Sworn To Conflict: Courtlight #3 (25 page)

“Thanar,” said Ciardis. “I don’t have time for this. Where is my brother?”

Her voice caught as she choked out, “Did he get out?”

Finally Thanar deigned to look down at her upturned face. “Yes,” he said softly. “He survived.”

“Oh, thank the gods.”

“But with severe wounds. Burns, and he still lies unconscious a day later.”

“Let me see him,” she beseeched.

Thanar’s eyes softened. “I would, Weathervane, and I will. But first I must know why you have brought your imperial guard and the emperor’s spawn to our doorstep.”

Ciardis felt the anger in Sebastian spike dangerously.

She swallowed quickly and said, “Don’t call him that. We’re here—”

“I can speak for myself,” interrupted Sebastian coldly.

She frowned and turned back toward him. But she knew from the look on his face that he wouldn’t appreciate her interference. Not when he wanted to have words leader-to-leader.

“Fine,” she muttered, stepping aside.

Sebastian smoothly stepped forward until he was five feet from Thanar, and Ciardis stood pensively between them with her arms crossed.

She didn’t think this was going to go over well. She knew Sebastian well enough to know that he was in the mood to be contrary, and, well, Thanar was contrary by nature. As they stared each other down, Sebastian shorter than the Daemoni mage by a foot, she was tempted to interrupt but didn’t because she knew that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“I have never met a Daemoni before,” said Sebastian conversationally.

Thanar lifted an eyebrow. “Not surprising, considering you wiped us out.”

“I did? Personally?”

Thanar glared and raised his wings up in a position that reminded Ciardis of a bird of prey ready to strike.

“Don’t taunt me, Prince Heir.”

“Then don’t play games with me. You knew that we were here; you knew that we were looking for you. And yet you allowed the Weathervane alone in your sanctuary? You even called to her. We’re lucky she was with Inga, or she would have disappeared entirely.”

Ciardis narrowed her eyes. What was Sebastian getting at?

“Deductive, Prince Heir,” said Thanar, “but not enough.”

“Not enough?” said Sebastian with a stone face. “Enough to prove that your motives weren’t genuine, that you allied yourselves with the Old Ones, or that you are not, in fact, refugees from the mines?”

Thanar laughed a cold laugh while not taking his eyes off of Sebastian’s face. “Now you are—what is your human term for it? Ah, yes, ‘fishing.’ But I will give you this, Prince Heir. Our motives were always genuine. We asked the Old Ones to bring the Weathervane to us. We needed her powers, we needed her skills, and we knew we could never separate Ciardis from your army without bringing all of the soldiers down on our heads. So we negotiated.”

“For what?” demanded Ciardis.

“That is no concern for now.”

“Oh, it is,” retorted Ciardis. “You bought me and I want to know in exchange for what. I am damn tired of your secrets, Thanar. This, at least, I know I am owed.”

“Freedom,” the Daemoni mage replied lazily.

“Freedom?” echoed Ciardis.

“The Old Ones want the humans and the Sarvinians gone from their mountain passes. With the refugees settled in the sanctuary and a possible peace treaty negotiated between the human army and the Sarvinian army, they hoped it would make everyone leave.”

“And what makes them think you could broker such a treaty?” said Sebastian softly.

“I can’t,” replied Thanar. “The agreement for the treaty was never intended to be brokered by me.”

“Then whom?” snapped Prince Heir Sebastian.

“Ah, ah, Prince,” said Thanar. “Your anger is misplaced. It is time you spoke with your own commanders. If they have not told you, there’s no reason I should.”

“Enough,” said Ciardis, laying a restraining hand on Sebastian’s chest. He had reached for his sword and stepped forward. She was well aware of his skill with the blade, but that didn’t negate the fact that there were two Daemoni warriors present for every person in their party, not to mention a bunch of scared people who only sought sanctuary here.

“You can’t fight,” she said firmly. “Not here.”

“Then I suggest we leave,” said Sebastian, removing his hand from his sword.

She dropped her hand from his chest. “My brother first.”

She turned to Thanar with a demanding look.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, still staring at Sebastian. She was tempted to smack the smirk off Thanar’s face but didn’t want to start a war when they were so close to figuring this all out. The Sarvinian army, the refugees, the Old Ones, the Algardis outpost, the mines—they were all interconnected. But not every piece of this puzzle could be true. At least she hoped not.

Finally Thanar turned to her after she cleared her throat with impatience. “This way Weathervane.”

He led them to a small tent. Its sides were rolled back and open to the wind. With a muffled cry, Ciardis rushed to the person lying inside. Her brother. Caemon lay bandaged from head to toe with an old healer kneeling at his side muttering chants.

The healer swatted her away when she tried to touch Caemon, and she couldn’t understand him when he spoke. He was speaking in the old language. Frantically she looked up and around, but Inga was already kneeling by Ciardis’s side.

“
Die Brandwunde sind erheblich. Es gibt Wochen bis er wohl wird. Er darf bis dahin nicht aufwachen, sonst schreit er
,” the old man spoke with warning in his tone.

“He says Caemon was gravely wounded. The burns will take time to heal. He can be moved, but only slowly, and he can’t be woken because of the pain,” Inga translated loosely.

Ciardis nodded. “Tell him okay. I understand.”

Inga relayed her thoughts.

“We’ll move him back to camp,” Ciardis murmured softly to herself. “He’ll be treated there.”

Inga relayed that, as well, and the old healer reached forward to grip Ciardis’s wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. “No!” he shouted.

She turned to him, startled.

The fierce look in his eyes was alarming. With confusion, she turned to Inga. “What did you say to him?”

Inga frowned. “Only what you said aloud. Hold on.”

She spoke to the old man in the same language as before. He responded back furiously.

Inga sat back on her heels, her face thoughtful, and said, “He says the Algardis Army will imprison Caemon. They will hurt him. He won’t allow his patient to go back to his jailers.”

Sighing, Ciardis understood. She raised her eyes to look into the old man’s. “I’d never allow that. He is my family. My kin. I will care for him.”

Inga relayed the words, but the man didn’t look convinced.

Ciardis tapped the corner of her golden eyes and traced a finger just over the corner of Caemon’s right eye, “
Schwester. Bruder
. Family.”

A tear descended down her cheek and the old man’s face softened. He spoke.

Inga translated, “He says your heart says what your words cannot. He will release him into your care.”

Ciardis nodded and thanked him.

Turning back to Sebastian, she said, “It’s time for us to leave.”

C
iardis had had enough. Enough of the lies. Enough of the people she loved getting hurt. It was time to end this. Barnaren would tell them what was really going on in the North—today.

She looked back with worried eyes over her brother’s deathly still form. Members of Thanar’s sanctuary had rigged a sling between two horses with handlers riding on either side for support. She was nervous but she knew they were no more than thirty minutes from camp, where he’d get the care and attention of the best healers in the North.

As they came into camp Ciardis broke off from the main body to personally escort her brother to the healing center. Entering the tent she could do nothing but wait as the healers did their jobs. Hovering, she stepped back after the second healer nearly elbowed her in the face with a tentacle. She hadn’t been shy when facing down the healers of the Ameles Forest to get through to Terris, but then again the healers of Ameles didn’t have the assortment of claws for hands, tentacles on their arms, or eyes in the backs of their heads that the diverse grouping of healers of the North did.

“Step outside,” one ordered.

That’s where she put her foot down. “I’m not leaving him.”

Stubbornness clouded her eyes as she stood as tall as she could. They weren’t impressed. When she tried to stay, one of them physically threw her out of the tent. Battlefield healers were less gentle in most respects.

Furious, she scrambled up from the mud only to come face-to-face with a duo she hadn’t seen since her first day awake in the Algardis camp. The Truthsayer and the Lord Chamberlain. Spitting out mud, Ciardis glared at them. All right, she had hoped they had died in the spidersilk attack, but, well, hope was futile in this case.

Wiping her mouth furiously, she snarled, “I assumed the two of you had gone back to the Imperial courts.” More polite than, “I wish you had died by poisoned claws.”

Lady Arabella smiled craftily. “We had hoped, but unfortunately the emperor has need of us here still.”

“Oh really?” Ciardis said. Her curiosity was piqued and a dark wariness had settled in her stomach. These two were trouble. Where they went ominous warnings followed, and she had no desire to see them stay here for one minute more.

“Yes,” said the Lord Chamberlain as he looked her over with disdain.

“Perhaps you could help us with our task?” Lady Arabella said.

‘ Ciardis’s hackles went up. “I don’t think so.”

Lady Arabella looked toward the tent behind Ciardis. “Your brother is back, yes? I have questions for him, too.”

Ciardis’s eyes widened and she flinched back as if slapped. “Don’t you go near my brother, or so help me god—”

“The questions could be answered just as easily by you,” cooed Arabella.

Silence. Ciardis read the undertone of her words carefully. If she didn’t answer Arabella’s questions, her brother would be forced to. And she didn’t think him being unconscious would stop Arabella. The woman gave her the feeling that she wanted to wake him and administer the truth serum this very moment if she could.

“What kind of questions?”

A smile blossomed on Arabella’s face.

“I assure you, the answers will come easily to you. They’re about the nature of your Weathervane gifts, after all.”

The Lord Chamberlain spoke. “Shall we go somewhere...more private?”

“Not while I’m still living,” said Ciardis softly. “If we do anything, it’ll be right here.

Arabella smiled. “It wouldn’t be secluded, per se. Just more quiet.”

“Perhaps the horse run?” the Lord Chamberlain suggested.

Ciardis was reluctant, but that area was open and in full view of the soldiers on guard duty. They couldn’t attack her there. Not without anyone else seeing. She thought about calling Vana, Kane, or Sebastian. That would have been a smart decision, but she worried that they wouldn’t want to come. Wouldn’t want to stick their necks out for her brother. The same brother who had betrayed the empire not once but twice.

She nodded stiffly. “Let’s go.”

When they arrived in the large snow-strewn field where a herd of horses munched on dried hay, she turned to them with her arms crossed defiantly.

“So what are your questions?”

Arabella started to unwrap the fabric on her sleeve.

“One more move,” Ciardis said, “and I’ll cut off your hand.”

Arabella looked up at her in surprise and then let loose a peal of laughter. “Oh, dear girl. I merely wish to show you something.”

Ciardis was still wary. “Slowly,” she commanded, gesturing with her knife at Arabella’s wrist.

Lady Arabella slowly removed the first flap from her wrist, letting the fabric fall to trail and flutter in the air while the rest of her wrist stayed bandaged. Ciardis noticed a subtle raised bump along the underside of her wrist, where the truth serum lay in its folds.

From the top of the fabric she had carefully unwrapped she plucked a small silver disc that shone in the sun. She tossed it to Ciardis, who barely caught it as it flew through the air, catching the sun’s rays as it went. Too late she realized it might be a ploy as she had dropped her knife in her fumbling attempt to catch it.

But neither the Lord Chamberlain nor Lady Arabella moved.

“Well?” said Lady Arabella. “Do you recognize it?”

Ciardis turned the silver disc this way and that. It was made of smooth metal worn by time and hands. In the center of one side was an infinity symbol that had been carved into the metal with precision. On the other, nothing.

Holding the lightweight disc up in one hand, she said, “Am I supposed to recognize it?”

“It was in your brother’s tent,” said Lady Arabella.

Ciardis shrugged.

“No idea what it is,” Ciardis said.

“And you don’t feel a surge of power from it?” said Arabella slowly. “Because, you see, Ciardis, that belonged to your mother.”

Ciardis’s head came up in surprise. “My mother? Then how did Caemon get it?”

“Exactly my question,” Lady Arabella mused while tapping her hand impatiently. “Because, your brother has never stepped foot in court, or we would know. He has had no contact with your mother’s allies over the years, and, yes, we would know that, too. So how did a medallion she always kept on her, one that disappeared when she disappeared, come to be in his possession?”

Ciardis stiffened, not ready to even assume that what Lady Arabella was hinting at could be true.

“What are you saying?” she said quietly.

“That your mother is alive,” said the Lord Chamberlain.

“And that you, my pretty little Weathervane, know exactly where she is,” said Lady Arabella with glee. “Why else would you come to this barren wasteland?”

Ciardis shook her head rapidly. “You’re wrong. My mother died years ago. I’ve never seen her, and I came here by chance.”

Arabella murmured, “I wish I could believe you, but it goes against my nature.”

With a sick smile on her face, she walked forward while unwrapping the last of the cloth from her wrist. Ciardis backed away quickly, grabbing the knife from the ground with a shaky hand.