Seth deflated a little. He grumbled to himself but began to pull on his clothes.
“What happened?” Jacen asked as he yanked on his boots.
“We received a communication from outside the Shrouded City.” Ysira swallowed. “It’ll be easier to explain when you see.”
They entered the library together. Two Disciples on guard bowed to Ysira and directed them to the table where, just yesterday, the demon priests had showed Neri an ashek. The boy now sat opposite Eneva and Urien, who hunched over a blocky metal device. Ogden hovered behind them, frowning more intently than usual.
Eneva stood and smoothed her robes. “There you are.”
Neri had been crying, eyes bloodshot and swollen. He looked as though he were having the worst time of his life, and a fresh surge of guilt enveloped Jacen.
“He can rest now.” Ysira beckoned her son forward. “Then we can talk.”
Seth pointed at the metal apparatus. “And maybe explain that.” “It’s a radiotelegraphy device,” said Eneva. “One of our militia patrols made contact. They were attacked by individuals wearing heavy environmental suits.”
Urien—still intently focused on the device—tapped his own helmet.
With a sinking feeling, Jacen understood.
“Shit,” said Seth, as Ysira interjected, “When? How far?”
“Too close.” Eneva’s lips formed a thin line. “But we left no survivors. Our patrol had help.”
“From who?” Ysira demanded.
“Half a dozen knights of Zivora,” Ogden answered for Eneva, his tone grim. “Led by Ged Semira.”
At the sound of his father’s name, Neri’s shoulders hunched. “Shit,” Seth said again, louder. He went to Neri, reaching out a comforting hand. Neri barely noticed. He sank deeper into his chair, staring blankly ahead.
Ysira ground out, “Do not give him this location.”
“Do you think I want to?” Eneva rounded on her. “I’ve allowed more than enough outsiders in these sacred halls. But this attack was close enough to Otavok that we have to consider the possibility the Firstborn have found us. We are in no position to refuse aid.” She turned to Neri. “Var Naxal, I urge you to give the order.”
Neri stood abruptly. Perhaps he’d meant to speak, but he swayed as though dizzy. He leaned against the table, breathing hard.
“Gods, no, enough.” Seth took another step forward and caught Neri by the arm.
Seth winced as if something had bit him. He paused and looked down. Jacen followed his gaze to the floor, where he’d stepped on an oblong rock the size of a man’s fist. The ashek—the spare that must have been left there after Neri droppedit. Seth snatched the weapon up with rough disregard, like he meant to hand it to Eneva.
Tendrils of white light coiled around the ashek. Seth’s hand spasmed. He dropped it.
Too late.
A ragged gasp escaped Eneva. Urien looked up from his machine and Ysira went rigid. The Disciples drew their weapons.
Seth’s fingers tightened around Neri’s arm. Jacen’s mind worked furiously, pieces falling into place one by one.
No.It wasn’t possible.
“Run,” Ogden said to Urien. The healer did not move, did not look away from Seth. “Now. Warn the others.”
“You’re valak,” Eneva breathed. “How?”
The voice that came from Seth’s mouth, then, had Seth’s pitch. But its cadence, its tone, the mannerisms that had suddenly taken hold of his body . . . those were not Seth’s at all.
“Not valak,” he said. “Not quite.”
He drew his sword and ran Eneva through.
