32 Eleven Years in the Making
The day of Noceo’s announcement on the Tetrarchy’s fate dawned to grim skies and an absentee usurper.
Kadra eyed the angry, curious throngs circling the public square that Noceo had gilded in the vein of a convivium. A group of confused northern vigiles occupied it now and cast nervous looks at each other. Many seemed to have realized they had been abandoned.
He waited until evening came, and the crowd dispersed with grumbles about idiot northerners wasting their time. Damp hung in the air. A storm was brewing in more ways than one.
“Head inside,” he murmured into Sarai’s ear.
Nodding, she darted inside the closest tavern.
Moments later, lightning lashed the swathe of black above.
The gargantuan, long-fingered hand of smoke that controlled stormfall sent pale streaks arcing over the heavens and down.
He anticipated and let the lightning approach before redirecting it back up with a flick of his wrists.
Wrath’s strength had made the task significantly easier.
Sleet and rain struck him and hardened at his feet as he worked. He, along with the thousands of magi around Edessa, calmed the skies. Red streaked his armilla when the rain petered to a drizzle, a testament to the volume of power he had used. Fog rolled in to blanket the square.
He readied to retrieve his Petitor when a bedraggled figure stalked through the mist. Kadra’s brows rose.
Haggard, pale as smoke, sweating, and sopping wet, his brother looked as though he had gone several rounds at a tavern and lost. Blood still matted his forehead from the wound Sarai had dealt him the previous night. He evidently hadn’t slept.
Kadra leaned against one of the pillars comprising the colonnade. “Power’s treating you poorly.”
“Not a word out of you.” His brother snapped, eyes wild. “I was supposed to have your life.”
“You’ve enjoyed it for a little,” Kadra noted.
“It isn’t real! No one in this damn city respects me without threats or coin.
” He raked a hand through the hair plastered to his head.
“I’ve been better than Clevsin, do you understand?
The Guild magi I Coerced? They wanted to do it.
Your people chose to target you and Sarai.
I only amplified what already existed here and across the country.
These idiots kneel to everything! The Guilds, the Order, coin!
But I make it explicit, and I’m the villain. ”
“That isn’t what you’re here to say.”
Noceo took in the soaked banners emblazoned with the Clan’s heraldry and swallowed hard. “You apparently see it all, don’t you? Then, why didn’t you come back? I was grieving that night. You knew I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He rounded on Kadra. “Why didn’t you come back?!”
Flashes of remembered betrayal tautened his spine. “You weren’t the only one who grieved.”
Noceo looked away. His hands fisted. “Back then, you seemed capable of anything, Twelfth-Tier.” A bitter snarl. “I may have struck the first blow, but you still left me with nothing while you climbed up the judiciary. Did you never wonder whether I was surviving?”
“I knew you would,” Kadra said tersely. “I searched, but I didn’t want to know what you became.”
Noceo flinched like he’d been struck. Scrubbing his face with a hoarse laugh, he slumped against a pillar opposite Kadra and slid to the ground.
Rain drizzled between them and iced over within grooves in the cobblestone. Sunset set the sky ablaze, turning the fog a heady scarlet. It was a rare moondark night, both silver Praefa and blue Silun presenting their dark side to the world. Kadra glanced at the tavern where Sarai waited.
“You don’t have the time to be doing this,” Noceo said after a moment.
“The madness plaguing your city is spreading. The Order wants to tear your woman for being Godstouched.” He knocked his head back against the pillar.
“She hasn’t even realized that she’s doing it, Drenevan.
I tried to tell her that Summonings leave a mark of—”
“Incursion, yes.”
Noceo scowled. “Then, you know. The god we all saw must have latched onto her.” He gestured absently at the surrounding streets. “Go to your woman. Fight your remaining battles.”
Kadra regarded his brother grimly. One hand fell to the hilt of his sword. “Is this one over?”
If it wasn’t then, he would end it tonight. He had little doubt that his blade would taste blood. His brother was weakened by more than guilt and revelation. Purpose had been stripped from him. An easy path to madness.
“Eleven years waiting for revenge.” Noceo lifted his head, features ravaged. “Against who?” What could have been rain slid down his face. Kadra knew otherwise.
He released his hilt. “Sarai isn’t Godstouched.” Drawing away from the pillar, he stalked to one beside his brother. “I am.”
Noceo stilled. A humorless laugh broke from his chest. “Isn’t that just the most ironic thing? You already have power, and the gods give you more—” He broke off and started to his feet. “And you let the Order tear her apart for months before at that Hearing!”
Kadra released a slow breath. It fogged out in the damp wet. “She doesn’t want my strength.”
“Or mine,” his brother muttered. “Too damned proud.”
He pinned him with a hard glare. “The city’s opinions were worming into her head even before you took a cudgel to her.” Months of watching her struggle and forge onward flashed behind his eyes. He’d worked night and day to try and take that strain from her.
“For the Elsar’s sakes, she isn’t helpless! That bit of torture was just to make her join—”
“I can accomplish in an instant what she tries to do on her own for months. Few respect her unless I step in. What is she to feel if not helplessness when she comes up against brick walls that I don’t? Can you imagine being treated that way your entire life?” he bit out and watched the blow land.
Noceo shoved his hands into his pockets. He said nothing.
“She wants to fight her own battles,” Kadra said dryly. “That’s harder than fighting them for her.”
Noceo closed his eyes on a sigh. “She wasn’t tempted to join me at all, was she?”
“More so to borrow the stimulant that’s giving you all that power.” Sarai stalked into the square, looking relieved to see Kadra unharmed.
Noceo deflated. “Then, I’ll show it to you,” he said hoarsely. At their raised eyebrows, he scowled and indicated zosta’s glow on Sarai’s armilla. “You’d know if this was a trap. If you want what amplified my strength, it’s yours. I have little use for it now.”
Kadra’s gaze swept his cowed frame. Eleven years had turned him brittle and fragmented. In the Drust Mountains high above Komis, he had festered along with his wounds and become one with his turmoil. He looked lost without it to inflate him.
But he was no longer a danger.
“Favran Tower then.” Kadra angled an amused glance at Sarai, who grinned.
“We’re going to give Cassandane a heart attack.”