Dawn of Swords (46 page)

At the bottom, they were greeted by the smiling faces of Kindren’s parents and a handful of their most devoted sentries. Kindren was nowhere to be seen, however, and something about the expressions on the Thynes’ faces—especially that of Phyrra, Kindren’s mother—seemed off. Their smiles were too wide, as if their flesh were a mask hiding something awful.

“Where is Lucius?” Cleotis asked them the moment he neared. “Where’s Kara?”

“Why are the Ekreissar here?” shouted another of the Dezren elves, and many took up his cry.

“Are we at war?”

“Send the Ekreissar away! We are not prisoners!”

The din became so loud, it felt like Aully’s brain would dribble out her ears. Lord Orden held out his hands, trying to calm the crowd, and Lady Phyrra shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Please quiet down, and we will explain everything to you!” After a few moments of mayhem, Aully’s father joined Lord Orden’s side, and his people listened. The roar shrank to a dull murmur.

Lord Orden stepped forward.

“I understand your confusion,” he said, his voice cracking in a way that Aully didn’t trust. To her youthful ears it sounded a lot like it did when he told her the forest was out of sweetbread just because he wanted her to stop asking for more. “I have been meeting with Neyvar Ruven all morning, as the arrival of his general, Aerland Shen, caught us off guard as well. However, I can assure you that the elite are here for a good reason. They’ve brought disturbing news with them from beyond the forest.”

Lady Phyrra nodded gravely, backing her husband’s words.

“When were we to be informed of this?” asked Aully’s father. “And where are the people I sent to you?”

Lord Orden cleared his throat. Aully noticed a line of sweat trickling down his neck. He began to tug at his collar, and he and his wife shared a strange, offhanded glance.

“Please, come with us,” he said. “The Neyvar wishes to explain everything himself.”

Aully slipped out of Noni’s grasp and pushed to the front of the assembly.

“Will Kindren be there?” she asked, louder than she’d intended. “Will I get to see him?”

Neither the lord nor lady answered her; they turned around and hurried out of the room through doors that were held open by
their sentries. The crowd followed them, exiting into the open air beneath an ominous gray sky.

The trip to the gates of Palace Thyne was one Aully had taken nearly every day since arriving in Dezerea, but this morning her feet ached and her back throbbed, and it seemed to take twice, perhaps three times, as long. The Thynes led the Stonewood elves past the monument to Celestia, which stood off to the right of the path. The statue of the benign goddess was naked and standing on tiptoes, one arm crossed over her breasts and the other lifted skyward. On the evening of the New Year, her finger pointed directly to the goddess’s star, burning brightly in the darkened heavens.

Once the monument was behind them, the front quad of the palace opened up. The countless Quellan Ekreissar loomed before them, maintaining formation on the very grounds that had hosted the Tournament of Betrothal not so long ago. Aully shivered as she glanced at them, each standing rigid, as stone-like as Celestia’s statue, their eyes empty of any emotion. They crowded both sides of the path, forcing the procession to narrow. Aully found herself squeezed into the middle, too short to see where she was going, too slight of build to keep from being jostled by the crowd.

“Halt,” she heard a voice shout, and she knew immediately that it was the Neyvar’s.

Her mother’s soft fingers gently wrapped around her forearm, the elegant Lady of Stonewood guiding her through the maze of elves until she stood front and center with her family. Aullienna was frightened by those who were facing them—Orden and Phyrra Thyne, flanked by the massive Aerland Shen with his black, fitted armor, and Neyvar Ruven, surrounded by the conspirators Conall, Aeson, and Iolas. Aully forced herself not to shiver, channeling Brienna’s impudent strength, and she searched for Kindren amidst the throng. She didn’t see him, but her gaze did find Ceredon. The prince of Quellassar stood off to the side, a queer expression overtaking his formerly beautiful features.

Aully’s father turned and hushed the crowd before addressing the Neyvar.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “Where are my people?”

“You mean those you sent to spy on us?” the Neyvar replied. He gestured with his left hand, and one of the sentries hauled out Lucius and Kara. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and a fresh bruise covered the right side of Kara’s face, but otherwise they appeared unharmed.

The sentry shoved them forward, and the two lost their balance, falling into the empty space between Aully’s family and the Neyvar. They started to rise, cursing under their breaths, but Aerland Shen planted a boot into each of their backs in turn, shoving them face first into the grass.

“It is disrespectful to play underhanded games with me,” said Neyvar Ruven. “You only had to come to us and ask, and we would have informed you of the nature of my people’s visit.”

“And it is disrespectful to bring an armed force into this municipality during a time of peace,” snapped Cleotis. His eyes fixed on Orden Thyne, fiery enough to burn holes into the lord’s soul if that were possible. “
Especially
without informing your guests.”

Aully watched as the Lord of Dezerea’s posture slumped. She then looked over at the Neyvar, who began shaking his head in an odd way, as if he were about to admonish a child.

“You cannot blame the Thynes for their silence, Cleotis. They did not come to you because I did not allow it.”

Cleotis seethed. “You aim to instruct a lord on how to act in his own territory?”

“I would do no such thing,” said the Neyvar. “But Orden and Phyrra are Lords of Dezerea no longer.”

He threw back his shoulders and addressed the congregation at large.

“The Quellan have hereby lifted the burden of leadership from the family Thyne, heaping that responsibility on our own capable
backs. This is no longer Dezren land, but ours. The lord and lady have agreed to this of their own accord.”

“Is this true?” Audrianna gasped.

Like her husband, Phyrra Thyne looked away.

“Why?” asked Cleotis.

Iolis, the elder of the Neyvar’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak, but Neyvar Ruven shushed him.

“There are trying times ahead,” he said, his tone confident and full of pride. “The humans march toward war, man on man, brother on brother. I fear even the gods will war, and all the world will suffer for it. And here stands Dezerea, directly in the middle of whatever will come.”

A collective murmur spread through the swarm of Aully’s people. Her father shook his head as if clearing water from his ears.

“So you’re saying you brought your forces here…to
protect
us?”

Ruven smiled down at Cleotis as if he were terribly naïve.

“Protect?” the Neyvar said. “No, we will do more than protect. We have come to take sides. If hostilities do break out, the followers of Karak will hold the advantage, and we must be there to ensure a swift victory for them to minimize the damage done to Dezrel, as well as to our own people.”

Aully’s mother gasped. “You cannot be serious! The goddess herself instructed us not to meddle in the affairs of men. She handed the brother gods land to do with as they please. To throw ourselves into the fray is tantamount to blasphemy!”

The massive Shen growled, and Neyvar Ruven flipped his fingers toward the sky.

“Yes, the great Celestia demanded our neutrality—after asking us to ward the humans, which we denied of her! She split the land in two regardless, destroyed our homeland, and
left us destitute! This
is the goddess whose demands you wish to follow? Where is she?” The Quellan ruler lifted his angry gaze to the dark clouds overhead. “Celestia!” he shouted. “Do you hear me, goddess? Are we taking the wrong path? If so, strike me
down now, or wrestle yourself from your beloved Ashhur’s arms and instruct us on the right way! Can you do this? Can you?
Will
you?”

Aully watched the sky, hoping the clouds would part and the blinding light of her goddess would shine down, but nothing of the sort happened. The clouds continued to churn overhead, the same as they had been all morning.

“Do you see?” the Neyvar said. “Celestia does not care what we do. We are writers of our own destiny.”

Aully’s father suddenly turned to face her, dropping to one knee so he could look her in the eye. His fingers reached out and twined through her hair. A tear fell from one of his olive-shaped eyes, trailing over his nose and around the curve of his lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he whispered.

Aully nodded, frightened and confused, her mother’s hand pressed firmly on her shoulders from behind. She didn’t like the look on her father’s face.

Lord Cleotis slowly stood upright and raised his fists above his head. She’d never seen him more afraid—or braver.

“People of Stonewood!” he cried. “My brothers and sisters in faith, we cannot allow this blasphemy to go unanswered! If the Thynes wish to take part in this abomination, let them! But let us return home and remain as Celestia wished us to be—neutral.”

The Neyvar grabbed his arm, whirling Cleotis around.

“You will not,” Ruven Sinistel growled. He looked panicked, though his voice hid it well. “You no longer have a place in Stonewood. Our sympathizers have already overtaken the forest. Detrick Meln is lord there now.”

Aully’s father planted his fist in the Neyvar’s chest, and the Quellan leader stumbled backward, clutching at his breast and gasping for air. Those gathered around him looked on with wide eyes, as if they were shocked that anyone would dare to raise a hand against their sovereign ruler.

“Liar!” Cleotis shouted. “Detrick is my brother, and faithful to his goddess. He would never betray my trust.” He faced his people again. “We must depart! There is nothing more for us he—”

His words ceased abruptly as a black blur flashed across Aully’s vision. Her mother screamed. A ring of red formed around her father’s neck, and his head began to tilt forward, eyes bulging. Aully stared up at him, frozen. Cleotis’s eyes looked into hers, but there was no recognition there, and his head kept slanting downward until it detached from his neck with a sickening
plop
and rolled down his chest. A geyser of blood erupted from the stump of his neck. Aully shrieked, caught in the shower of her father’s life essence, holding her hands in front of her face as crimson droplets fell on her. Audrianna’s hand left hers, her body falling limp as she collapsed in shock.

Everything became a blur. The intimidating Aerland Shen stood before her, blood dripping from one of his black blades. The Neyvar was shouting something about broken promises to the huge elf, but then one of the cousins—Conall—grabbed the Quellan ruler by the collar, screaming, “We are not slaves to the word of humans!” Aullienna saw Lucius and Kara stand up and try to fight, then watched helplessly as khandars burst from their chests, spilling even more blood on the grassy courtyard of Palace Thyne. She felt the Thyne sentries closing in from the front, the Ekreissar from the sides and back. She didn’t see Ceredon, and somewhere deep in the anguished recesses of her mind she wished she could rip his disloyal throat out before she too was slaughtered. Then there were hands upon her, violently yanking her to her feet, dragging her across the blood-drenched lawn, while all around her people—her friends, family, and countrymen—screamed and screamed.

She was heaved through a door on the side of the palace and down a steep flight of stairs. Her head thumped with each footfall of the man who carried her. Once they reached the bottom of the stairwell, which led to a corridor lined with crude, barred cages, she
was unceremoniously dumped into one of them, striking her head on the stone-littered, hay-strewn floor.

Her unconscious mother was dumped beside her, the stunning Audrianna of Stonewood looking like a corpse, her face and formerly exquisite clothes covered with dirt and her husband’s blood. An angry voice shouted the vilest of insults her way, and then the cage door was slammed shut with such force that the vibration wracked her already frazzled nerves. She broke down right then and there, cradling her unconscious mother’s hand, knowing that she would never see Brienna or Kindren again.

All the while, the screams and pleas of her dying people assaulted her ears.

She retreated inward, trying to hold onto the last shreds of her fleeing sanity, and above the din of torment that surrounded her, she imagined she heard the voice of her betrothed, howling for her in agony, trapped and alone, beyond her reach.

C
HAPTER

23

S
oleh had examined the handwriting of the Connington brothers, the king, Karl Dogon, and each member of the Council of Twelve, but it had led nowhere. She sent Pulo, Jonn, and Roddalin out to whisper among the merchants, including Matthew Brennan, trying to discover who might have a motive to sabotage her family. Still nothing. The only person she had yet to confront was the Highest himself, and that was only because he had yet to return.

If only Karak were here,
she muttered to herself one cold morning.
I’m tired of secrecy and games. Surely he would be able to tell with a glance who wrote it.

Once more she climbed her podium to preach Karak’s word. The crowd before her was in stark contrast to those who had gathered when she’d first begun her sermons. Now they echoed her every word and listened to her on bent knees. Just as she was finishing up, a convoy of horses trotted through the portcullis, Clovis’s white mare in the lead. Sure enough, the Highest sat in the saddle, his expression a mixture of irritation and bland resignation, the heavy shawl draped over his shoulders flapping as a cold wind blew
through the courtyard. There were another fourteen horses behind him, ridden by his daughter Avila, his son Crian, and other high-ranking officials from Karak’s Army. All bore the red sigil of the lion over their chainmail.