The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (20 page)

How many months had he dreamed of meeting this creature face to face? How many nights envisioning this moment and what he would do, what he would say? All of it wasted, in vain…the ignorant dream of a naïve boy. Every conception he’d had of this creature had been completely
wrong!

“Be welcome, Ean,” the Shade finally said, trying to ease the awkward tension binding them in that indefinite moment, two statues locked in stone while the winds of Ean’s emotion blasted and buffeted them. The Shade placed palms together, pressed fingertips to his lips and bowed.

Ean called his composure to heel, feeling awkward and embarrassed. “Reyd…wasn’t it?” he managed.

“Indeed.” The Shade regarded him solemnly. “Do you feel rested? Recovered?”

“Yes.”  Ean reminded himself in every moment that this man was not his enemy despite what his instinct was shouting. “Very much so.”

“That is excellent news. The First Lord is pleased to know it. If it would not be too unpleasant for you to walk with me, I will escort you to him now.”

“No, definitely not,” Ean replied. Then he grimaced at the unwitting ferocity in his tone—as if his subconscious still held some misplaced animosity. “I mean, it’s certainly not unpleasant for me,” he hastened to add. “It’s just that when I saw you…” Suddenly tongue-tied, he tried to find the words.

“It is only reasonable for you to wish me ill,” Reyd observed gravely.

“Oh, for Epiphany’s sake!” Ean pushed a hand through his hair and gave the Shade an imploring look. “You saved my blood-brother from the permanence of death. I should feel naught but…gratitude.”

“I also assaulted you, took you hostage, threatened you and punched you in the mouth.”

Ean cracked a smile. “I supposed I deserved it—at least that last part.”

They stood staring at one another for a moment more, and then Ean motioned them onward, mostly because he couldn’t stand feeling so awkward and unbalanced. “Would you lead the way?”

The Shade acquiesced with a nod.

As they walked in silence, Ean’s tension ebbed. Somehow, in that brief moment of reconciliation—even as clumsy as it was—some part of him had yet been…righted.

In recent weeks, he’d been feeling like every piece in the game of Kings that was his life had been tumbled upon the board. Now, one piece had been placed back in position, rightness restored to that small degree. Things were becoming—oddly, it seemed that things were becoming…as they should be.

It was the strangest experience.

“How long have I been asleep?” Ean asked. He had the sense that he’d lost a day or two since staggering across the node with Franco.

“Six days,” Reyd answered.

“
Six
days?”

“The First Lord felt you needed the rest and commanded you into the dreamless sleep of healing
. You rose only to eat and drink twice a day but never woke.”

“
Six days
,” Ean said again, both startled and amazed. “I don’t remember anything.”

“No, you wouldn’t
. Such is the nature of the healing sleep.”

“Are the others here
? Creighton? Franco Rohre?”

“The Nodefinder left some days ago on an errand for the Second Vestal, and your blood-brother is on assignment. Ironic, because he spent every night at your bedside in case you woke early, and now upon the day he has been set to task, you rouse.”

They passed through a vast atrium brightened by a glass-domed ceiling. “He is glad you are awake now, however,” Reyd added, glancing Ean’s way.

The prince must’ve looked confused, for the Shade clarified, “All Shades are connected via the shared mind. Was this not explained to you?”

“I suppose Creighton said something about it,” Ean muttered, “but I barely understood half of what he told me. Everything happened so quickly…” Ean shook his head, realizing how many holes he still had in his knowledge.

“It is well that you have come here then,” Reyd said, glancing at him. “The First Lord will make many things clearer.”

Ean thought of how long he’d been desperate for answers and how most everyone who’d advised him only seemed to provide whichever information most suited their own agendas. Would he even be able to accept them if Björn offered him
real
answers? He thought of mentioning this concern to the Shade, but just then they reached a pair of immense doors. Seeing them, Ean forgot everything else.

Exquisitely carved with scenes of the Genesis, all manner of creatures and men seemed to explode out of them. Ean stopped short in their shadow, captured not merely by their beauty and expert craftsmanship. No, he was startled because—

“I’ve seen these doors before.” He extended a hand tentatively toward them, somehow wary that if he touched them they would vanish like the dream they seemed.

“They are the Extian Doors.”

Ean turned to him. “I don’t mean I’ve seen something like this,” he said, staring hard at the creature. “I mean I’ve seen
these exact
doors—I’m sure of it—but…”  He looked back to them and pushed a hand through his hair, grabbing cinnamon waves into his fist as he gazed with wonder. “But that’s not possible, is it?”

Reyd waved to the doors and they opened, swinging inward with stately silence. He walked through and then looked back to the prince. “Come, Ean val Lorian. The First Lord would greet you in the Hall of Games.”

Ean followed, but he suddenly felt the entire Kings board wavering under him again, his single tiny knight fighting to stay upright.

Björn van Gelderan
.

Ean remembered how the zanthyr had spoken of him so long ago. How he’d so quickly roused to anger when Ean, in all innocence, had spoken ill of the man. He remembered the way Raine D’Lacourte’s diamondine gaze filled with frustration at the mere mention of Björn, the way his manner shifted from calm determination to anger and dismay, radiating his inability to outthink the Fifth Vestal as much as his guilt and resentment over it.

And he remembered all of the stories he’d ever heard about the man—not a one depicted him as anything but a heinous traitor—and he recalled Raine’s account of the sacrifice of the Citadel’s Hundred Mages…

What in Tiern’aval were you thinking coming here?

He’d betrayed everyone to join Björn. And why? For Creighton? Because through Björn both of their lives had been spared? Because the Fifth Vestal could teach him to use his talent?

Because
Björn is fighting the same people I’m fighting.

But Ean knew the intensity of feeling that drew him to Björn van Gelderan ran far deeper even than these reasons.

This is what you wanted all along—to seek him out, to confront him.

But back then Ean had blamed the man for Creighton’s death. Now he knew that to be a terrible misconception, knew that Björn had been helping him all along.

And yet…a glimmer of truth still demanded acknowledgment: he
had
wanted to seek out Björn. He’d felt the need pushing at him since the very first moment the Vestal’s name was restored to his consciousness as a living man instead of a myth.

Well, now it’s done…
you’ve gone to him.
But as he pushed on, following the Shade, Ean faced so many unknowns that everything inside him was trembling.

The Hall of Games spread expansively, its black and white marble floor playing counterpoint to soaring ceilings and gigantic alabaster columns. The far wall of arched windows overlooked a garden patio, and beyond it, the whole of Niyadbakir. Between the windows and Ean, groupings of chairs and tables offered players a space to congregate and partake in any manner of games.

At that time of the morning, only a few of the tables hosted occupants. Ean looked around as he followed Reyd, taking in the scene with wonder riding the tide of his apprehension until—

He saw
her.

She stood near the balcony doors talking to two men. A black silk blindfold concealed her eyes and bound her long chestnut hair, and she held a raven-black staff as tall as she was. Her simple yet elegant dress gleamed with hues of the deepest, richest wine.

Ean stood transfixed.

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped walking, the sight of her so riveted him. His heart caught in his throat, and he felt a painful compulsion to go immediately to her side. These emotions were incredibly strong, inexplicable, and disconcerting. Most of all, he felt an overwhelming jealously toward the other men standing with her, simply because they had her attention.

Reyd prodded Ean’s elbow with a gentle touch, and the prince, mesmerized, starting walking again. While Ean watched, a black-haired man whose back was to him kissed the woman on both cheeks and said something too quietly for Ean to hear. She smiled tenderly at him and cupped his cheek in her palm. Then she placed her left hand upon the arm of a robust man with silver-white hair, and he led her away.

Ean thought his heart would break to see her go, but then the dark-haired man was turning and Ean stood face to face with Björn van Gelderan.

A memory came unbidden…

Ean looked up at the stranger, and taking a deep breath, he stepped upon the bridge
. He knew his path now led across the bridge, but still he trembled in the knowing. “Can we…walk together?” Ean asked the blue-eyed man.

“If you would have me at your side
…”

There was no denying it…Björn alone had drawn him back from the steppes of death, where even the zanthyr had not ventured.

Ean could not bring himself to take a single step more. He stood paralyzed by apprehension, by doubt…by gratitude and regret, and strange feelings of lingering resentment that seemingly had no place.

Björn crossed the distance between them in five long strides and grabbed Ean into an embrace. “Ean, at last!” he exclaimed, hugging him tightly. Pulling back, he took the prince by both shoulders. “Be welcome!”

As Ean gazed at Björn, a flurry of emotions choked him. He inexplicably felt another knight right itself upon his game board. Though he didn’t know why or how, he knew this was not a meeting.

It was a reunion.

The terrifying realization held staggering connotations.

Björn seemed perceptive to Ean’s delicate mental state, or perhaps he was used to people standing speechless in awe of him, but he held Ean’s gaze with infinite compassion. One hand squeezed the prince’s shoulder. “Come…will you break your fast with me?”

When Ean didn’t object—verily, he couldn’t find words of any sort—Björn nodded to Reyd, who left them, and then the Vestal led Ean out onto the sundrenched patio.

Ean had never witnessed such an impressive display of creation. The alabaster city, the deep lush valley, the jagged emerald mountains all around. It seemed like…paradise.

Björn led Ean toward a marble table that had been set with a meal, and Ean slowly sank into a chair feeling dazed.

Could he really just eat? Just like that? He had so many questions, but they all seemed to demand justification in the answering, and Ean couldn’t bring himself to demand such from this man—not now that he’d met him in the flesh.

As Ean stared numbly at his plate, he realized that he’d felt such antagonism toward this man’s
name
—Björn van Gelderan—for so long that he couldn’t reconcile his feelings. The
name
represented ideas that were very different from who the man was. Ean saw that now.

Standing face to face with Björn had instantly recalled powerful emotions that seemingly had no source—feelings of profound loyalty and friendship, and of the immense weight of duty.

Everything seemed so disjointed, his mind was spinning… spinning…

“Have a drink, Ean,” Björn advised, watching him in a quietly intense way that was very much like the zanthyr’s in manner.

Ean shifted his gaze to meet Björn’s. His eyes were quite impossibly blue. It was the first thing Ean had noticed about him, even before he noticed how striking he was, even before the force of Björn’s presence jarred him to the bone.

“Ean?”

Ean realized the man was trying to hand him a goblet of something, so he took it, and he drank all of it, noting after the fact that the wine had been strong. It warmed his stomach and brought some color back to his cheeks, but it couldn’t quiet the storm of his thoughts.

The Vestal put a plate of fruit in front of him. It looked just like ordinary Alorin fruit, not something born of a heretical realm of darkness and shadows led by a traitorous villain. Ean felt the fool just sitting there, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat—his stomach was too tumultuous, his mind a hurricane of confusion. He had so many questions, but he couldn’t conceive of where to begin.

And then there was that feeling of reunion. Ean couldn’t even think about that.

He wondered suddenly what the zanthyr would say if he saw him sitting there so frozen by his own insecurities. But thoughts of the zanthyr gave him a way to open the conversation at least.

“Is Phaedor…”  Ean heard his own voice as if it were far away, drowned by the waves of anticipation rising with the question he meant to ask. “Is he sworn into your service?”