Besieged (27 page)

Irian felt the gift power rise another notch. It became hard to think.

‘She’s loyal to the brotherhood. We’re all she’s ever known,’ Rohaayel said. He took a seat at the table, helping himself to a chunk of cheese, gesturing with the little cheese knife. ‘There was no need for this, Mefusun. We were going to invite you onto the inner circle when we got back. Then we would have explained the whole plan. Wine?’

When Mefusun declined, Rohaayel poured himself a glass and leant back in his chair. Irian could sense no gift aggression coming from Rohaayel, and admired his control.

Mefusun’s supporters looked uncertain.

Ardeyne followed Rohaayel’s lead and took a seat. Bedettor and Torekar sat down. Irian forced himself to sit casually on one end of the table and swing a booted foot. As Torekar poured him more wine, Mefusun’s supporters exchanged looks.

‘Imoshen thinks she is one of us,’ Rohaayel said. ‘She’s taken Initate Reothe for the deep-bonding. She’s going to give us a sacrare son to unite the brotherhoods.’

‘A sacrare could unite the brotherhoods, but you can’t trust her, or her bond-partner. He’s been corrupted by his addiction to her gift. And birthing a sacrare will make her more powerful,’ Mefusun said. ‘After the birth, you’ll have to kill her, and him, too. The sacrare is what’s important.’

‘I agree.’ Rohaayel lifted the wine. ‘To the sacrare.’

I
MOSHEN HAD JUST
finished dressing, when Reothe thrust the door open. He came in on a wave of roused gift. Her power surged and she read him – betrayal, disbelief, fear and... determination.

‘What?’ Imoshen reached for her newborn. Iraayel ran to her and threw his arms around her.

‘We have to go right now. I was in the hall, I just...’ He shook his head. ‘I would never have believed it, but I heard them plotting to kill us and take the sacrare.’

‘No,’ Frayvia cried. ‘That was never the plan.’

‘They toasted to its success.’ Tears glittered in Reothe’s eyes. ‘Back in the city, Irian told me honesty was a luxury.’

He believed what he’d said; Imoshen could feel it. ‘Grab some warm clothes, Fray. We must get down to the boats.’

Iraayel whimpered. Imoshen sat him on the bed next to the baby. ‘Be big and look after Reoshen for me.’

Frayvia threw some things in a bag, while Reothe watched the lighthouse steps.

‘We’re lucky, they think you’re still in labour. The cook expected the birth to take all night,’ he said. ‘Ready?’

Was she ready to leave her home? She had to be. Imoshen summoned a smile for Iraayel, who was watching her anxiously. ‘Time for an adventure. You must do everything we tell you.’

He nodded solemnly.

She made a sling from a blanket and tucked the baby into it, planting a kiss on the newborn’s head. Lucky for them, he had just been fed and was sleeping.

Frayvia took Iraayel’s hand.

‘I’ll go first,’ Reothe said. ‘Keep your gift tightly reined, Imoshen. If they sense it, they’ll come after us.’

He went down the stairs, and they followed him.

At the base of the lighthouse, he opened the door to the hall. They could hear the clatter of dishes and excited chatter from the Malaunje in the kitchen. From the dining room, they could hear deep voices.

Reothe drew back. ‘It’s clear to the front door.’

In a rush, they went down the passage and out the front door. No snow had fallen yet, but the cold was biting. It was not long until midwinter and the night was dark – the small moon was new, the big moon waning – but Imoshen knew every path and every rock on this part of the island.

They reached the cliff edge and the steps to the beach without trouble, and ran down to the beach. The tide was on the way in. Some of the boats had been pulled up onto the sand. Others were moored out in deeper water. They made straight for a six-man rowboat, which lay with its nose on the sand. Reothe swung Iraayel into it then reached for Frayvia, but she’d already scrambled aboard. Before Imoshen could protest, he lifted her into the boat and began to shove it into the shallows.

‘Here, you,’ someone yelled.

Imoshen saw three Malaunje warriors come running across the sand towards them. ‘Hurry, Reothe.’

She darted back to grab the closest oar. The water was thigh-deep on Reothe now.

Their attackers ran through the shallows, sending plumes of water to each side. One of them grabbed Reothe. He shoved the boat out into deeper water, then let go.

Reothe and his attacker grappled. The second warrior tried to haul Iraayel out of the boat, while the third went for Frayvia. Imoshen swung the oar at the man clutching Iraayel, striking the Malaunje across the head. He released her. Bringing the oar around, Imoshen tackled the other one.

Reothe escaped his attacker and headed for the boat. The warrior tackled him, and they collided with the boat. It rocked alarmingly. One of the warriors tried to spring into the boat and Imoshen swung the oar again.

The world tipped.

Shockingly cold water closed over her. She didn’t know which way was up. Something clipped her head. She lost all sense of direction.

Mercifully, her face broke the surface and she gasped a breath. She couldn’t feel the sea bed under her feet. Frayvia waved. Iraayel clung to her.

Imoshen pulled the baby out of his sling, lifting his face above water. Someone grabbed her, ducking her under. She couldn’t fight back, not without dropping Reoshen. She twisted and turned.

They let her go and she struggled to the surface, weighed down by clothes and the baby. Kicking out, she made for Frayvia. She heard splashes behind her, and knew Reothe was still struggling.

Ahead of her, Frayvia seemed even further away. She felt the current take her, sweeping her away from the bay as it had taken Frayvia and Iraayel.

So cold... they had to get out of the water.

In desperation, she made for one of the moored boats. She lifted Reoshen over the side of the dingy and let him roll down into the nose of the boat. Without him in her arms, she was able to kick up, lift her weight over the boat’s side and slither in.

Shaking with cold, she settled the baby in a coil of rope, hauled in the anchor, grabbed two oars and...

Felt Reothe die.

Felt it like a light going out.

But she had to save Frayvia and Iraayel. She put her back into working the oars.

In a few moments she came alongside them. Tucking the oars into the boat, she took Iraayel from Frayvia and lifted him over the side. He shivered violently as she lowered him into the bow of the boat. ‘Don’t move.’

The boat rocked as she dragged Frayvia in.

As soon as they were both safe, she crawled to the nose where Reoshen lay. She unwrapped him, bent her head over his tiny chest to listen and...

Heard nothing.

G
RAELEN AND
P
ARYX
stepped aside to let several high-ranking adepts past. Although they were also adepts, they were only in their first year and had a long way to go to win status and respect.

Paryx waited until the five T’En men were out of sight before whispering to Graelen. ‘That’s the brotherhood’s tithe-master and his collectors. I’ve heard he robs the estates so Sigorian can build the new wing of the palace. All to impress the other all-fathers.’

‘Kyredeon says bluffing the other brotherhoods is better than shedding blood on this plane, or power on the empyrean plane.’ In the seventeen years since he’d joined Sigorian’s brotherhood, Graelen had learned who to avoid, who to trust, and how to keep out of trouble and, for the most part, he succeeded.

They passed a Malaunje lamplighter before climbing to the old part of the palace, where the low-ranking adepts and initiates lived.

Kyredeon beckoned to them from the balcony shadows.

In the years since he had first offered them advice, Kyredeon had risen to be one of the most influential men in the brotherhood. He had managed to gather a group of dissatisfied adepts and young initiates around him, all without drawing Sigorian’s notice.

‘Kyredeon,’ Graelen greeted him with the abbreviated obeisance of a low-ranking adept.

‘Grae, Paryx.’ Kyredeon gave them both a quick nod.

This close, Graelen could feel Kyredeon’s barely contained gift, and he was reminded of his first night in the brotherhood. That night, seven males had been killed, purged because Sigorian perceived them as a threat. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I need a favour.’

‘Name it.’ Brotherhood life consisted of a web of obligation, and they both owed Kyredeon.

‘Every evening, the new hand-of-force meets his Malaunje lover on the new rooftop garden. They tryst, then go their separate ways. When Fraysun goes up there, follow him and bolt the door. Let him spend a night on the roof in the cold and damp. You heard what he did to Ekanyn?’

They nodded. Ekanyn was higher-ranked than they; if he could be publically humiliated, then what protection did they have?

‘Do this and you win Ekanyn’s gratitude.’

Paryx glanced to Graelen. It seemed simple enough, and the new hand-of-force would not know who to blame.

‘We’ll do it,’ Graelen said.

‘Good.’ Kyredeon glanced over his shoulder as several Malaunje servants came along the balcony, carrying dinner trays. ‘Go now. He’ll leave as soon as he’s eaten.’

They would miss their meal, but it would be worth it. They’d repay a debt to Kyredeon and Ekanyn would be beholden to them.

Graelen and Paryx made their way to the new part of the palace.

‘What’s the remodelling in aid of?’ Paryx whispered. ‘Does Sigorian feel threatened?’

Graelen signalled for silence and pulled him into the shadows. A moment later, the brotherhood’s new hand-of-force strode past. He was alone

They waited. No lover came.

‘Looks like his lover’s stood him up,’ Paryx whispered.

‘Then we better shut the door before he realises.’ Graelen slipped out of the shadows, closed the door and slid the bolts.

‘That’s it then,’ Paryx said. ‘We can go back.’

On their way back to their quarters, they passed the bathing chamber, where Graelen heard Kyredeon’s voice.

‘I’ll just let him know there was no lover,’ Graelen said, slipping silently into the chamber.

Only a few lamps were still lit, their light gleaming on the wet tiles; he smelled scented oils and bath salts. He peered through the steam, but could not see the adept he sought. Then Kyredeon’s voice came again, and Graelen sensed the rise of the gift, redolent with danger. He backed up. He didn’t want trouble.

‘...you two have the advantage of being shield-brothers. You have the mid-ranking adepts behind you. I can bring my supporters in. You must challenge the all-father tonight, before the new hand-of-force can make good on his threat to you. I’ve ensured that when Sigorian summons Fraysun, he won’t answer...’

Graelen’s mind raced. If the all-father got wind of this, he’d kill them.

‘...their triumvirate will be weakened,’ Kyredeon was saying. ‘You’ll have the advantage.’

‘What have you been up to, Kyredeon?’ Ekanyn asked.

‘Ensuring you’ll win.’

‘But what do you get out of this?’

‘Let me guess,’ Hariode, Ekanyn’s shield-brother, said. ‘He wants to be hand-of-force.’

‘That’s right,’ Kyredeon agreed. ‘Divide all-father and voice-of-reason between the pair of you. I’ll take hand-of-force.’

‘Done.’

‘Done.’

Graelen backed silently out onto the verandah.

‘You’ve gone white,’ Paryx said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Come with me.’ They sped back to the new part of the palace. When they reached the deserted upper floor, Graelen explained. ‘So we have to make sure Fraysun doesn’t leave the roof.’

But they found the door open and the roof top deserted.

‘His lover must have come after all,’ Paryx whispered. ‘Now what’ll we do?’

Graelen cursed. Unless they acted swiftly, Kyredeon’s challenge would fail and all his supporters would be purged. ‘Come with me.’

I
RIAN LIFTED HIS
wine glass. ‘To the sacrare, and the end of the covenant.’

Rohaayel, Ardeyne and the others played along, raising their glasses.

One of the kitchen hands opened the door, backing in with a tray. He looked surprised to see more T’En men, and he stiffened as he felt the gift readiness on the air.

‘Tell cook there’ll be another eight for dinner,’ Rohaayel said. ‘And bring more glasses.’

‘And more wine,’ Irian added, feigning bonhomie.

Still Mefusun did not let down his guard.

‘Irian, what do you think of Rohdeyne, for the sacrare’s name?’ Rohaayel asked.

‘Why not Bedian?’ Bedettor suggested.

‘He’s my grandson, I get first naming rights,’ Rohaayel said. ‘Isn’t that right, Mefusun?’

The kitchen hand returned with a tray of goblets and more wine. As he left, Rohaayel came to his feet and gestured to Torekar. ‘Pour wine for everyone.’

Mefusun came over to the table with his supporters and accepted the wine.

Irian had already decided who he would kill first.

‘To this glorious day and our brotherhood.’ Rohaayel met Irian’s eyes and he knew this was the moment.

Dropping his goblet, Irian pulled his long-knives. His gift surged, heightening his senses. Time slowed; he anticipated strikes before they came. He gutted one warrior, cut another’s throat, felt something slam into his back, staggered, but kept moving. Lost one knife in someone’s ribs, then lost the other when a blow broke his arm.

He saw Bedettor get his throat cut before he could segue to the higher plane with his two attackers, then drag them along anyway, ripping their shades from their bodies. There was no yelling, just grunts and thuds, gasps of pain. He saw Torekar go down, trying to save Ardeyne.

He saw Rohaayel stagger as his shield-brother died.

Mefusun leapt for the all-father, who ducked. One-handed, Irian caught Mefusun by his hair and slammed his face onto the table top, until he stopped moving.

That was the last of them.

Irian looked across the bloody chamber to Rohaayel, who was clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers. A whimper made Irian turn. The cook, and several of the kitchen hands, stood terrified in the doorway.