Leaves of Flame (47 page)

T
HAEDOREN SET THE MISSIVE Lord Aeren had delivered aside and, without looking toward the lord, stood and moved away from the table beneath the shade of the portico and out to the edge of the Tamaell’s personal gardens. He had elected to have Aeren brought here instead of to an audience chamber on the spur of the moment, but now he was glad they were confined to a single room.

His fi rst reaction upon reading the letter sent by Fedaureon—Aeren’s son and his own half brother—had been a gut-wrenching denial, followed by a painful constriction in his chest. But he knew his mother, knew Aeren would not have brought this information to his attention unless there was substantial evidence that what they had discovered was true. But the implications, not only to the Evant, but to him personally. . . .

The hollow that had carved out a niche in his stomach began to fill with anger. Orraen and Peloroun, in collusion. Peloroun was not a surprise; he had always had ambition, even during Thaedoren’s father’s reign, but Orraen? He had attempted to raise his House within the Evant since the death of his father, but he was young and unskilled, his manipulations of the other lords inept. Which might explain why he would seek out someone stronger, someone more subtle, such as Peloroun. But why would Peloroun deign to ally himself with Orraen?

Unless Orraen had learned subtlety. Perhaps he discounted him too easily. Or perhaps Orraen was being led by someone else. He didn’t think Peloroun would spare the time, his disdain for the younger Lords of the Evant obvious, but who else . . .?

Something twisted inside him and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Acid burned at the back of his throat, and he hunched forward, trying to control the sudden pain in his chest.

“I would not have brought this to you if—”

“No.” Thaedoren’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and turned, met Lord Aeren’s gaze. “No, I needed to know this. You realize the ramifications? You realize that if Orraen is involved—”

“That it brings the Tamaea under suspicion as well, yes.”

Thaedoren suppressed a shudder, hid his reaction by moving back to the table.“She may have nothing to do with it,” he said as he reached for the decanter of wine and poured himself a glass. The vintage did little to smother the sour taste in his mouth. It didn’t matter if Reanne was involved or not, the fact that she could be involved was enough to taint his thoughts. Every time he saw her now, he would wonder; every time she spoke he would ask whether the words came from her heart, or were for her House. He was already running through all of their past conversations, breaking them apart, searching for hidden intent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he muttered.

“Because you succumbed to her interest? You knew as Tamaell that there were those who would seek you out because of your title. And as Tamaell, you knew that your bonding would be made more for political reasons than emotions.”

“I should have realized there was more to it!” he snapped. His lungs felt thick with fluid. His eyes burned.

Aeren remained silent a moment. Then: “If she is involved, then she and Orraen have planned this for years. And I refuse to believe that Reanne is so heartless that she has no feelings for you, Thaedoren. I have seen you both at parties, at rituals in the Sanctuary, at your own bonding.”

Thaedoren sucked in a sharp breath, recalling the bonding ceremony, the white cloth that had fi lled the gardens beneath the Winter Tree, the lanterns hung from the branches above, the scent of the gaezel roasting in the fire pits and the mad swirl of music. Reanne had glowed in the folds of her white gown, like the flames of Aielan brought to life. In a rare show of public emotion, he had reached out to touch her face, there before the assembled Lords and Ladies of the Evant, before the basin of Aielan’s Flame that burned before them all. He had traced her jaw and stared into her eyes, and now, thinking back, he could see nothing in her gaze but joy.

“Perhaps,”he said roughly.“But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Aeren straightened where he sat. “Of course it does, Thaedoren.”

He swallowed more wine, grimaced, and set the glass aside. “What are they up to? What can we do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand why they would need these resources, and as Fedaureon and Moiran point out, having them accumulate these resources isn’t in itself damning. It’s merely an indicator that perhaps they are aligned in some way. And that they are preparing.”

“For what?”

“I can only imagine a grab for the Evant. We know that has been Peloroun’s objective for decades. Even more so since his fall after the Escarpment.”

Thaedoren frowned.WhatAerensaid made sense,andyet it didn’t feel right.Or at least,not complete.There was something beneath what Aeren suggested, something deeper that Aeren held back, and he thought he knew what it was.

“You think they’re working with Lotaern.”

Aeren stilled, then said warily, “There’s nothing to suggest it.”

Thaedoren scowled. “But that’s what you think.” He paused in thought, factoring in the Chosen, then shook his head. “I should never have made the Order equivalent to a House.”

Aeren’s lips thinned. “Why did you?”

“I thought it might end the conflict between you and Lotaern, or at least settle it once and for all. You wanted him out of the Evant, but it was clear that many of the lords—and a significant portion of the general population— felt the Order should have its say as well, especially with the resurgence of the sukrael. By solidifying the Order’s presence in the Evant, I thought you would turn your energies elsewhere, into curbing him legally if nothing else.”

“Was it Reanne’s idea?” Aeren asked bluntly.

The accusation stabbed into Thaedoren’s gut, hard, but he shook his head. “No. It was mine.” At Aeren’s look of doubt, he added with emphasis, “Solely mine.”

“Regardless, Lotaern took it as an implicit blessing of his actions. You’ve seen him in the Evant. He’s become aggressive, pursuing his own interests with abandon, and using Aielan and the existence of the Wraiths as his prod. If Peloroun and Orraen are working with him, he holds three out of nine votes, and you know a few of the other lords will follow their lead.”

“Orraen and Peloroun don’t always side with Lotaern.”

“But if they do when something of significance comes to the floor? Do you realize that he has yet to remove any of his Flame from the temples in any of the House lands? He has ignored the edict—from the Evant and from you.”

Thaedoren leaned forward onto the table, head bowed. His chest still ached over Reanne, but he needed to focus on the Evant, on salvaging the situation if at all possible. “We need to curb them in the Evant. And we need to call on our own allies to back us when necessary. Who can we count on? And how are we going to find a connection between Peloroun, Orraen, and Lotaern?”

Aeren shifted forward. “Lord Saetor has shown some promise recently. . . .”

Thaedoren nodded as he pushed back from the table and listened. He knew he could count on Aeren—and Fedaureon and his mother, of course—but his thoughts turned toward his brother, Daedelan, the White Fox, who’d arrived in the city late last night. He would have to be apprised of the situation.

He did not think Daedelan would like the fall of recent events in Caercaern. Not at all.

“Are they moving out yet?”

Eraeth shook his head from his perch on top of a sandy red outcropping of rock overlooking the chasm beyond. “No. It doesn’t look like they’ll be moving any time soon.”

Colin glanced toward Siobhaen, who paced in the shadow cast by the cliffs that surrounded them. She scowled toward the distance, one hand on her cattan, the other tossing a stone in a nervous gesture.

When she saw Colin watching her, she asked hopefully, “Can we kill them?”

They’d entered the Thalloran Wastelands days before, the land breaking up, earth cracked so much they’d been forced to descend into the chasms between the tan-and-red rocks in order to continue, walking in shadows for most of the day, crumbling cliff faces to either side. It became immediately apparent that the horses were slowing them down, and that finding food and water for them would be problematic. After much discussion, it had been decided to leave the horses behind. They’d set them free on the outskirts of dwarren lands in the hopes that the dwarren scouts would reclaim them. Colin suspected the Wraith army would find them first.

They’d entered the chasms of the wasteland shortly after that. Colin had found his shoulders itching at the sense of confinement, tension creeping into his muscles at the claustrophobia. He couldn’t help feeling that the rock on either side would give way and bury them all. Even though the walls concealed them well from the strange birdlike creatures, he found himself seeking the more open chasms and the wider blue sky overhead.

But while they were concealed from the creatures Eraeth had begun calling taeredacs, they
were
threatened by the small groups of the Haessari that were scattered throughout the labyrinthine crevices. Progress had slowed as they found themselves cutting back when a chosen path ended in two cliff faces merging or narrowing too much for them to pass. It had slowed even further after they’d encountered the first group of Snake People. That fight had been short, and Colin believed they’d only survived because both groups had been caught off guard. If the Haessari scouts had seen them coming, they could have ambushed them, killing them all with the small poison-tipped darts they all seemed to carry, or with their strange S-shaped swords.

At least, killing Eraeth and Siobhaen. Colin would have survived, although he wasn’t certain what the poison would have done to him.

They’d been more wary after that, Colin scouting ahead with time slowed to determine the best path and making certain there were no surprises from the Haessari.After the first two days, he’d begun to feel the edge of exhaustion from halting time often, and in such short bursts. It was easier to use it in longer intervals, but the Snake People changed position too often for him to scout too far ahead.

Still, they’d eluded at least ten of the groups within the crevasses.

Until now.

He met Siobhaen’s gaze.“No.I don’t want theWraiths to know that we’re coming. If we kill too many of the Haessari scouts, they’ll know, and they’ll be ready.”

Siobhaen frowned, then turned back to pacing with a low growl. “We’ve been waiting for nearly an hour,” she muttered under her breath.

From his lookout,Eraeth asked,“Are you certain there’s no other way around them? That we have to go through the chasm ahead?”

Colin sighed, felt the exhaustion on his shoulders, dragging him down. “I’ve been through every fi ssure, crevice, turn, and niche for an hour’s walk in every direction—with time slowed—and none of them seem to bypass the open area ahead.”

Eraeth grunted, then began crawling down from his perch. He dislodged some of the loose sand and rock, stones rattling against each other, and stilled, double-checking on the Haessari beyond, then continued more carefully.

“We may have to kill them then,” Eraeth said, dusting himself off.“They’re settling in.I think they’re preparing to start a fire. There’s a circle of stones and what looks like a fire pit. And with nightfall only a few hours away—”

“—they’ll need the heat.”

From his seat at the relatively flat base of the crevasse, Colin reached down and dug his fingers into the soil at his side and closed his eyes, sinking into the earth far enough that he could feel the pulse of the Lifeblood deep within. Since they’d reached the edge of dwarren lands, he’d been using the flows of the Lifeblood to guide them, its currents drawing them farther east and slightly north.Within the last day or so, he’d begun to sense the Source, its pull immense. It pulsed through the ground and he shuddered and tasted the leaf, loam, and snow of the Lifeblood in the back of his throat. With effort, he withdrew, lifting his hand from the earth at his feet. It trembled.

“We’re close,” he said, and even his voice was shaky, sounding like gravel. He coughed and drew his hand across his mouth. “I think the Source lies just beyond, within a day’s walk, perhaps less.”

Eraeth’s face pinched with concern, but he said nothing. “This may be a regular outpost, manned at all times. If there is no other path through for some distance, it would make sense to keep a patrol here. They might never leave.”