Stones of light threadli.., p.11
Stones of Light (Threadlight Book 2), page 11
“We have a plan, but you must trust us. Stay in your homes. Board up your doors and windows. Keep your lanterns dark. And under no circumstance should you attempt to fight these creatures. Bravery and stupidity are ever at odds, and, in this case, to fight is to prove your own ignorance.
“Now, gather your supplies and go home. Tonight, stay safe. The time to fight will come.”
A somber chill covered the crowd as they cowered beneath their chastisement. Laurel watched as parents clutched their children a little more tightly. Slowly, the courtyard emptied and the guards atop the platform guided the Great Lord toward his keep.
Laurel turned to Alabella and found the woman staring off into the distance. She nearly asked what was on her mind, but she knew. Their trip to the Fairenwild. The shattered coreseal. Opening the tunnel. Alabella had caused this with her reckless goals and ambitions. She'd wanted equality for all, and she'd found it. All are equal in death.
Alabella turned to Laurel and the others. “I have an idea. Come with me. We need to have a conversation with the Great Lord.”
A group of Alchean guards ushered them to the Great Lord’s study high in the keep tower. Laurel felt a tightness in her chest as she walked the halls, the painful echo of a memory. She felt at her breast pocket to make sure her transfuser was still there. Her nerves urged her to take it and drink, but she refused. Sarla had only given her enough for one in the morning and one in the evening. She needed to save it.
Finally, the door opened, and the guards led them inside. Alabella, Sarla, and Laurel were led in gracefully, and Barrick was searched before they allowed him to enter. Inside the room, Great Lord Malachus Endin stood behind a large table, flanked by a wide window that overlooked the city. Surrounding the table were a host of other men and women, two of whom Laurel recognized: High General Henna and Luther. When they saw her, they gave each other a confused look.
“Great Lord,” one of the guards said. “This is the woman I told you about.”
Malachus took a deep breath and looked up from the city map sprawled across his table. “I was told you have a means of making the creatures visible. You have two minutes to explain.”
Alabella placed two fingers to the rim of her Felian lightshades. “I only need one.”
When she took off her lightshades, Amber threadlight blazed from her irises. One of the older generals gasped, but they all seemed to distance themselves at the revelation. But Luther knew—Laurel could see it in the fire of his eyes. He’d known of the Amber-eyed leader of the Bloodthieves, and now he saw her. His teeth crushed together as he fought to maintain his composure.
Alabella did not smile or taunt—she gave no undue provocation. Instead, she stood tall and eyed the Great Lord with confidence. “I will be honest, if you will be patient. In this time of unexpected darkness, we must all be willing to ally ourselves with unexpected associates.”
Malachus eyed her warily. “I’ve heard of you, and now that I see you, I do believe we’ve met before.”
“To the future,” she replied, pretending to lift a glass.
"Ah, yes. I believe we toasted to those words." Malachus lifted his hands to address the others in the room. “Friends, allow me to introduce the leader of the Bloodthieves.”
Every eye bore down on her, as though she were a snake, waiting to strike. But that was not why she’d come. As much as Laurel loathed the woman, she respected her decision to offer aid to the Alchean people.
“Sheath your egos,” Alabella said, calmly. “We are all here to save lives, and I come to offer a donation. Your men do not stand a chance against the corespawn, because they cannot see them. I have a supply of threadweaver blood that will give your men the ability to see threadlight, and thus see the enemy. I understand that you see the consumption of threadweaver blood as immoral. However, in desperate times, men must choose between morality and victory. You must ask yourselves if your conscience is worth more than the lives of your people.”
“This is absurd!” A man in his late forties with an ill-placed scar on his lower lip and Emerald eyes, spoke with a gruff voice. “We can’t—"
“Rynan,” Malachus cut in. “I know for a fact that you would kill a thousand men to save one of your own. Would you not take one drug to save a nation?”
“It’s not a drug!” Rynan said. “It's a blasphemy! You would be feeding blood to our soldiers. Blood that once ran in the body of another man.”
Malachus hardened his gaze. “The smallest speck of dust can change the fate of a duel. You know this. We are not talking about a speck of dust in the eye; we are talking about an entire battle without sight.”
High General Henna stood with her chin high. “The Order of Alchaeus would never support this. The Stone Council—”
“I am the Stone Council,” Malachus cut in.
“Respectfully, sir, you are the Great Lord,” Henna said. “They may call you the head of the Stone Council, but, in reality, you know that is not true.”
“Whether they believe it or not, it is what it is. The Order of Alchaeus is living under my roof at this very moment. I control their future. They are in no position to question my decisions.”
“What do you want, Malachus? Do you want our opinion?” Rynan asked. “Or do you want us to sit down like good little boys and do what we're told?”
"You go too far, Rynan," Malachus said, eying the man. “We’ve been discussing ideas for hours and we have no plan. We would be fools not to entertain an idea that could offer an advantage. I am not agreeing to it outright, but I am not foolish enough to discard the idea on the basis of some variable definition of morality. Remind me your name,” Malachus added.
“Alabella Rune.”
The Great Lord met her gaze, her Amber connecting with his Emerald and Sapphire. “Lady Alabella, bring your blood to the keep. We need to be prepared to use it should we find no other alternative.”
Alabella nodded. “To the future.”
Chapter 15
When he came to, Alverax was lying on the rocky floor of a river, completely submerged. His body groaned as he ripped himself out of the water and drank in the air above. The skin over his upper spine stung as if he’d gashed it on a rock.
He took off his tuxedo jacket, which had rips along the seams of both armpits, and tattered edges along the chest. He tossed it aside and unbuttoned his shirt. When he examined the white dress shirt, he found only the slightest remnants of blood along the back, so he figured he would be okay.
The sun rose over the eastern horizon, illuminating the white walls of Felia across the river.
He must have been unconscious for hours.
Heralds.
Iriel and Aydin had been captured. The Elders were prisoners. If they were lucky, some few of the Zeda had managed to escape. But the more he remembered the swarm of incoming soldiers, the less likely that seemed. They were all apprehended. And they were going to be executed.
For what? A crime he didn’t even commit. What was that creature? Was it even real? Was he losing his sanity? He felt okay, but perhaps madness only felt like madness to those not fully mad. No, he was fairly certain he was sane. He'd seen the creature. He'd watched it kill the empress. Then he'd watched it explode.
What worried him more than anything was wondering if there were more of them.
He picked himself up, took a step toward Felia, and paused. If he went back, they would kill him. He could head east and find a nice quiet town. Or maybe join a caravan headed south, jump on a boat, and spend the rest of his life on the beaches of Kulai. That didn’t sound half bad. But that damned question—the question posed by Elder Rowan simply to torment his brittle mind—had taken a firm grip on his soul. He could hear her voice. What manner of man will you be?
I don't know. I want to bring hope to people.
With the great walls of Felia looming in the distance, Alverax knew what he had to do.
He made his way to the main road and met a small group of traders that let him join their caravan. One kindly old man offered him clothing to wear in exchange for his wet clothing, a deal that Alverax was certain would benefit the old man in the long run.
It didn't take long to reach the main gates of Felia. An army of soldiers crowded the entrance, but they were more focused on people attempting to leave, and the leader of the caravan knew one of the guards who let them in. After they'd passed through the gates, Alverax thanked his companions and headed north toward the palace.
He traveled down quiet paths, away from the main thoroughfare, and several times he nearly walked into patrolling guards. With the numbers he'd seen, he assumed that they hadn't been able to round up all of the Zeda, and still searched them out. Their pale skin set them apart, and the tattoo on their back was an easy identifier. Their people were not prepared for assimilation, especially in Felia.
As he grew closer to the palace, he grew more and more worried about his plan. It was audacious and required a little more bravado than he'd normally presume, but if he could pull it off, he might just be able to do something truly good. There were plenty of ways it could go wrong, but, at the end of the day, Jisenna was the Mistress of Mercy, and he hoped that would be enough.
By the time he reached the palace, he was as cold as he was tired. The pain along his spine had faded only the slightest, even when he let a bit of threadlight into his veins. He looked out over the palace grounds and found even more guards than he'd expected. They were like weeds, infesting every inch of the walls, with large groups covering every entrance. He followed the wall from a distance, looking for any area that might have less eyes watching—maybe he'd be able to float over without being seen—but the guards were efficient in their duty. By the end, he stood near the large canal that fed the palace with fresh water from the river upstream.
Which gave him an idea.
He dove into the water, letting himself sink far below the surface, and followed the current toward the palace. Soon, the canal ended with a series of large pipes, each closed off with a grate. He tried pulling on one, but it wouldn't budge. He spent a full minute underwater thrashing against the grate before he realized that there was a latch. After he released it, the grate opened with ease.
He carefully ascended for a gulp of air, then paused to prepare himself. If he went through the pipe, he'd end up somewhere in the palace. He wasn't sure where, or if he could hold his breath long enough, or even if he could find an exit large enough to fit through. But it was the best chance he had to get inside, and if anyone could hold their breath long enough, it was the breath-holding champion of Cynosure.
He filled his lungs with air and dove down, filled with renewed purpose. The tunnel grew pitch black, and he worried for a moment that he would lose his sense of direction. His hand trailed along the edge of the tunnel as he kicked his legs behind him.
After several minutes in darkness, taking twists and forks that he hoped would keep him centered, he stopped to feel the surroundings. He hadn’t seen even a glimpse of light, and it was quite possible that he had missed whatever path he should have taken. He’d known it was a foolish plan, but it wasn’t until that moment, surrounded in darkness and entombed by frigid water, that he realized just how foolish he had been. He’d only wanted to help, to force their hand somehow, but now he was going to die somewhere where no one would ever find him.
It was too late to turn around. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his breath long enough to return back the way he'd come, not to mention he'd be swimming against the gentle current. So, instead, he continued on. Swimming for his life. Swimming for the life of his friends. Swimming because he was the only hope the Zeda people had, and he’d be damned if he let them die without giving everything he had to save them.
And, fortunate for him, Blightwoods don’t die easy.
With renewed hope, Alverax pressed on. His hand brushed along the side of the tunnel, and he steadily kicked his feet back and forth. He would find an exit. He had to. But the further he went, he still found nothing. He let the last of his air out, releasing pressure from his lungs, and knew he only had one more minute to find air.
He swam as fast as his legs could propel him, but the faster he swam the more he needed to breathe. His lungs screamed in silent protest, begging for just the smallest bit of food to fill their emptiness. A rhythmic beating echoed in his skull, and he knew that consciousness was only moments away from fading.
He’d tried. It was the most he could do. He knew he was close; he could sense a shift in the water. Warmer, perhaps? But it was too late. His feet refused to kick. His body floated down to the bottom of the tunnel, scraping against the rounded walls and tearing at the wound on his back. As his mind wrestled with consciousness, he thought he saw a light in the distance. If he could only make it.
Just as he opened his mouth to breathe in his defeat, air seemed to pour into his lungs, rejuvenating him just enough to push off the ground toward the light. His body moved through the water like he was a creature of the sea itself. The light grew along with his hope. Before he knew it, he was crashing face-first into another grate. He opened the latch, pushed it open, and shot out into the open air above.
His lungs took it in like a father returning from war and squeezing his children with all his might. Never again would he depreciate the value of a single breath. Never again would he be dumb enough to swim into an endless tunnel of water without knowing what was on the other end…
He looked around and found dim lamplight illuminating a large room filled with two pools and shameful memories. Of all the places, it seemed the Heralds were playing a cruel joke.
He was in the Sun Bath.
Alverax lifted himself out of the pool and remembered his first encounter with Jisenna just days before. A mountain of curls piled atop her head. The way she’d winked at him as he left. He could wait for her there, but he needed something a little more dramatic. A little more nefarious.
Unfortunately, his clothes were soaked and there was no spare clothing in the Sun Bath. He took off his shirt and trousers, wrung them until they no longer dripped, and put them back on, pressing down with his palms to straighten the wrinkles. It would have to do.
He wasted no time, briskly hiking through the grand hallways. Servants scuttled past him, eyeing his wet clothes, but ignoring him in favor of their own tasks. As he drew closer to his destination, Alverax slowed his pace and stole a man’s jacket hanging from the bottom of a sconce. He put it on and made his way forward with the fine gait of noble arrogance.
A pair of sturdy guards flanked a pair of sturdy doors chiseled to depict the two Heralds and their blessing. They eyed Alverax as he approached.
“My apologies, gentleman,” Alverax said with a clipped tone.
Both guards moved in unison to intercept him but found themselves unexpectedly freed from the confines of gravity. They each tumbled forward with eyes as large as the fish their movements resembled.
Alverax strode forward and heaved both doors open, Obsidian threadlight now coursing through his veins. The heavy oak slammed against the walls and he strode into the room. His eyes moved to a large throne, occupied by a woman who seemed both too little and too great for the seat.
A dozen fastidious guards, all threadweavers, shifted in their boots. When they realized who it was, they rushed him as one, their training so well-instilled that their very footsteps fell in unison. In a wave of threadlight, Alverax broke their corethreads, sending the entire group tumbling through the air, screaming for others to come. His veins burned, and his chest flared like a smith's forge, but the scale was nothing compared to what he’d done at the Zeda encampment.
One of the guards hurled a spear, but it went wide, and the man tumbled backward in the air.
Empress Jisenna rose from her throne, white fabric falling from her like feathers. The elder man, Watchlord Osinan, stood beside her with fire in his eyes.
“How dare you,” Watchlord Osinan said, his lips trembling as he spoke.
“I’m here to make a deal,” Alverax said calmly.
“We will not make a deal with a murderer!”
“I AM THE HERALD’S CHOSEN!” Alverax screamed. He needed them to fear him. He needed them to believe that he was dangerous, even if it tore away at the part of his soul that cared for Jisenna. “Look around you. Your people are nothing to me.”
Watchlord Osinan took a step forward, clutching the hilt of the sword at his side.
“I don’t think so.” Alverax broke the older man's corethread and he rose into the air. “I will not repeat myself, and there will be no negotiations. Your people honor the truth, so if you agree and go back on your word, I swear that the Heralds themselves will smite you down.”
Jisenna stood alone, tears welling up in her dark eyes as she watched all those around her tumble through the air like specs of dust in the wind. “I...don't understand. What do you want?”
“I want all of the Zeda people released. They will not be harmed, and they will never return.”
“Absolutely not!” Osinan shouted, still hovering in the air.
“In return,” Alverax strode forward, ignoring the Watchlord and looking at Jisenna, “I will take their place. They are not to blame, however much you'd like to lay it at their feet. You have my word that I will make no attempt to escape. I will pay the price of your sister’s death.”
Jisenna's chest rose up and down and her bottom lip quivered, but his words had gripped her. He knew that they were grieving—Jisenna most of all. They were angry and confused. And if the Mistress of Mercy could save the lives of innocent people while still finding justice for the one responsible, he hoped she would take it.
Alverax stood in silence, waiting for her to respond. His own emotions welled up within him. He still cared for Jisenna and hated that he was deceiving her. But it was for the best. A man would be wise to stay far away from a woman such as yourself, he’d said to her. Oh, how right he’d been.
