Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three (25 page)

"Say nothing. Not one word." Blyth lowered herself into a chair, looking far older than her years. "I could have set things right. Could have overturned Maurar's censure of you, but the two of you couldn't set aside your differences for one day. Not one single day. Not even in reverence of a better woman than you will ever know the likes of again. Do the pair of you think you are the only ones grieving Nialyne's loss? It has cut across this land like a jagged knife. She was much beloved as, believe it or not, are you."

Bolin opened his mouth, closing it again when Blyth's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I will hear nothing you have to say. Not now. But you will hear all I have to say, and you will heed it. We will lay Nialyne to rest tonight, beneath the blanket of stars and the quiet of the deep night. I cannot forbid you to be there. Even if I could, it would break my heart to do so. But I warn you, Bolin, if you do one thing to further insult her memory, you will answer to me. After which, I will petition the Emperor to remove your head. Nialyne named you her son. As such, it falls to you to offer her to the Goddess's embrace. Leave your pride and arrogance behind for this one night. There is no room for it here."

Bolin bowed his head, as much in submission as shame.

Blyth let out a long sigh. "As hard as it is to admit, I believe Nialyne would have actually expected such behavior from the two of you. She was forever threatening to lock you and Maurar in a room and let you have at each other. Her funeral, however, is not the place. Should you wish accommodations set up for such an event on the morrow, do let me know, I'll see wagers are laid. Maurar loved Nialyne, Bolin. Deeply. And she him. But you had her heart and her devotion, and he could never compete with that. Worse, I think, you took it for granted."

Bolin's head snapped up. "I never--"

"You did, as all children take their mother's love, but to Maurar that was an unforgiveable insult because he cherished Nialyne."

"And I did not?"

"Of course you did. No one doubts that." Blyth pushed out of the chair and this time when she put her hand against Bolin's cheek it was with tenderness. "Were we able to go back in time, knowing what was to come, Nialyne would have made the same choice. And it was just that, Bolin. Her choice. Do not belittle it with anger. She is with you here." Her hand lowered to the center of Bolin's chest, and Nialyne's power pulsed warmly beneath her touch. "Another thing you have, that Maurar does not."

She bent to kiss Bolin's forehead before turning to Dain. "Now, Your Majesty, in the matter of Danya Maurar threatening your life, I have been charged with requesting your leniency in view of the level of his grief."

"Granted," Dain said. "However, you will relay to Danya Maurar, Galysian Elder, the same warning you have provided the Steward of Galys Auld."

"So I shall."

Blyth bowed to them both and left, taking her tray and the pitcher with her. Bolin downed the rest of the drink she'd prepared in one scalding swallow. It brought more tears to his eyes, hiding the ones already there.

"I think," Dain said, after Blyth left, "if I did not already have a wife, I would pledge to that woman. You and I will need to talk further. Remember who and what you are, Bolin. At the moment, you might want to lie down again. If I'm not mistaken, Danya Blyth drugged your tea."

CHAPTER THIRTY

Donovan reined in just outside the open gate to High House, not because of the two overly large hounds standing just on the other side, fangs bared and hackles raised. He could have killed them with a word. Or controlled them just as easily. For now, however, he needed to resist antagonizing his daughter. He needed to win her over, to persuade her that, in this instance, they would need to put their differences aside.

He edged his horse closer, and reached out to ring the large, brass bell hanging from the pillar beside the arch. The hounds took another step forward, their demeanor not altering. Long moments later, just as Donovan would have reached out to ring the bell a second time, the door to the keep swung open. A boy of perhaps eight or nine, stepped onto the stoop, an apple in his hand. He took a bite as he surveyed the hounds and then Donovan. Drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, he twisted to call over his shoulder.

Donovan's horse shifted nervously beneath him, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as it watched the hounds. A man emerged beside the boy, lean, clean shaven, with short-cropped hair, and an unmistakable air of power. He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and said something that sent the lad scurrying back inside, then moved unhurriedly down the steps and across the yard. The hounds sat when he stopped between them. He stood with feet apart, hands resting casually on the weapons at his waist, head cocked. Light eyes narrowed as they swept over Donovan.

"What's your business here?" he asked in a voice devoid of actual warmth.

"Are you the lord of High House?"

The man's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Naught but the hired help."

Donovan lifted a brow. "I very much doubt that. Still, I would speak to the lord."

"You'll speak to me or no one." Though he kept his tone pleasant, a current of menace ran beneath it. "I've asked your business here. I won't ask as politely a second time."

"I am looking for my daughter," Donovan said. The man's expression did not change, though Donovan sensed a shift in his attitude. Not for the better. "I have reason to believe she is here, and would like to speak with her."

"Ah,
Lord
Donovan is it?" The man tapped a finger against his chin, his face creasing in feigned contemplation. "Last I heard, you were wanted on charges of treason against the empire. Bold move, coming here so openly."

"Do you intend to arrest me in the Emperor's name?"

"I'd sooner execute you myself." He said it in an off-hand manner, his expression mild, which somehow made the threat all the more unsettling. Or would have, if Donovan was one to be affected by such intimidations. "You'll wait where you are. You move, toy with the hounds, or otherwise cross that threshold, and I'll know of it."

Donovan smiled and tipped his head in acquiescence. He had not been able to get a feel for exactly what kind, or how much, power the man possessed. Not that he tried overly hard. He resisted that urge, as well as the urge to simply enter High House using whatever force necessary. That would not serve his purpose at the moment.

And that purpose walked out of High House with her chin up and her spine erect. Though her clothing would have marked her as a servant, she carried herself with an air of self-possession Donovan had known existed, but never before witnessed. The man accompanied her. His positioning, and the subtle change in his demeanor, told Donovan he served as the girl's--no, the woman's--guard.

As before, they came only as far as the hounds.

Donovan smiled. "Hello, Daughter."

Her brow furrowed, and she asked, "What are you doing here?" Though her manner suggested she already suspected the answer.

"As blunt as ever, I see. May I come inside, or shall we discuss the matters between us out here?"

"That depends on what you've come to discuss."

"Your beloved general and his tenuous future."

She may have grown in confidence and poise, but she had gotten no better at concealing her emotions. That became clear as a flicker of fear chased across her face, followed by a rolling of her lips and tiny shake of her head as she attempted to present a braver countenance.

The miniscule tilting of her guard's chin interested Donovan far more. The man leaned down to whisper in Ciara's ear, never taking his eyes from Donovan. She nodded and clasped her hands in front of her, once more assuming the regal bearing of a Lady of the Empire.

"All right," she said. "We'll talk inside."

"Your hospitality is most gracious."

Donovan nudged his horse forward but it balked when the hounds stood. The guard crossed the distance between them and took the bit to lead the animal toward the house. The hounds parted, falling in behind, then trotting up to lay on the front stoop as Donovan dismounted. When Donovan made to follow Ciara into the keep, the man stepped in front of him with the smooth, casual grace of an efficient killer.

"A word of warning,
my lord
." The words were soft, and had Donovan been a lesser man the nuance present in their tone would have given him pause. "Give me the slightest provocation, and it will be my utmost pleasure to kill you."

He relayed the threat as though he were doing nothing more than telling Donovan to watch his step going in. No ego, no bravado, not a hint of doubt. Donovan allowed a smile to play across his lips. "It is quite possible the lady would disallow that."

The man chuckled, an unnerving sound when coupled with the coldness in his eyes. "I won't be asking her permission."

"Do you honestly think you can best me?"

"Care to find out?" He stepped back with a mock bow, and gestured Donovan on ahead of him.

The boy who first came to the door, sat near the bottom of a flight of steps against the back wall. He stared brazenly at Donovan, curiosity radiating from him.

"Be about your chores, Engel," the man said.

The boy frowned, getting reluctantly to his feet. "But, Ferris --"

"
An gachun glaoch athier na do?
"

Cearnease, if Donovan was not mistaken. Something about the boy's father. The child's eyes widened and he shook his head, casting one last curious look Donovan's way before leaving his perch to skip toward a door at the rear of the room.

Ciara had entered a room opposite the stairs that turned out to be what passed for a study in the utilitarian keep. A huge desk dominated the far side of the room, with sparsely populated shelves behind it. Thick, dust laden tapestries covered the walls, and a similar one had been spread across the floor in front of the fireplace. The man, Ferris, indicated one of several chairs scattered about, and Donovan settled into one of the uncomfortable, straight-backed behemoths. The mockery of padding beneath the upholstered cushion did nothing to soften the seat. His daughter claimed a similar, but unmatched, piece of furniture across from him. Her guard leaned against the wall by the door, one leg cocked to rest the sole of his boot against the stone, wrists crossed over the pommel of his sword.

"Have you wondering, don't I?" he asked with a rakish waggle of his brows when he caught Donovan studying him.

"I admit to a passing curiosity. You are clearly not one of the Emperor's lap dogs. You present yourself as my daughter's guard, though your insolent manner suggests it is not your usual role."

"'Tis at present. That's all you really need to know."

"You didn't come here to discuss Ferris," Ciara said, only a slight waver in her voice to hint at her desperation to know Donovan's true purpose.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the knee, and studied her at his leisure for the first time since losing her from his fortress in the Nethers. "You have grown, Daughter. You are beginning to wear your power well. Tell me, where is the creature?"

"You said you came to talk about Bolin's future?"

"So impatient. That has always been a weakness of yours. As is the general."

Her jaw clenched. "If you have something important to share, do so."

A surge of power accompanied her demand. Donovan considered answering with a display of his own as a reminder of what he possessed.

"That would be a mistake."

Donovan twisted his head to look at Ferris. The man maintained his casual stance beside the door, and still wore an equable expression, but his eyes glittered with a predatory light. Donovan opened his awareness, and the man winked.

"Starting to become a bit clearer to you, is it?"

Donovan's lip twitched into a sneer.
Sciath
, at least in part
.
"Of course. Count on the good general to dredge one of your kind out of oblivion to play guard dog. I suppose you expect me to concede you the upper hand now?"

Ferris lifted a shoulder. "It'd be the wisest move, all things considered. But I've found arrogance and wisdom don't often travel together."

Donovan turned his attention back to his daughter. "I would be cautious with this one, Daughter. He will likely never bite
your
hand, such dogs are extremely loyal in that regard. He will, however, not hesitate go for the throat of any he views as a threat to you. Even one you love. That is, undoubtedly, why he was called to your side. You are aware of that, are you not?"

"Ferris isn't a dog," she said. "And Bolin didn't send for him. But, since we're on the subject of Bolin, you claim to have something to say in that regard?"

"How far you have come from your humble beginnings," Donovan said. "I do believe your mother would be surprised, if not a bit horrified."

Her anger rose with the color in her cheeks. "Leave my mother out of this."

"It is because of her you are here now. Her betrayal doomed you to this life. Had she not broken her word, your existence would have been short and uneventful. Devoid of the pain and loss you have endured, and that which you have yet to realize."

She leaned forward in her chair, eyes blazing with a mix of fear and anger. "What have you done to Bolin?"

"I have done nothing to him. He is, however, in grave danger, and if he falls, we will all suffer for it." Donovan folded his hands in his lap, glancing down at them as he pondered his explanation. He would, of course, have preferred to see the general broken. Or dead. To rely on those proclaimed to be his sworn enemies, to do just as the priestess suggested he would, had been easier in thought than it proved to be in deed.

"Do you recall the Dominion priestess who accompanied me at Nisair?" Donovan waited for his daughter's nod before continuing. "I thought her dead. Killed by the general on the wall. I am sure he thinks as much. Or thought as much, before she made herself known to him again. He bears her touch. An unfortunate matter that cannot be altered now."

His daughter's face wrinkled. "What are you getting at?"

"The priestess is no more dead than I, and she has set her sights on the general."

"Why? What does she want from him?"

"She wants nothing
from
him." Donovan looked at the Sciath. "You have heard the phrase
aerglishka brazsk dern frkleschz
?"

Stillness can claim even an unmoving man. Something more felt than seen. It claimed the Sciath in that moment. Donovan could not even tell if the man still breathed.

"What does that mean?" Ciara asked, her attention flicking between the two men.

"It is an ancient ritual, once used against those of Sciathian blood." Ferris's attention narrowed on Donovan. "If you're suggesting someone knows how to perform it, I'd say that's impossible."

"So I would have thought, as well. The priestess, however, has discovered the secret, and intends to use it on the general."

The man still did not move. "There are simpler ways to kill a man."

"Not that particular man. Besides which, killing him is not what she intends."

"What then?"

"What, exactly, is this ritual?" Ciara asked.

Ferris turned his head slightly in her direction, but his focus had drawn inward. When he spoke the words, he rolled them out of his mouth as though they scalded his tongue. "
Aerglishka brazsk dern frkleschz
. It means 'to remove the glow from their reach'. It was a weapon used against those of Sciathian blood many centuries past. It was referred to as 'the blinding'." He looked away, his shoulders rising in a deep breath as he visibly tried to compose himself. "For those of Sciathian blood, being able to feel the power around us is like… it's like breathing, I suppose. It's not something we think about or consciously do, yet without it…" A shudder ran through him. "After the great wars, the Sciath were hunted and killed, their enemies convincing people that they were something to be feared, that the Sciath would turn against them once they were no longer needed. Then a piddling mage stumbled across a way of nullifying their gifts. He claimed he wished only to stop the bloodshed and help the Sciath by making them
normal.
" His lip curled and he shook his head in disgust.
"
What it did was drive them mad. Many who were subjected to blinding took their own lives rather than face an existence reduced to nothing more than a blathering shell. For one such as Lord Bolin--"