Sunset of Lantonne (50 page)

She did not wait for permission, but hurried from the dining hall. She tried not to meet the curious stares of the courtiers or look back at Therec, who she could feel watching her back.

Ilarra headed toward her room within the keep—the one place she was allowed to go without escort, though she knew there would be soldiers all along her path to ensure she did not go anywhere else. It was the illusion of freedom, when everyone knew it to be a lie.

Stopping in the middle of one of the halls, she realized the keep’s soldiers had not followed her from the dining hall, which left her alone in the interconnected halls of the lower floors. This was entirely normal, but given the slip at the dinner table, she had assumed there were soldiers right behind her. She could simply disappear, and Therec would be none the wiser for hours of searching. It was an opportunity she had not gotten since arriving and likely not one she would get again soon. Having it happen the same night as Nenophar’s approach was simply too lucky.

Checking the nearest arrow-slit window, Ilarra saw the sky was a deep purple in the west above the mountains. It would not be long before dark, when she could meet with Nenophar. If his earlier estimate held, she had perhaps an hour or so before he might be able to reach her.

Rather than waiting where she might be found and prevented from leaving, Ilarra picked a random hall and began making her way toward the nearest door out of the keep in hopes of putting some distance between herself and Therec’s men. The path was not one she had taken in weeks, but she knew it somehow, knowing where to pause and let guards pass before continuing on without having to look. At times, she felt as though she had a second set of eyes watching for the armed men to pass her by, but it did not seem odd at all, even if she knew it should have been.

Near the southern door from the keep, Ilarra stopped at the edge of one of the halls. One more step and she would be visible to the guard at the door. There was no way around it. Any of the keep’s outer doors would be heavily manned.

Ilarra closed her eyes instinctively, reaching out with her mind. She could sense three guards, not just the one she had expected. They were alert, making things even more difficult. She could hear their hearts beating calmly, letting her be certain they were unaware of her approach.

Several patterns for shaping magic appeared in her mind, repeating in a certain order until she had them memorized. She smiled as they faded away, knowing she had little to fear from the men she would face. So long as such powerful magic lent itself to her needs, no one could stand before her if she were prepared for them.

Rounding the corner, Ilarra brought the first pattern into reality, draping the entire doorway area with an aura of deathly silence. Even her footsteps went still, and the three men that turned sharply at her approach opened their mouths without a sound coming forth.

The next spell was far more difficult. In the silence, Ilarra could not whisper the words that normally shaped magic into the physical world, forcing her to use the much more intricate pattern in her mind to create magic without words. Her father had often spoken of wanting to learn this trick as she grew up, but she took her cues directly from instinct, using the skill from past experience…though not her own.

The spell hit the three soldiers and their eyes rolled back. One by one, the men collapsed to the floor, asleep. They would wake eventually, but Ilarra’s only concern was getting past the door. She could deal with them if they did manage to come after her. Likely, she had more than enough time to be several blocks away before they woke or were found.

She stepped over the men, dismissing the unnatural silence as she reached the door. Instantly, the men’s soft snores seemed to fill the hallway, making her smile with amusement at how easy it had been to get past Therec’s defenses and walk out of the keep. For all Therec’s fears about her, he had done little to protect himself or the city.

One flip of the latch on the door and Ilarra headed out, letting the door close behind her as she went.

The cold winter air hit Ilarra immediately, making her wish she had grabbed a cloak, or at least proper boots. The dining dress and simple shoes she wore did nothing to protect her from the bitter winds, and by the time she was out of sight of the keep’s doors, her feet felt half-frozen. Still, having already assaulted three guards, she hardly felt it wise to abandon the trip. There would likely be no second chance for some time.

She hurried through the mostly abandoned streets, passing several small groups of people—nearly every race she had ever heard of, as was Lantonne’s way, though she steered clear of the wildlings and orcs that seemed determined to always be too close at hand—making her way to the southern gardens.

With winter in full swing, the gardens were hardly a popular place in the city, making it perfect for her meeting. Several inches of snow covered rows of dead plants, with a poorly cleared path through the middle of the gardens. From what she could tell, the path was little more than a shortcut some people in the city used to avoid having to go around the large garden area.

“Nenophar?” she called out, stopping at the middle of the garden.

The distant sounds of conversation drifted from the lit windows of a home nearby, but aside from that and the whistling of the wind through the buildings, she heard nothing.

Wrapping her arms around herself to try to stay warm, Ilarra hopped up and down and slowly turned in place, searching for the strange man. He appeared in her room anytime she did not want him there, but now that she wanted to talk to him, there was no sign he was coming.

A strong wind from behind buffeted Ilarra, nearly knocking her off-balance. As it passed, she heard a weight come down behind her on the stones of the plaza outside the garden, as though a boulder had been gently set down and the stones were settling to accommodate its weight.

Spinning, she found Nenophar stood at the entrance to the garden, still wearing his simple shirt and pants, though he no longer wore the Lantonnian armor. He wore no jacket or cloak, but appeared entirely at ease in the cold, unlike her.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, marching up to the man. “I was freezing out here.”

Nenophar looked up at the sky, then at Ilarra with an eyebrow raised. “I had thought a little more trepidation could be expected when facing someone who you do not know or understand. Perhaps you must be killed to eliminate one more threat to the fabric.”

“I don’t fear you.”

That seemed to surprise the man, and he paused before asking, “Why do you believe I mean myself? There are others who would kill you, now that you resist their plans.”

“You want me to be afraid of you,” she snapped, suddenly feeling anger toward Nenophar like the misplaced frustrations she had felt lately toward Raeln. “Your kind always does. Neither you nor Therec can hurt me anymore.”

Nenophar’s neutral expression sank rapidly to an angry frown. “What would you do to me if you thought you would not be found out?”

Ilarra’s shivering ceased and new patterns for spells came to mind. These were incredibly complex, but she could see the immense destruction they would cause. No matter what Nenophar might be, she could surely strike him down with any of them. With time, she could tear the whole city to the ground around him.

She raised a hand to strike, a pattern flowing across her thoughts that would incinerate half the plaza. Hundreds might die before the flames abated, but she had only one desire: to see this man burn.

The spell fell apart as Nenophar caught Ilarra’s wrist. All of the patterns and the anger that had come with them vanished and a sense of utter calm washed over her. Along with it came the cold with an abruptness that made her shake violently.

“Now, what would you intend to do to me?” he demanded, pushing her backwards until she ran into the garden’s low walls. “Speak with your own voice, not theirs.”

Tears filled Ilarra’s eyes as the enormity of all she had said and done over the last week hit her. Every argument with Raeln, every hateful thought, every time she had looked at the keep’s servants as vermin that were beneath her. Despite the cold and snow, Ilarra pulled from Nenophar’s grip and collapsed, weeping into her hands as her legs froze in the wet snow.

“Help me,” she pleaded, kneeling before the elven man. “This isn’t me…they want me to kill you.”

“I know it’s not you,” Nenophar told her gently, reaching down to touch the back of her head. “You needed to see that.”

“What am I, Nenophar? What did they make me into?”

Taking a knee in front of her, Nenophar answered, “I can tell you what you were and what your life was to mean to the fabric. What you are now is something else entirely…you are more like my kind, sitting outside the constant action and reaction of the mortal world.”

Sniffling as her tears froze on her face, Ilarra grabbed Nenophar’s sleeve and demanded, “Tell me what my place was supposed to be. Who was I going to be?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Tell me.”

Sighing, he lifted her face to make her look at him. “Ilarra of Hyeth was intended to have several children and survive the war with Altis,” he explained, holding her chin to keep her from looking away. “Your life should have come to an end when Raeln caught fever in seven years, killing you both. Your husband would have survived you by several decades.”

“My father? Asha? Greth? Did they survive?”

“The wildling returned to his home in the mountains. There, another of his breed would kill him in an argument over hunting rights. Your father died to a barbarian raid only a month from now, though Asha’s strength kept her alive for a time, seeking revenge that she never managed to fulfil. None of this matters now, as those fates were destroyed the moment the Turessians marched on your village.”

Nenophar waved a hand over Ilarra and it felt as though a weight came crashing down on her. Anger and a thousand voices filled her mind made her want to scream and to destroy everything around her until she felt better. All of the pain and fury seemed to abruptly target Raeln, willing her to find and kill him in the hopes it would ease her own pain. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the feeling vanished. She realized she lay on the ground, the snow soaking through her dress.

“That,” said Nenophar, reaching to help her up, “is what your mind looks like without either Raeln or myself aiding you. You are lucky your bonded friend remains close, or the protection he gives you would fade and even I could not keep this at bay forever. Had you sent him away or been separated, I never would have reached you in time.”

She stood slowly, the cold no longer even a mild concern. “If Raeln leaves?” she asked, panic beginning to set in as she thought about Greth and Raeln having left at least an hour earlier. She had no way to contact them.

“Then you will eventually either go mad or become the slave of the creature that did this to you. How long it takes depends on my willingness to help and your own stubbornness.”

“Can you help me? Will you?”

“Would I have come if I did not intend to try?” he asked, looking like he genuinely was concerned for the first time she had seen.

Ilarra stood as straight as she could, trying to ignore the chill of the weather. “Let’s go,” she said. “You asked me to let you know when I was really ready. I am now.”

Nenophar opened his mouth to answer, then looked past Ilarra. As he did, she became abruptly aware of voices behind her, growing louder.

“Arrest her!” shouted Therec, coming into the garden area with twenty or more soldiers around him. “If either of them resists, kill them!”

Nenophar smiled and stepped away from Ilarra. “You do not want to do this, heir of Turess,” he called out to Therec. “Let the elf child go. Nothing you can do will help her.”

“I don’t want to help her,” the Turessian shouted back, shaking with anger. “I want the girl tried for murder. Whoever you are, if you stand in our way, you share her fate.”

“Murder?” asked Nenophar, giving Ilarra a curious glance. “I smell no death on this one…”

“I believe I have been more than hospitable,” Therec said in a near-growl as he approached, making Ilarra clench her jaw to keep from laughing at him as she compared his tone to that of the wildlings she had grown up with. As he moved closer, the soldiers raised crossbows and aimed them at both Nenophar and Ilarra. “We both knew you were a spy from the moment you arrived here, but I tried to be reasonable and seek a balance between warfare and negotiation. This is how you repay me?”