Lightfall, p.4
Lightfall, page 4
Chest aching, he spun his empty cup and watched her. “Can I ask why you wanted to run from me today?”
She blanched, dragging her lip between her teeth. Then she set aside her tea and circled her knees with her arms. “You looked at me too long. It reminded me of the dinners in Kalt Hasa.”
Thorne sucked back a curse. So many things reminded her of that place, and him most of all. Some days it felt like everything about him was wrong…that he was wrong for her. “Cistine, maybe we should—”
“No. I can’t let him win, I can’t let him chase me away from what I want.” But desperation tinged her voice like she was trying to convince herself.
You don’t want this, he was tempted to say. Healing would come easier if she wasn’t bound heart-to-heart with a man who stared too long with eyes too much like his father’s, whose voice and face carried the damning nuances of her former captor’s. She didn’t want him to touch her, to look at her, to even whisper her Name.
He was wrong for her.
“What about you?” She changed the subject while he struggled for words. “The swearing-in, and now your mother…that must feel awful.”
He shook his head, returning his cup to the tray. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that. You carry enough of a burden already from my family.”
“Your hurts and scars don’t scare me. You should know that by now.”
But it wasn’t his scars he worried about this time. Shaking his head, he rose and grabbed a cloth to wipe the condensation from the table, keeping his hands busy when they threatened to shake again.
You’re all wrong for her, boy.
“Thorne?” Cistine balanced her elbows on the table, chin in her hands, a tentative smile on her lips. “I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that.”
A sigh blew through him, loosening his tense shoulders. “I do.” He faced her, resting his haunches on the table. “I’m proud of you, too. The Chancellors are truly interested in what you’re going to present about a potential treaty.”
She caught her breath, and he wanted to bang his face against the table. Yet again, he said the wrong thing. “When?”
“After the trial’s commencement, I imagine.” He smoothed a hand through the air. “We still have plenty of time.”
But her gaze darted feverishly again, refusing to be calmed. “No, we don’t…I need to write down my appeals and the counterpoints for any arguments they might have. And I should start now…there’s so much to do.” She snatched up the tray and bobbed an oddly-formal curtsy. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Cistine.” Her name slid out of him, anguished, and she turned back at the door. “Thank you for the tea.”
She raised the tray. “Any time you want to gossip about your family history, I’ll keep the kettle warm.”
In her absence, Thorne sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands, overwhelmed and enraged with himself.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was doing everything wrong by her.
He was still sitting like that more than an hour later when the door opened again and Quill’s voice reached him. “Saychelle and Iri just arrived, they’re in…” he trailed off, a frown in his silence. “Thorne?”
“I’m coming.” Cursing, he reached back for the edge of the table, stiff and shaky from sitting so long on the floor; his calves loosed a throbbing pang sharp enough that he buckled.
Quill was beside him in a flash, one hand on his back, the other on his chest. “You’re all right, you’re all right. Steady, Allet.”
Gripping his friend’s shoulder, Thorne scowled. “Just stiff.”
“Right.” There was nothing convinced in his tone. “You know we’re all here if there’s anything you need?”
Turn back time, then. Make it so Cistine never met us. Give me the courage to kill Salvotor and face the second death before it came to this. “I know.”
“All right, good.” Quill shook him lightly, then let go.
Thorne straightened, breathed deep, and brought his armor back around himself. “Where are they?”
“Ari’s room. Tati’s hunting her down.”
Thorne beckoned him with nod out into the corridor where the cabal’s rooms all lined up—his at one end, Aden’s at the other. Ariadne had already arrived at her closed door, the murmur of a dozen Vassoran voices wafting from beyond it; but she didn’t enter, just hovered, then turned anxious eyes on them when they approached.
Quill shoved a cinnamon stick between his lips, halting beside her. “I know it’s been ten years and everything’s changed, but she’s still your sister. If Pip and I were separated like that, no matter for how long, I’d want to see her. She’d want to see me, too.”
Ariadne nodded, eyes glinting. As one, they entered the plain, pale room, blue ghostlight washing from the tabletop and mantle, painting stripes over the visnpresta Saychelle, her mentor Iri, and the Vassoran guard securing the room. Thorne’s stomach clenched at the sight of them the same way it did when he laid eyes on Saychelle in Keltei Temple, the first time in ten years looking at the woman he used to love.
She deserved better. Through this trial where she would testify as witness to her sister’s suffering, he hoped to offer her a shred of that.
Everything fell silent when Ariadne whispered her sister’s name. Saychelle whirled to face her, and all at once no one else mattered. There were just two sisters, one clad in robes and one in armor, one silver-haired and one black as night, meeting halfway through the room to grip each other’s arms.
“You’ve grown,” Ariadne remarked, looking her over.
Saychelle’s lips twitched. “I would hope so, after all this time.”
“I didn’t mean your height.” She swallowed audibly. “Thank you for risking everything you’ve built of yourself to bring Salvotor to his knees.”
“I’m not doing anything for that bandayo. This is for you, Ari. All of it, my place in the Order, this testimony I’m giving, everything…it’s always been for you.”
The last word was barely out of her mouth when Ariadne pulled her into a crushing hug, and Saychelle flung her arms around her neck, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder. Quill grinned, and Iri’s eyes brimmed with tears; but though Thorne wanted to be happy for them, reunited at long last, dread settled in his bones instead.
After tonight, there was no stopping the barreling forward of the trial. These sisters would face Salvotor in the courtroom, and there was little telling what Nimmus he prepared for them in his confinement, with nothing to do but scheme and plot against the Courts. Against Thorne’s cabal.
He hadn’t protected either of them when Salvotor attacked them a decade ago. And he wasn’t certain he could protect them now.
CHAPTER FIVE
FROM THE ROOFTOPS above Astoria, Ashe passed Solene Novacek and her Warden detail, moving swift as a shadow.
Every year, the Queen started her Darlaska shopping in the West Market, broad and glamorous with an agate fountain spanning its middle. Four streets and six alleys branched from the edges, and Ashe lunged across the narrowest one, scrambling up a shop’s sloped roof and draping herself against the spired pinnacle. She spotted Maleck easily below, though his attire was nothing like he usually wore: snug trousers, polished shoes, and a dark vest fitted to his chest and sides, stark white sleeves clashing with the red cravat and trickster’s tophat slanting on his unbraided hair. His posture completed a look of casual innocence, elbow propped on the side of a flower cart at the second street’s mouth. It had taken some threatening looks and finesse to secure the trappings, and more than that to convince Maleck it was all necessary.
Now he stared her down, finding her as easily on the rooftops as she found him in the crowd. She flashed a grin and patted her cheeks, mouthing, It suits you.
Free me from this, his gaze pleaded.
She propped her shoulder to the spire, shrugging, and he tugged his cravat and fixed her with a glare. Fluttering her lashes, she pulled her gaze away from that painfully well-fitting suit to the mouth of the street where the entourage of Wardens slipped into the crowd.
This time, she signaled outright. Here they come.
With a swift nod, Maleck was on the hunt. Ashe crouched, arm looped around the spire, and watched the scene unfold below.
The Queen entered the market like a gust of summer air, warming the chilly vendors and customers with her ready smile and calling men and women from the crowd to shop and speak with her. Ashe couldn’t help a small, sad smile. Though only seven years separated them, she’d longed to see Solene as a mother when hers was always disappointed at best, ashamed of her at worst. Solene, on the other hand, had called Ashe God-sent and gifted when her violin’s sweet song lulled a fussy newborn Cistine, or when she took the princess to play while Solene fulfilled her queenly duties.
But after today, she might just be the latest in a long string of people to look at Asheila Kovar with betrayal in their eyes.
A timely cloud rolled across the sun, caressing Ashe’s face with shadows. On the corner of her vision at the market’s edge, a woman peeled away from a stall side and glided after the Queen with casual grace. Six paces away, she knocked down her hood, bearing her feathery red hair and angular features to the weak daylight.
The Wardens were on her like wildfire. Two gripped her arms, yanking her away from Solene; a third grabbed her chin and backed her to the fountain, looking into her bright brown eyes. Then they bundled her away in a flurry, no doubt demanding where she came by a Cadre uniform and what she wanted with the Queen.
Ashe held Maleck’s gaze across the market, her despair reflected in his eyes. Rion’s word had already reached the Wardens, then; anyone who looked like Asheila Kovar, redheaded and in Cadre attire, was not allowed near Solene.
Tears stung the tip of her nose. She cursed and scrubbed them away, and Maleck’s face softened, his jaw unknotting. Then he straightened, smoothed his clothes, and chose a soft pink rose from the cart as the Queen and her escort drew near. When a gap broke in the crowd, he stepped forward, half-angled in the Queen’s path, and offered the rose with a bow, one arm tucked behind his back. “A gift from your selvenar.”
Solene stiffened at the word, taking the rose gingerly, sunlight whispering on the note wrapped around its stem. By the time her entourage moved on, she was already reading it, and Ashe was already moving. She’d wasted too much time distracted by the Wardens’ reaction; now she lunged recklessly from rooftop to rooftop, flipping over the ledge into the third alley and landing on the cobblestones with buckled knees, bouncing upright to face the narrow mouth just as the Queen slipped inside.
“Asheila.” A thin stripe of danger edged her gentle voice. “This cloak-and-dagger isn’t like you. Something must be very wrong if you’re following me from the rooftops and sending a lookalike to test my guard.”
A sheepish smile wrung across Ashe’s lips. “How much do you know?”
“I know orders came from the northern forts two days ago, which my Wardens burned before they increased the watch at my doors and windows. And from their reaction to that woman in the market just now, I suspect those orders had something to do with you.”
Shadows shivered along the cold alley walls, and Maleck alighted on the rooftop, keeping watch for Solene’s guards. His presence was a surprising beacon of strength for the next words that came from Ashe’s mouth. “Rion sent those orders. He stripped me of my title…he doesn’t want us speaking.”
“He’s back from the North?” Solene pulled nearer, jaw feathering. “Then where is my daughter?”
“Still in Valgard.” Ashe flashed her palms for peace. “The rumors you’ve heard are true. Cistine, Julian, and I went to treat with them for an alliance to thwart King Jad.”
“How did Cistine know about the threat from Mahasar?”
“That was my fault. But sooner or later she would’ve learned. It seems like everyone has by now, what with the King being in Middleton. Even Darlaska can’t quiet the whispers.”
Solene didn’t deny it, but her face remained stern. “And whose idea was it to travel north?”
“Cistine’s. I went along to keep her safe.”
“Is she safe?”
“She is.” And Ashe truly believed it now, though it was an understanding hard-won through her own mistakes, face-to-face with her specters. “She sent me to ensure you hear that…and to bring you this.”
She drew Cistine’s note from her pocket, written in the same cipher that drew Solene into this alley. She flicked it out and the Queen caught it, unfolded the creases, and read silently. When she looked up again, her eyes narrowed. “What is Rion going to tell me differently from this?”
“That Cistine’s being held against her will, most likely. That you need to send every available Warden who’s not in Middleton to retrieve her.”
“And you don’t believe I should?”
Ashe shook her head. “Cistine is there because she wants to be, and we both know dragging her home would betray her trust.”
Solene folded the cipher down to its smallest square, her gaze fixed over her shoulder toward the market. “I knew we couldn’t keep her away from Valgard forever, no matter how much Cyril hoped. She’s always had that longing, just like him.”
“Because they’re both Keys?”
Solene swung around to face her, wide-eyed. “Does she know?”
Ashe nodded. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? How could you expect me to really protect her if I didn’t know the truth about what I was protecting her from?”
“Because we were afraid. We hoped if we controlled every whisper about Valgard, Cistine would never wonder about it. Then we tried to extend our bloodline so that if Valgard ever learned the truth, there would be so many Novacek children they would only have to spill a few drops of blood each to open the Doors. But that…well, you know.” Solene laid a hand to her plump middle. “So I tried to prepare her to defend herself with the bow. Cyril coddled her so she would never want to leave. But I still feared this time would come.”
“Maybe it’s not something to be afraid of. It might be just what we need.” The words hung strange on Ashe’s lips, but she forced herself to keep speaking. “Cistine’s spent months building trust with the Valgardans, and with the Writ of Nobility from Rion, she’s on the brink of securing a real alliance. She sent me to convince Jad it’s already in place.”
“To discourage the threat of war,” Solene breathed.
Ashe stepped toward her. “If we let this play out, I know she’ll come through for us. We just have to trust her.”
Though the depth of the Queen’s breaths suggested she fought not to cry, her voice was steady when she said, “Cistine is a brave and powerful girl. More powerful than she knows. You may be right…just like her father, she might turn the tide for us all.” Quietly, she added, “Though gods only know how she’s managed to negotiate thus far, she never had much time for politics.”
“She’s had a good teacher in Valgard.” Ashe cast a glance at the rooftops. “Several good teachers, actually.”
Solene squared her shoulders. “When I take Rion’s report, I’ll bear this in mind. I’ll bear in mind, too, that Cyril sent him away for a reason seven years ago. The Bartos family does not always have sound thinking in matters pertaining to Valgard.”
Ashe’s chest clenched. “Then you’re letting her stay?”
“She’s of age. It isn’t my choice.” Solene’s crisp tone clashed with the dampness in her eyes. “I love my husband and daughter. I’d rather see us allied to Valgard than at odds, with their lives at stake. I only have one condition: you get to Middleton as quickly as you can. These peace talks with Mahasar are not progressing well so far. And I fear…” The mask of the calm ruler fell away, revealing the anxious wife beneath. “I fear for Cyril facing that madman again. Jad’s promise of retribution was especially against him. If Cistine’s plan succeeds, she may save more than our kingdom. She may save her father.”
Ashe swallowed a swell of fear. “I’ll leave straight from here. Thank you for hearing my report—and for believing in Cistine. She needs our support to make this treaty possible.”
The Queen’s eyes shone with tears. “I know you’re right. But to give it is to lose my daughter’s heart to the North.”
Ashe had no answer for that; in some ways, she already had.
The moment Ashe rounded the alley corner, Maleck descended beside her, stripping off his cravat. “I see where Cistine inherited her bearing. And her fire.”
“You should’ve heard them arguing during archery lessons.” With some base level of disappointment, she watched him shed the vest, unbutton his shirt cuffs, and roll the sleeves to his elbows. “Ready to leave?”
His eyes flashed to her, strangely soft. “Would you believe me if I said I would be just as content to stay here for a hundred winter nights?”
Ashe kicked his haunch. “Hopeless flirt.”
“Quill claims I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Because you’ve never flirted with him.”
While Maleck chuckled and strode ahead, Ashe hesitated, looking back—a twist of worry in her chest.
Even hearing her title was stripped, Solene had offered no guarantee of a place for her when this was done. Whether or not they succeeded in Middleton, Ashe had no promises of a future with the royal family.
But even so, she had to go.
CHAPTER SIX
TATIANA DAWNSTAR BREATHED in the sweet smell of freshly-laundered linens, skin prickling deliciously where a powerful arm circled her waist and a three-fingered hand rested on her hip. Distantly, a fire crackled in the hearth, and husky snores stirred the ringlets at the nape of her neck. But whatever Quill was dreaming about, his body wrapped around hers in the sheets of their bed, in their apartment, it couldn’t possibly be better than what she was waking up to—what she’d dreamed of having and never let herself hold until it was almost too late. She tucked herself more firmly into his curves, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of fever-bright mornings, icy plunges, and mountain heights.
