, remind these rebels there’s a penalty for disloyalty to the Throne. Help me get out of here and I’ll send the message myself.’ I try the handle again.
‘I can’t.’
Two small words but they land heavy as sword-blows.
