Exile (27 page)

“Get some sleep.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll join you soon,” Yiloch replied. “First, I’m going to search for supplies.”

“Keep out of the sun,” Ferin muttered, laying back on the blankets.

Yiloch kicked around a few things on the floor until he found one of the lightweight wraps the Kudaness wore to shield their faces from the midday sun. This he put on, glancing at Ferin to see if he was satisfied only to find him already sound asleep. With a shrug, he walked back out into the sunlight. Without Ferin’s protections, the heat was intense, but the wrap would keep his skin from burning.

He did a systematic search of the huts. A corral on the edge of the village might have held a few horses or skek, but it was empty now, part of the fence knocked to the ground. He found bodies in all but a few of the huts and little of use. The attackers had been efficient, cleaning out everything of use that they could carry. The bundle Korik had given them would keep them going for a while longer, but soon they would need to replenish. If they were following in the wake of this army, that could prove difficult. However, the invaders had left something useful behind.

He wandered among the bodies of Kudaness warriors until he found a sword he liked. Strapping the weapon on, he stood for a long time and considered the dead men, learning what he could. Despite the heat, the smell was tolerable, which meant they hadn’t been dead long. That implied that the army wasn’t more than an hour or two ahead of them. The other thing he noticed was that there were no foreign warriors among the dead. They were all Kudaness warriors with the tattoo of the Denilik tribe on their faces. A closer examination revealed that a single blow had struck down almost every man. Some may have died from the trampling hooves rather than the blow that knocked them down, but they were no less dead. It suggested a very brutal and well-organized attack strategy.

The Kudaness were notorious for their proficiency in facing men on horseback and all the signs indicated a mounted charge. Their long spears were designed to take down charging horses. Why were there no dead or injured horses here? They might have taken wounded or dead soldiers with them, he was willing to accept that possibility, but they wouldn’t drag along dead or badly injured horses. The animals might have been well-armored, but in this desert a well-armored horse would soon collapse of heat exhaustion. The other option was ascard protection, which implied either several very strong adepts or a large number of weaker ones. Neither of those possibilities pleased him.

He drew the sword he had picked up and made a few sweeping attack moves, startling the birds gathered around the nearest bodies. They took to the air in mass, but landed again a few feet away to assess the threat. They weren’t willing to be driven from the feast that easily. With a heavy exhale that did nothing to ease the growing tension in him, he sheathed the weapon and returned to the hut where Ferin slept. Night was falling. Travelling at night would save Ferin some strain, but he wouldn’t wake the other man yet. The adept needed as much rest as Yiloch could give him. Instead, he lay down to steal a bit of sleep for himself. There was no one left alive to threaten them and the predators and scavengers had plenty to gorge themselves on, so it was safe to sleep for a short time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

For the next few days, Myac, once again hidden behind the identity of Edan, underwent numerous painful healings to repair as much of the
damage as the healers could fix. The hasty healing he had done to repair his heart was left untouched, but the rest of the surrounding tissue damage cleaned up nicely. With each agonizing healing, his determination to find Indigo increased, but the Ascard Watchmen and adepts they sent searching continued to return with no news of her. Their failure only fueled his anger.

Today, he and Serivar had an audience with the newly established Prince Caplin. There were many things to discuss and Caplin was one of very few people who might have some insight into why Indigo would have freed Emperor Yiloch. Whether or not he would choose to disclose that information remained to be seen however and, unfortunately, torturing it out of him wasn’t an option.

Myac rapped on Serivar’s office door so hard it set his knuckles throbbing, but he was angry enough after another painful healing not to care. At least this had been the last one.

“Come in,” Serivar invited, though Myac had already started to open the door.

There was a pinch-faced older man wearing the uniform of the Ascard Watchmen sitting in one of the chairs across from Serivar. Dark hair dusted with gray and deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth gave testament to his age. He gave Myac a quick smile and nod of greeting that Myac ignored with tight-lipped disregard. The fact that the older man was also a member of the King’s Order apparently made him feel that they shared some degree of intrinsic camaraderie. Myac disagreed.

“Any news?” Myac asked as he shut the door. He had no desire to sit next to the other man, so he remained standing by one corner of the desk.

“Still nothing,” Serivar replied, his voice weighted with resignation.

“She hasn’t gone to her Uncle’s?”

The older man shook his head. “There was no sign of her there. Lord Theron has been away on an errand for the king. He doesn’t even know she’s missing yet. One of his sons was staying at the manor. He thought she was still in the city.”

Myac ground his teeth. “She’s just a woman. Find out where she is,” he snapped, his temper getting the better of him.

“How? There’s no sign of her.” The older man threw up his hands in exasperation, his own frustration showing through now.

Myac narrowed his eyes at the man, fighting back an urge to teach him some respect.

“You helped force three Lyran adepts to confess to a crime they didn’t commit. I would think you could manage this little task.” He drew on enough ascard to crush the man in his own skin just for the pleasure of knowing he could do so.

“Where should I look next?”

Myac closed his eyes, struggling with an intense desire to see fear in the man’s eyes. For a split second, he almost missed Emperor Rylan. The late emperor wouldn’t have tolerated such incompetence and he would have turned to Myac to mete out appropriate punishment. A task Myac had always taken pleasure in.

“Has anyone tried the Kilty docks?” Serivar asked in the ensuing silence.

“I don’t believe so,” the adept replied.

“There’s a novel idea,” Myac responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who would ever think to leave on a boat?” The other man flinched under his acid glare, bringing Myac a tiny flicker of satisfaction.

“If she’s left the continent, we have little hope of finding her. Given that she has no criminal history and she’s not apt to be equipped to deal with her current situation, it makes more sense that she would seek refuge somewhere familiar.”

“Go to Kilty,” Myac ordered. “Investigate everyone. Search the mind of every dockworker and seaman for a recent image of her. If you find anyone with information, bring them back here so someone competent can question them. Now go.”

The Watchman started to move then glanced to Serivar for confirmation. The headmaster met his gaze with frosty silence. Scowling, he stood and gave a cursory bow to each of them before stomping out. Myac raised his lip in a silent snarl after him and dropped into one of the chairs. He winced and let out a small gasp as pain shot through his chest. Serivar watched him with a look that might have been concern. At one time, that look might have pleased Myac, but he had lost a great deal of respect for the headmaster since then.

“Should I call on Master Siddael?”

“No. I’m fine,” Myac hissed. “Can I kill that man when this is over?”

Serivar shifted in his chair and began rearranging items on his desk. “I would rather you didn’t. He’s been quite useful.”

“Not lately,” Myac remarked, enjoying Serivar’s discomfort in the absence of the other man’s suffering. Serivar, having seen the aftermath of Indigo’s actions, was keenly aware now of the kind of volatile power he was dealing with in her. He also seemed to have developed a deeper respect for, and fear of, the power that resided in Myac.

“I can handle the meeting with Prince Caplin if you…” Serivar trailed off before his venomous glare.

“I’m not about to leave a delicate situation like this in your fumbling fingers.”

A flash of anger touched Serivar’s eyes, but was quickly subdued. He knew he didn’t have the power to fight Myac and they still needed each other for the moment. When that time passed, Myac thought, a change of leadership at the academy might be in order.

“Well, then, we should probably be on our way to the palace.” Serivar stood and hurried to the door as if the close confines of his office had become too stifling.

Myac took a deep breath, appreciating that it no longer pained him much to do so, and rose from the chair, somewhat disappointed that he didn’t have more time to rest there and watch Serivar squirm under his cold stare. Then again, if Caplin had information that would help them, it would be worth the inconvenience of a trip to the palace, even wearied as he was from the recent healing.

•

Caplin met them in a second story sitting room in the west wing of the palace with deep, comfortable couches and a setting of wine and cheeses on the central table. The new prince’s restless fidgeting undermined the casual atmosphere. Myac, who had expected to be in a similar position by now, recognized as prince of Lyra with his father, Lord Terral, in place as the new emperor, was somewhat mollified by the additional age in Caplin’s face and the strain in his eyes.

“Prince Caplin,” Serivar was saying, “you must know more than you’re telling us. Nothing you’ve said gives any insight into why Indigo would betray her country in this way. She has thrown away everything she ever worked for. I can’t imagine that was a decision she came to lightly.”

Caplin gave him a sharp look, anger rippling off him. The anger was only a defense, a way to try to protect himself from deeper emotions. Curious where this might lead, Myac took a long sip of the wine and pondered the possible reasons for the new prince’s defensive response. Serivar and Indigo both mentioned that she and Caplin were longtime friends. Could it be that he considered them more than friends? Or perhaps he simply wanted to protect the beautiful adept and was unsure how best to do that.

Pity the men who cross her path
, he thought with no little irritation over his own attraction to her.

“Why would Lady Indigo free Lord Ferin and Emperor Yiloch?” Myac prompted for the fourth or fifth time since their arrival when the prince’s silence lengthened.

There. Finally, something more came through. A deep sorrow and longing radiated off the prince, edged with frustration. Even though he was engaged to another woman, a student at the academy if Myac recalled correctly, Caplin was in love with Indigo. The final emotion that shot to the surface was jealousy. The emotion puzzled Myac at first, and then an insidious dread began to permeate through him. He knew what Caplin was going to say next and it stoked the fire of his anger to a raging inferno.

“Because she loves him,” Caplin stated mournfully, finally sitting and staring forlorn at his hands in his lap. “She loves him,” he repeated, as if trying to accept a truth he found hard to bear.

“She loves Lord Ferin or Emperor Yiloch?” Serivar asked, puzzled. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter which one, how could she possibly have spent enough time with either to fall in love? I thought you were watching over the healers in Lyra.”

A very good question. How could she have fallen in love with him in the time the Caithin army was in Lyra? There was no doubt in his mind which of the two men Caplin referred to. It still didn’t make sense though. While he was leading an army, when would there have been a chance for the arrogant Lyran prince to capture the heart of the headstrong young adept? But so many other things made sense if it were true. Her affinity for the Lyran adepts sent to study at the academy. Her reluctance to let him try and woo her long before she knew who he really was. Her sorrow and longing. The risks she’d taken to help Yiloch and the way she and Ferin behaved toward one another. She loved a man she could never be with. At least she suffered in that, but it wasn’t enough, not by far.

Caplin glared at Serivar. “I was watching over her. Every time I checked on her, she was with Siddael as directed. As soon as I turned my back, she would vanish and I would find her standing with Emperor Yiloch watching the sunrise or lying half-dead at his feet. How it happened doesn’t matter,” Caplin said, growing subdued as he lowered his eyes again. “She knew we would put him to death. She came to me that night before she set them free.”

Myac leaned forward. “Information that might have been valuable before this.” He let frustration come through in his voice. “What did she say?”

Caplin glanced at him, but guilt drove him to avert his eyes. “She said she knew Yiloch wasn’t guilty.”

Myac leaned back then. “She’s gone to Lyra.” He was certain of it now.

Caplin rubbed his temples as though his head pained him. “What will you do?”

“What you should be doing,” Myac hissed. “I’m going to go after her.”

“Edan,” Serivar snapped. “Remember your station.”

Myac glared at Serivar, aware that Caplin was glaring at him in turn. If not for this fool of a prince, he would already be a prince himself or well on the road to it. He took a deep breath, reining in his temper, and faced Caplin, bowing his head slightly. “My apologies, my lord.”

Caplin dismissed the apology with an abrupt gesture. “You will try to imprison Emperor Yiloch if you find him. No harm is to come to Indigo.” He met Serivar’s eyes with a look of warning until the man nodded, then turned the look on Myac.

“Of course not, my lord.” Myac infused his tone with a sincerity he didn’t feel. Harming her was the least he planned to do. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to spend a long time harming her, over and over again, but Caplin didn’t need to know that.