21. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Raven
A fter Caelan charged out the door, Farad sent the guardsmen at the main door away. Then he checked the room for signs of spies, carefully searching behind the large tapestry on the wall that hid the door to a secret passageway.
The whole time my heart hammered in my chest as I stared at him. My handler. In the flesh.
This was the man who’d guided me ever since I was sent to the Coterie. The man who’d sent me into Los four cycles ago to get close to Tanead.
I’d never known his name. I hadn’t even known he was a priest of the Temple of Divine Right, if he really was one. Was that just another disguise? He’d always come to me in plain clothes that were impossible to place. Too dull for a noble but too finely made for a commoner. When I saw him in the burnt-down town beside the crown prince, it was all I could do to stay on my mount with a straight face and wait for him to create a chance for us to speak.
“The doors and walls are thick in this place,” Farad said finally. He spoke in the same smooth voice he’d used with Caelan. It sounded like river water. His eyes, always half-squinted, scanned the room as if an enemy might suddenly materialize. His hands found their way into the loose sleeves of his green draping robes.
“So. Priest Farad, is it? Nice to meet you.” I couldn’t help but be stiff. He hadn't made contact once during my four cycles in Los. I'd wondered at times if he'd forgotten me or if he cared about my mission at all. I was glad to at least have clothes on when we met again. Caelan had given me a simple loose dress to wear to sleep.
Farad smiled. “Now, now, no need for saltiness. You’ve done so well, Raven. I’m proud of you.” Though Farad's posture was regal and upright, the arms that came around me in a hug were warm. They squeezed me tightly in a genuine embrace.
Tears sprang to my eyes. They surprised me with their suddenness, and I wouldn’t let them fall. I couldn't let my handler perceive weakness in me—not when he felt I’d done well. My arms wrapped around him too and I leaned into the unexpected hug. Had he ever hugged me before? Yes, once.
It was soon after we met. I’d just been brought to the northern territory, The Pass, like illicit cargo, kept in a box for weeks in a pile of my own shit and fed through a straw by men who were paid by the secret underground known as the Revival. It was all that was left of the rebellion my father had built.
It was my first time out in the world, and it was horrible. The north was so cold and bright. I’d grown up in the Emperor’s Dungeon, hidden from the emperor's notice by Eymen, the head guard down there. He protected me when everyone I’d ever known was dead or gone. Then one day, he led me out of the dungeon and thrust me into a new world full of people who valued me only for my name and what it could do for them.
It was Farad who had welcomed me when I reached the north. He’d hugged me, even though I was covered in shit. In all the time since, he’d never done it again, but I’d never forgotten.
“Has Tanead really escaped?” I asked when Farad pulled back. I felt reluctant to let him go, but I must appear strong. He’d want to discuss business.
“Yes, but he won’t escape the fortress.”
“He can burn,” I said, eager to show all I knew.
“Oh yes, I know. The bodies he left behind in the dungeon prove as much.”
I masked my disappointment and tried again. “Asherah was born.”
“Yes. The eclipse came to mark the beginning of the Rebirth, just as was foretold. We are on the path of destiny now, my child.” His words came slowly. Each one felt important, and he gave them the space they deserved. He sat down on a chair, resting aging legs, though his eyes constantly scanned the doors. “Tell me everything, but be quick.”
So I told him of Tanead’s character, and of the dragon that had hatched and now stumbled its way down the side of the mountain. I told him of my fight with Caelan, and of my decision to use him to infiltrate Vaharilar's court. I opened my mouth to speak of Caelan’s great secret—his altaya magic—but the deep voice intervened.
Knowledge is power, he said. Don’t give yours away so easily, little bird.
My mouth snapped shut. That was true. But I could trust Farad, couldn’t I? I had always taken for granted that I could.
Farad’s eyes narrowed as he sensed my omission. “What is it?”
He didn’t trust me. He’d kept even his name a secret. Perhaps that still rankled a little because I said, “Tanead isn’t trying to escape the fortress. He’s trying to find the egg of Archeon.”
Farad’s expression had indicated only polite interest through my entire story, but here, his eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
“Because I told him it was here and how to retrieve it. He won’t be able to help it; he’s obsessed with egg-hunting. Cares about it even more than about the living dragon waiting for him back home. He’ll look to escape with it back into Los.”
“A fool’s errand,” Farad said.
“Tanead would prefer the term ‘ambitious.’”
“And you felt this path was preferable over Caelan’s death and Tanead’s immediate return to Asherah because…?”
“Two eggs in the hands of the Losians is better than one. Asherah will wait for Tanead; in fact, she’s coming for him. And I couldn’t free Tanead without killing Caelan. Oh, I wanted to kill Caelan.” My eyes sparked with the memory. Just telling the story, the rage I’d felt during our fight on the plains flooded back into me. Just as abruptly, a picture of his face by the river entered my mind to overlay the older memory. His hair was still mussed from sleep and his eyes stared far away into the purple smudge of light on the horizon. He’d seemed almost haunted.
“But when I realized I could make him take me home with him, I saw there was a greater opportunity. I can get him to bring me into the heart of the court, right into the nest of snakes. I can get close to the emperor. I can kill more than just one Slayer; I can kill them all.” I yearned for Farad’s approval of my plan, but his eyes narrowed.
“Tanead is not the only person of ambition in this fortress tonight, Raven. Sometimes I see your father’s ambition in you. But you must be careful not to overestimate what you can do. The responsibility for the Revival does not lie solely on your shoulders.”
“Of course not,” I said, though I’d always felt like it did.
“Think of how unlikely it is for you to kill three royals without ever being caught or suspected. You’re too valuable in other ways to throw your life away on such a reckless scheme.”
My eyes dropped and I slipped into a humble pose automatically. “Yes, of course.” Valuable because I could make any man the automatic leader of the Revival and a candidate for the throne just by marrying him. I wanted to be valuable for reasons besides just my blood and my name. I’d taken bold actions hoping my handler would see me and the things I could contribute. But I’d have to work harder. I'd have to keep proving myself.
“Still, it’s an achievement. You are the first companion in generations. You may not be able to wipe out the Havards but you will certainly be excellently positioned to receive valuable information to pass to those who can.”
I glanced up to see Farad smiling warmly. “It’s good, Raven. It’s very good. Does Tanead still trust you?”
“I’m not sure. He was furious about missing Asherah’s birth but once he has Archeon's egg, I believe he will forgive me.”
"He won’t get it,” Farad said.
I shrugged. "It's there. I can see it. Whether he can get it out of the fortress is another question."
“Can you tell if he has it yet?”
I closed my eyes and gazed along the path I’d told Tanead to follow. I couldn’t see Tanead, of course, but I could see the egg, pulsing weakly at the bottom of a deep pit. “It’s still right where it was. He must not have reached it yet.”
“Then we have a choice to make. Do we recapture Tajawl or ensure his escape?”
Was my handler asking me ? I’d never been considered in the making of decisions before. My role was to obey, often silently. Warmth lit like a hearth fire in my chest. I’d earned respect. Finally, the Revival would start to see what I could do.
I told you, little bird, said the deep voice.
I had to admit it had been right. Following Caelan here was the best thing I could’ve done.
“I—I think we help Tanead escape. We make sure Caelan doesn’t suspect me. But it’s better for us if Tanead gets back to Asherah, isn’t it? I’ll be in a strong position at court and Tanead will still be in Los, building up an army to overthrow the Slayers. When the time comes, we can call on him as an ally.”
Farad nodded his approval. “Then that is what we’ll do.” I had a feeling he’d already decided, but he’d wanted to give me the chance to see the best course of action for myself, and I hadn’t disappointed. “Stay your course, Raven. Obey Caelan like a good companion. Earn his trust, if you can. Enchant his cock if you can’t. But be careful—I’ve warned you before.” His eyes bored into me, scolding me for carrying my mother’s blood, cautioning me not to allow it to distract me from my duty.
“I’ll be careful,” I promised.
“I’ll see to Tanead myself. Do you have any idea where he is?” Farad asked.
“He might still be climbing down.” I gave him the same directions I’d given Tanead.
“I’ll find him.”
I nodded, feeling unexpectedly bereft at the thought of my handler leaving. “When will I speak with you again?” I asked.
Farad paused at the door. “Who knows, Raven? You’re in the game now. Asherah is Reborn. Things will move faster.”
He opened the main door, but a rustle of the tapestry on the wall that hid the secret door grabbed our attention. It must be Caelan returning. Farad’s face composed itself into the proper expression to explain why the guards were no longer outside. He might carry no weapons, but the mask he wore was weapon enough.
But it wasn’t Caelan. Tanead flew through opening instead. In a whirl of movement, he tackled Farad to the ground and began punching his face. One punch, split lip. Two, redness bloomed across Farad’s chin.
“Tanead, no!” I shouted. “He’s a friend.”
Tanead dropped his third punch in the older man’s gut and Farad cried out pitifully, curling over. He dry heaved. Spots of blood blossomed on his green robes from the tiny punctures made by the horns on each of Tanead’s knuckles.
Tanead stood and rounded on me. “A friend, eh?” There was rage in his eyes and no egg in his arms.
I raised my hands to show myself to be weaponless. “Where’s the egg?” I asked, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
Tanead sneered. His hands began to glow red. My back hit the wall. “The egg is buried beneath rock. I couldn’t get to it. But you already knew that, didn’t you, Priestess? Just like you knew when my dragon would be born and didn’t tell me.”
“No—” I started, but Tanead’s rage had him on a roll.
“You’ve been working with the fucking invaders all along, haven’t you? I bet you sucked princely cock as a child. His cum as good as mother’s milk?”
The words and insults spilled from him, tumbling over each other, and all the while his hands grew redder and redder. The heat that emanated off him warmed the room. Every step he took was a step closer to my death.
“No,” I said firmly. “Tanead, no. My Sight shows me the egg. The climb is clear. They must’ve filled it in with regular stone—with a rock I can't see. And Asherah—I didn’t realize she’d be born so soon. I got it wrong, Tanead, I’m sorry, but I didn’t betray you.”
He cackled. His irises were no longer red slits. They had been subsumed by the fire inside him. It filled his entire eye with glowing orange fire. He truly looked demonic as he took careful steps towards me, drawing out the moment of fear, his arms wide like a monster in a child’s nightmare.
“You know what I’m going to burn first, Priestess? I’m going to burn out those lying eyes. Let’s see how your Sight works when you have nothing left but empty sockets.”
My back was against the wall. I had nowhere to go and nothing to fight with. Caelan had taken his weapons and mine when he left; there was nothing in this corner but the metal shackles on the floor below me. I bent down to pick them up, feeling their weight. They were still attached to the wall by chain but they were heavy. I might be able to get one good blow in and run.
My hands weren’t shaking. My mind was clear. I might shudder when a Slayer touched me gently, but threaten me with violence and my thoughts turned crisp and precise. “Come on, then,” I said, tired of begging, of trying to get him to believe me. He wouldn’t.
Tanead grinned widely and bent his knees as if to jump. I raised the shackles, bracing myself for the burn that would come when Tanead touched me. I had to hit him no matter how much pain I was in—a good hit on the side of the skull would be best.
The door to the hall slammed open.
“Help, help, he’s here!” Farad cried out, pitiful but loud. Footsteps thudded as Tanead curled his lip and spun towards the forgotten priest.
I raised a shackle high and brought it down on the side of Tanead’s head. The tips of my fingers touched his skin and searing pain lit up my nerves. But it was a good hit. Blood poured out from the cut I’d made with the protrusion where the lock threaded through.
Tanead stumbled, spinning around as he tried to remain standing. His fist flew out wide. It collided with my cheek.
Sharp pain bloomed where the horns on his knuckles cut me, followed by a wave of heat. I collapsed back against the wall from the force of the punch, but I still held the shackles. I must hit him again or next time, his touch would linger on me and the burns would be serious.
I lifted my hand, the shackle ready. He lifted his hand, red as a blacksmith’s poker. A new body launched itself into the room.
It wasn’t Caelan, though he wore armor like Caelan's. Red hair fell around his ears and his expression was almost cheerful as he whipped his sword about with seemingly no intended target. It went everywhere, like a darting snake, deadly and uncaring who it cut.
Crown Prince Amon.
Tanead dodged the blade and reached out with his hands, but Amon flew into motion again, hacking wildly. Tanead was slower than I'd ever seen him as he attempted to dodge. Amon sliced his arm and then his legs, targeting the wounds Caelan had already opened. They bled anew and Tanead stumbled, his eyes losing focus. Amon switched his grip and stepped close to slam the hilt of his blade down on Tanead's nose. There was an audible crack. The red-hot color of Tanead's skin began to drain away along with his lifeblood. It puddled on the floor, so hot it sizzled like dinner in a skillet over the fire.
“I hear you like to burn people and I wanted to see it for myself," Amon said conversationally. He kicked Tanead in the stomach, dropping him to the ground. Amon’s goons—the two men who had flanked him when we arrived here—hovered in the doorway but stayed back, allowing their prince to harvest the prize. "It's a nasty habit, but I think I've figured out how to prevent it."
Tanead tried to get up, but Amon exchanged his sword for a heavy baton and smashed him back down. Tanead tried to crawl to the doorway he’d entered through, but Amon smashed the bat into his back again. He wielded it as a humble man might chop wood with an axe. As forcefully. As casually.
“I think the solution is to chop off your hands. You have no hands, you can’t reach out and burn people. A good idea, don’t you think?”
Smash went the bat. I flinched. Tanead wasn’t moving much anymore. Blood pooled below him, coming mostly from a cut that went about halfway through his arm.
Amon bent down, cocky at the sight of his enemy so defeated. He twisted his head to make it easier for Tanead to see him, and he smiled. “So that’s what I’m going to do when I get you home, demon. I’m going to take your hands, finger by fucking finger.”
He waited for a response. The longer he waited, the more he frowned. He kicked at Tanead’s side with his boot. “Don’t die now. We have a lot of work to do. Aagha—wrap him up.”
The man who stepped forward was nearly as giant as Caelan. Wisps of pale hair flew around his mostly-bald head, reminiscent of a man much older than his unlined face would suggest. He roughly wrapped Tanead's wounds to stop them from killing him.
“It’s a shame you can’t cauterize your own wounds,” Amon mocked. His eyes were turning from the recaptured prisoner to me when the tapestry over the secret door pulled back and Caelan burst into the room. He was breathing heavily and his sword was drawn. Eyes, wide and panicked, took in the room with quick darts of observation, a warrior assessing a scene. They settled on me last of all, stroking my body up and down.
At last, he took a deep, calming breath.
“Brother!” Amon said, delighted. He held out his arms in welcome. “I’m always saying, the thing about second sons is that they like to be late. Isn’t that right?”
Aagha chuckled.
“Have you come to see the prisoner I’ve captured? It’s the fucking Heir of the demons, can you believe that? Our father will be so pleased.” Amon smirked.
Caelan was silent for a long moment. His eyes traveled between Tanead and me. They scanned Farad and Aagha. They didn’t look at his brother. I had a feeling he was assessing this room as if it were a battlefield. His voice was wooden and sour as he said, “Yes, congratulations, Brother. The Emperor will be impressed.”
Amon chuckled. It began as a quiet vibration, low in his stomach, and grew until it was uproarious and loud. His mouth was open very wide and the noise filled the chamber.
And they say the Tajawls are insane, I thought.
“And can you believe it? I’ve captured a second prize as well.”
Dread filled my stomach as Amon’s eyes slid, slowly and very deliberately, over to me. I felt sure the raw lust in them was faked as he swept his gaze from my toes to the top of my head.
Caelan looked blankly at the place where I stood. “I see no prize.”
“Finders keepers,” Amon drawled. His eyes were like stars that danced with pleasure. “This makes the woman mine, wouldn’t you say?”
“How do you figure?” Caelan kept his voice carefully neutral, but I could hear the edge hidden just out of sight, like a sword below a silken scarf.
“I saved her life. Therefore, it belongs to me.”
“I have already claimed her.” This was growled out from between clenched teeth. When Caelan had greeted his brother earlier, he’d been careful. Deferential. That man was gone. Caelan’s shoulders were tight and his eyes spat fire—not cold blue fire like the stars in the distant sky but hot, orange fire like an ember.
“Yes, with an ancient tradition. But I don’t think it’s quite as ancient as the concept of blood debts. Is it, Priest?” Amon turned suddenly to regard Farad, who sat on the floor nursing his split lip in his palm.
I glared at Farad in a hopefully subtle but clear warning not to side with Amon. I wanted to kill Amon, yes, but the thought of him owning me, of him touching me, was too abhorrent to contemplate. If it had been Amon I’d met in the desert, I would’ve killed him already, I was quite sure.
But Farad didn’t even look at me.
He nodded thoughtfully instead. “It is true that the concept of the blood debt is more ancient than the tradition of claiming a companion. However, I do not believe I’ve encountered an example in the histories when the two customs were in direct opposition.”
Amon still squatted over Tanead’s back. The tip of his baton was in the small of Tanead’s back and his hand encircled one of Tanead’s large horns. He pressed Tanead’s face hard into the stone floor. Every time he wriggled too much, Amon lifted the horn and smashed it down again, and Tanead’s face along with it. He did this without even looking, an offhanded act of violence.
“That’s because the owner of the companion should fucking protect her,” Amon said. “If he fails as a man, she should die.”
Caelan’s jaw clenched. He must be seeing stars with how tightly his bones ground together. It was strange to be fought over like a prize when all my life I’d been an anonymous shadow in the corner, my strings pulled only behind the scenes, my owner never revealing their true face or name.
“Then I owe you my thanks, Brother,” Caelan said. He bowed more deeply than a prince had any need to, except to the emperor. It was an offer of humility intended to slake Amon’s desire for humiliation and triumph, but all it did was whet his appetite.
His huge smile grew even wider. His face was all mouth. “You transfer the blood debt to yourself, then.”
Caelan froze deep in his bow. His breathing was heavy; everybody in the room could hear it. When he rose, his face was entirely masked, blank as I’d ever seen.
There was only one obvious way out. Caelan had to offer my life to Amon. Either that, or he could kill me himself. Accepting the blood debt himself was unthinkable. It was as good as Caelan making himself his own brother’s slave for life, or until he could save Amon’s life and repay the blood debt. With the number of guards and soldiers that followed the crown prince around, I didn’t see repayment happening anytime soon.
But Caelan said, “As you wish.” His voice had no tone to it, none whatsoever. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a lion in a cage, like a weapon formed of skin and bone. At any moment he might lash out and murder every person in this room, but Amon knew he wouldn’t and so did I.
Amon’s smile left his face. His eyes shone with triumph, but there was anger in them, too. A deeper fury beneath the surface of haughty tranquility. “Bring shackles of dragonstone,” he told a guard. “I’m taking my prisoner into custody properly.”
The shackles came along with guards to drag Tanead’s body away. He was hardly moving. Amon’s cronies shuffled out with him, along with an abashed-looking Farad still nursing a swollen lip.
“I’ll leave you to your prize,” Amon said to Caelan, and he allowed the door to close.