Leaves of Flame (26 page)

“We were politely but firmly refused,” Moiran interjected.

“We sent out House guardsmen to inquire in the surrounding area, including the adjacent Houses of Baene and Nuant. There are dozens of these groups in all three House lands, moving from temple to temple, staying longer in the larger towns and cities.”

“What are they doing?” Colin asked.

Moiran shook her head. “Nothing except what the Order has always done for the people. They are performing services. More often than usual, and perhaps with more precision and dedication, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing that we can use to force the members of the Flame and their escorts to withdraw,” Aeren said.

“And that is precisely the reaction that we’ve heard from the other ladies and lords we’ve sent messages to,” Moiran said. “The continued presence of the Flame—­even a single member—­makes everyone uneasy. Their actions are unsettling. We want them to withdraw, to return to Caercaern—­”

“But they’ve done nothing that will allow us to request it of Lotaern.”

“And worse, the people have been flocking to the temples to see them, to see the rituals performed with all of their subtle nuances, with the flare of Aielan’s Light in the fires at the end and the sprinkling of the waters over those crowded into the hall.” She shook her head. “They are there for the spectacle, for the relief of the winter boredom now that the last of the harvests are in and the snows are heavier, and yes, some are there for true religious reasons, but it doesn’t matter why they are going. What matters is that they are being drawn in. I fear they are being seduced.”

Fedaureon had fallen silent as his mother and father went back and forth. Colin felt badgered on both sides, Aeren to his left and Moiran to his right, even though Moiran had been speaking mostly to Aeren, her eyes watching him, not Colin.

Aeren drew in a deep breath. “After all of this activity, and after what happened at the Well with Vaeren, we cannot trust Siobhaen, regardless of the fact that she stayed at the Well to uphold Aielan’s Light to save us all. That sacrifice may not have been a sacrifice at all; it may have been planned.”

Colin’s eyes widened. “You think that Lotaern knew that
the Wraith and the Shadows would be there? That he knew I’d be incapacitated and he rigged it so that Siobhaen could gain our trust? You have more faith in Lotaern’s abilities than I do.”

“You said yourself that you knew of Lotaern’s intentions to gain the knife before you even departed from Caercaern,” Eraeth countered.

“Yes, but I do not think he had a specific plan for how to do that. He sent Vaeren and Siobhaen and the others with me so that
if the opportunity arose
they could retrieve the knife. I didn’t expect the opportunity to arise, but Vaeren seized the moment when it did.”

“And now Lotaern has the knife and is obviously using the Flame for something else throughout Alvritshai lands. Yet you insist on traveling to the dwarren with a woman who is a potential traitor and with no protection.”

Colin smiled coldly. “You don’t think I can handle her on my own?”

“You have to sleep at some point, Shaeveran,” Eraeth said.

The use of his Alvritshai name cut off Colin’s bitter response. After a moment of silence, he said, “You may be correct about Siobhaen. But as Moiran has pointed out, you and Fedaureon are needed here, to protect Rhyssal House interests in Caercaern and to protect its lands. You cannot allow the incursion of the Flame through Alvritshai lands to go unchallenged. You’ll have to go to Caercaern. Which means Fedaureon will have to remain here to watch over your House and lands. There is no one else I would trust to accompany me and Siobhaen.”

Aeren frowned at the blunt summary, at a loss for words. Fedaureon glanced toward his father, uncertain of what to say, then to Daevon.

Then Eraeth said, “I will go.”

Colin would have sworn he heard a gasp, even though no
one made a sound. But everyone stilled, Moiran drawing in a breath and holding it. Her gaze danced back and forth between Aeren and Eraeth, neither of the two looking ­toward the other, Eraeth holding himself stiffly. His stance looked uncomfortable.

Only Fedaureon dared to speak. “But you’re my father’s Protector.”

“That does not mean that he needs to be near me at all times, Fedaureon. He has left my side before.” Aeren shifted in his chair, twisting to look at Eraeth. “If this is what you wish, I will not forbid it.”

Aeren’s voice was carefully controlled. Colin could not read anything from it, could not tell whether Aeren approved or disapproved, was angry or elated or even surprised.

The silence held, everyone waiting for Eraeth’s response. He finally looked at Aeren. “It is the best solution to the current problem. One that satisfies everyone, I believe.”

He looked at Colin questioningly, as if asking whether or not Colin trusted him. But there was no question. Eraeth had carried Colin from the battlefield at the Escarpment, had taught him Alvritshai, had done countless other things since. He trusted Eraeth as much, if not more, than Aeren himself.

But he had not thought Eraeth would separate himself from Aeren’s side. He had before, on Aeren’s order, but never like this. Not for an extended period of time. And not at his own suggestion.

Moiran glared in protest, although she did not speak, obviously restraining herself.

Aeren finally nodded. “Then so be it.”

Colin left the warmth of his rooms in the Rhyssal House manse and moved through the darkened halls toward the secluded gardens on the
promontory of rock overlooking the lake. He paused outside the great room that was also Aeren’s study, heard the low murmur of voices, recognized Aeren’s and Moiran’s, their tones intense and fraught with worry and tension, so he moved on, past the kitchens where a few servants saw him but did not approach, and then through the outer doors.

The night air was biting, but he did not turn back. He breathed it in deeply, let it scour his lungs clean, then closed the doors behind him and made his way into the gardens. They were designed for relaxation, the pathways curling in and out among rock and bush and tree, nearly all of the plants dead and denuded of leaves by winter. A few conifers, carefully sculpted into windswept layers by the gardeners under Moiran’s supervision, appeared black in the moonlight. He passed through them, over stone or wooden bridges with ponds frozen beneath, through a few drifts of snow that had piled up from the winds during the day, until he stood on the wide wooden terrace that had been built over the edge of the stone promontory. Resting his hands on the railing, the breeze gusting into his face, reddening his skin, he stared out over the black water, flecked with reflected light from the moon above.

He tried to think of nothing. But all he could see in the black surface below was the movement of the Lifeblood underground, the pull of the current as whatever Walter had done—­and he knew in his gut it had been Walter—­drew it eastward.

In the back of his mind, he heard the Wraith that had attacked them at the Well whisper,
We are already moving, our armies already in motion. This is merely the removal of an… annoyance.

He snorted at the insult, but frowned. What armies had the Wraith meant? Were the Shadows on the move? And what of the other Wraiths? They had never established exactly
how many there were, and if Walter had found another source of the Lifeblood besides the Wells that Colin had warded, he could be creating even more.

His hands tightened on the polished wooden railing as the old, bitter hatred filled the back of his throat with the taste of bile. It seethed inside him, as the Lifeblood did, roiling to the surface like the black marks beneath his skin.

They had had decades without any interference from Walter or the Wraiths, but that was coming to an end. What frustrated him the most was that he couldn’t see
how
it was ending. He couldn’t see what Walter intended to do.

He had sunk so far into his hatred and frustration that he did not hear the footfalls until the figure was at his back. He reacted instantly, instinctively, seizing time and slowing it nearly to a halt even as he spun. The absence of his staff made him growl in his throat—­his hands were already swinging it around even though they were empty—­as he slid smoothly into a low crouch, knees bent, shoulders forward, balanced on the balls of his feet.

He let out his pent-­up breath in a sigh as he saw who stood behind him, his face frozen in the first indications of surprise, eyes beginning to widen, his upper body beginning to jerk back. Fedaureon hadn’t realized his approach had gone unnoticed.

As Colin relaxed, he fought back his own surprise. He would have expected Eraeth or Moiran to join him, perhaps even Aeren.

He would never have foreseen Fedaureon seeking him out.

Standing up straight and positioning himself off to one side, a step or two away so that he wouldn’t appear threatening, Colin allowed time to resume.

Fedaureon lurched backward, a gasp escaping him even as his hand reached for the cattan strapped to his side. The blade was out before he’d found his balance, his gaze shooting
frantically to either side before he caught sight of Colin standing at the railing.

It took him another few deep, shuddering breaths before the tension bled from the Rhyssal heir’s shoulders and he stood, resheathing his blade.

He bowed formally toward Colin. “I apologize. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

Colin considered lying, then smiled. “I should have been aware of your approach long before you got here. It was my fault.” He turned away. “I must admit that I’m surprised to find you out here. Did you seek me out on purpose?”

Fedaureon hesitated. Colin glanced toward him from the side, noted the angularity of his face, the eyes that came from Moiran, yet all so young. There was only a vague hint of maturity about him, something subtle in the youth’s stance.

He wondered if the Trials had continued whether or not the signs of adulthood would have been ground deeper by this point. It had seemed so for Aeren, and Fedaureon would have returned from his own Trial by now.

“Yes and no,” Fedaureon finally answered. “I came to see if you would ask Eraeth to remain. My father has always had his Protector there, not just for protection, but for advice. But I know what you will say.”

“That your father is capable of making his own decisions? That he does not need Eraeth there to help him?”

Fedaureon’s mouth twisted with irony. “Exactly.”

“You came for reassurance.” When Fedaureon didn’t answer, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, still not looking toward Colin but out over the water instead, Colin added, “Your father is capable of facing Lotaern and the Evant by himself, without Eraeth at his side, Fedaureon. You forget that he will have you near at hand. He will rely on you instead of Eraeth for his strength.”

“You mean he will rely on my mother.”

Colin’s eyes widened at the thread of bitterness in his tone. “He didn’t speak to your mother at all at dinner tonight. He received the report from you.”

“He will speak to her about it later, I’m certain.” Fedaureon said the words tightly, but Colin heard the doubt that had crept into the bitterness.

“I doubt they are arguing about you at the moment.”

Fedaureon turned toward him and Colin’s heart lurched at the vulnerability in the youth’s gaze. He’d never seen such an expression on Aeren’s face and he had to remind himself that this was
not
Aeren.

He faced the youth, straightening. “Fedaureon, do you think that I would allow Eraeth to leave your father’s side if it weren’t important? This is bigger than the Rhyssal House, bigger than the Evant and Lotaern, bigger than even the Alvritshai. You have never had to deal with Walter and the Wraiths and Shadows, never seen what they can do. We halted them before, but not until after they’d awakened the Wells and allowed their sphere of influence to expand to the entire known continent. And now they are beginning to act again… have already begun, if what the Wraith told us at the Well in the White Wastes is true and not a bluff. If I do not find out what is happening, then the Alvritshai, the dwarren, and the Provinces will be caught unaware. I need Eraeth’s help, no matter how much I protested having help at first. I need it more than Aeren does at the moment. Your father understands that, even if he does not like it. That’s why he agreed to let Eraeth go.”

Fedaureon considered the information in silence for a long moment, head bowed. When he finally looked up, something had settled in his gaze. His eyes had hardened and his shoulders had squared. “Thank you.”

Colin reached out and gripped Fedaureon’s shoulder, even though he knew such familiarity was not common among the Alvritshai. He was glad to see Fedaureon did not
stiffen at the touch. “Relax, Fedaureon. In the morning, Eraeth and I will leave with Siobhaen for dwarren lands, and you and your father will handle whatever it is that Lotaern is planning here. We’ll halt whatever is happening, as we did before.”

Fedaureon nodded at the reassuring words.

But Colin heard the falseness in his own voice, felt the roil of uneasiness in his own stomach and in his skin, in the black taint of the Well there. He knew how close the Alvritshai had come to being destroyed at the Escarpment. And he knew how brutal and vicious Walter and the Wraiths could be.