Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (82 page)

Anger surged again inside Sithel, limbs shaking with wrath, but he hid it well. “Your—” he corrected himself, “
Our
plans have failed, master. My armies are all laid to waste. Only a handful of Dark Reavers even survived. It’s clear, is it not? We have lost.”
But I haven’t lost. Not yet.
The voidstone grew warmer and colder behind his back, ready to be used.

“Lost?” the figure questioned, perplexed. “No, dear Sithel. We’ve done exactly as planned. You, my pet, served me perfectly.”

Confusion spiraled inside of Sithel. “What are you talking about?”

The dark figure took a step forward, growing in size and girth, filling the room with every deliberate stride. “You have shown me amazing truths at little cost. I know now that the boy has companions. I have seen them. I know their faces and even their names. I’ve seen what will rally these people together. Sacrifice, compassion,” the figure said and laughed. “Now I know what I must use to break them. Most importantly, you have proven to all that there is a darkness, but it is not me.”

Sithel shook his head, his plan momentarily forgotten in light of his confusion. “But at what cost? Thousands of our men have died and…”

“Useless pawns,” the figure rasped. “True strength is far beyond their reach, or even your imagination, my pet. The final prophesized war is rising, and this time, there will only be one victor. Sadly, you will not live to see it.”

Suddenly, dark feelers reached from the ground, circling around Sithel’s limbs and lifting him into the air. Fear rooted him, but not for long. A limb shot for his arm, but he sneered and grabbed the voidstone, lunging it forward. The black limb was seared by the blue aura. “You underestimated me,” Sithel seethed. “You forget, never give the object of power to one who you intend to kill.”

“Power?” the figure asked, amused. “I gave you an object of power, but you were always weak.”

The darkness continued to writhe in pain, shadows hissing beneath the voidstone’s blue glow. Sithel’s dark sneer slowly wilted. He could always see the orange aura around his victims in the moment before it fled and their terror filled them.

Their spark.

But as the voidstone glowed, Sithel didn’t see an orange glow around the figure. Instead it was gold, like a bursting sun, pervading the room with divine light. It nearly blinded him.
It couldn’t be…
This man, he wasn’t just powerful. He was a god. Shards of pain ran through him as he stared into the light, but he couldn’t turn away. He cried out, blood running from his eyes, limbs shaking uncontrollably, and tears streaming down his face in terror. “You…” he sputtered. “What in the seven hells are you?”

The figure raised his glowing gold hand slowly. Sithel felt the dark tentacles raise him higher in the air, curling painfully tighter around his wrists, legs, and one strangling his neck. “When I found you in Covai, Sithel, you were just another pile of useless flesh, lost like so many. I offered you something beyond your wretched life. I offered you
more.
That is what I prey upon, all those who wish for more out of their pathetic lives. I gave you that, but in the end you have proven there is nothing great inside you after all. You have served your usefulness, my pawn. It is time for you to die as the insect you were all along.”

No…
Sithel thought.
I am strong…
His childhood terror filled him, the only thing he feared more than death. “You’re wrong. I am strong!” he bellowed. “You cannot kill me!” He thrust the voidstone further forward, and the blue light flared, then sputtered and the black limbs continued to crawl and writhe forward inevitably.

“No,” the dark figure hissed. “You are
nothing
.”

Sithel screamed as the tendrils flashed. They plunged through his body, and he felt his insides twist, innards tugged brutally, and he sprouted new tears of agony. He shrieked, begging for it to stop, but the twisting pain continued, as if his limbs and body were being stretched and picked apart, piece-by-piece.

At last, it ended.

When he opened his eyes—lids sore from the pain of holding them clenched so tightly—he expected to see himself in the realm of the dead, but instead, he saw a vision of terror: the obsidian walls glimmered, showing the reflection of a demon. But it was not his master—it was
himself
.

His master spoke in a deadly cold tone. “I’ve decided to reform you, sparing you
for now
. Yet raise your hand against me again, my pet, and I swear to deliver unto you pain so horrifying that it will make death seem the lightest of breezes.”

And the light hit his dark lord’s face, showing features that he both knew and feared. “I shall obey,
mistress
,” Sithel answered, voice rumbling and dark, strange in his own throat. But he reveled in it—terror and delight filled him, his grin spreading as he eyed his clawed hand.

He was powerful, at last.

Life Restored

T
HE NEARBY FIRE WARMED
G
RAY’S BACK
as his quill scratched against the parchment, writing his letter to Karil. In the corner of his eye, he saw his strange book that Mura had given him resting upon the desk. Occasionally, he thumbed through it to aid his burgeoning poem. Beside it sat his dinner, a spicy vegetable soup from the kitchens of the Citadel. It was tasty, but it was growing cold as he worked to find the words to describe what was coming, for them and for the world as a whole.

It had been two days since the battle upon the Reliahs desert, the disappearance of Sithel, and the death of Meira. They now were in Ezrah’s room, in the upper restricted halls of the Citadel. With the influx of Lost Ones, the keep was packed tighter than a school of Inago fish, for nearly every room was filled. Zane, with Gray’s help, had convinced Ezrah and the Reavers to house the Lost Ones until they got back on their feet. It only made sense with the loss of all those foul dark Reavers.

But it wasn’t so bad. Ezrah’s room was quite comfortable—stuffed chairs, gold stands, vases of priceless Saerien porcelain, and a warm fire glowed in the marble hearth. Despite its opulence, the room felt as familiar and comforting as Mura’s hut, reminding him of his slowly returning memories.

Still, Gray was growing restless.

They all were, for this was their last night in Farbs.

Nearby, Darius and Zane lounged on a rich, purple and gold-scrolled rug in the center of the room. The rogue puffed on a new pipe, while he
and the fiery man played a game of Elements. The rogue hummed a quiet tune, scrutinizing his next move,

“I’ve seen the darkness come and go
I’ve seen the light sway and fro,
But all I’ve really hoped to see,
Was your sweet beauty,
Gazing—gazing, up-on me.”

Gray had taught both of them the basics of Elements from his memories. Zane was on a winning streak. He had backed Darius into a corner now with two orange flame-shaped figurines. “You swear you’ve never played this?” Darius asked, breaking his tune, making his move with a disgruntled sound.

“Not once,” Zane said. He plopped a glass flame closer to Darius’ side of the board then returned to idly spinning his dagger on a patch of bare stone.

The rogue grumbled. “How are you so good at this?”

“You forget, fire is my
element
,” Zane said with a sly smirk.

“
Oh
, so clever,” Darius said sarcastically, a bitter tinge to his voice.

“It was clever,” Gray remarked without looking up. “Don’t be bitter.”

“Bah, this game is over anyway,” Darius exclaimed. “It’s your turn, Ayva.”

Ayva sat across from Gray. Cradling her head with one hand, her elbows rested upon the only table—a polished desk made of a strange white wood—while she gazed wistfully out the nearby window. Outside, the sun was setting, but Gray could see men walking the ramparts, guards and Devari, others strolling through the green yards far below. But he knew that’s not what Ayva was thinking about. Her mind instead fixated upon the woman who had called her
Diaon
. “Let Hannah take my turn,” she said distantly.

Hannah sat close beside Zane as always, cross-legged, wearing a blue dress. “I’m busy,” she said with a stone figure gripped tightly in her hand, beads of sweat growing on her forehead in concentration. Zane’s sister was everything the fiery man wasn’t—innocent and quiet. He knew that was something Zane had fought for, but Gray had seen fire in her too, much like her brother’s.

“What are you daydreaming about anyway?” Darius asked Ayva.

Absently fingering a notch in the smooth, white desk, she answered quietly, “She’s still out there.”

“Don’t get me started on that woman,” Darius cursed, pulling his leaf-blade closer. “I still don’t get why she had to steal Mirkal. Why not your steed, Gray? You said it was your
deal
after all. First my pipe,
now
my cormac. The woman truly is evil,” he said with a snort. Despite the fact that she’d tried to kill him and Ayva, Gray thought the rogue seemed more upset at the loss of a pipe and his mount. Though he knew that wasn’t the truth. The woman had left her mark on the rogue, and Ayva. On them all for that matter.

Gray recalled Faye holding a head in her hand before she had tossed it to the ground, and he asked suddenly, “I never asked by the way, but what did Darkeye look like?”

Zane stirred. He was scratching his stubbled cheek with his dagger and his hand froze. Gray knew he still held a bitter hatred towards Darkeye for kidnapping his sister. A hate that only seemed to burn deeper at his disappearance in the battle.

“Darkeye?” Ayva asked. “Well, like a thief. He had dark auburn eyes, unkempt blond hair, and a black mask, oh and a white scar that ran across his face.”

The quill snapped in Gray’s hand. “Are you sure…?”

Darius snorted. “I was face to face with that murderer. That’s him all right. What’s gotten into you?”

Gray looked down to his hand and saw he’d cut himself from the quill. It was only a tiny laceration, but blood was beginning to ooze. It reminded him of Faye and his blood pact within the Node, and her words echoed in his head.
Farhaven will hold you to it…
“Darkeye is dead,” Gray announced quietly. “Faye killed him.”

“What?” Zane questioned, eyes burning.

And Gray explained quickly what he saw. “That’s the strangest news I’ve ever heard,” Darius remarked. “Good news, but
strange
. That woman continues to boggle my mind.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Zane countered. “But in either case, it’s still clear Sithel got away.”

“Was he really the one behind it all?” Darius asked.

“I fear he wasn’t,” Zane answered. “Before Lucky left, the little champion told me something. He said that Sithel was stealing boys and draining their spark under Arbiter Fera’s command. Worse yet, she had asked to see me…”

Those in the room grew even more darkly silent. “Then Arbiter Fera is the cause of all this madness?” Darius whispered. “She is the puppet master pulling Sithel’s strings?”

“Perhaps…” Zane said hesitantly. “As dark as this may sound, she didn’t kill any of the boys. In fact, Lucky said she even stayed Sithel’s bloodthirsty hand. Instead, she seems to be searching for something.”

“For what?” Gray asked, curious.

The fiery man shook his head. “I wish I knew…”

“Where is she now?” Darius questioned.

Zane’s dagger rasped at the stubble on his jaw and he sighed. “I asked around and no one has seen Arbiter Fera since the battle on the sands. It seems she’s gone as well… for now.” Suddenly, the stone figurine in Hannah’s hand burst with a tiny flame. Hanna gave a surprised squawk, and then smiled in success. “You did it,” her brother said approvingly.

“Well, we can’t all be as talented as you with fire,” she said. “A talent I can’t believe you hid from me all this time. But mind you, I’ll get there, and then watch out.”

Gray was having trouble focusing on the letter, his mind a churning cauldron.

“Well if Ayva’s not playing, care to join us, my poetic chum?” Darius asked.

Gray looked up, realizing he was being spoken to. “Soon, I promise,” he said, then scratched his temple, trying to think of another word for ‘belittled.’
Disparaged,
his memories said.

“Almost done with that letter?” Zane questioned.

“Almost,” he answered.

“You didn’t forget to add what I told you, did you?” the fiery man replied, humorless. “She owes me.”

Gray chuckled without looking up. “How could I possibly forget?”

In the corner of his eye, Zane nodded, satisfied. “As long as the Lost Ones are safe, the rest is hers.”