CHAPTER 14
The Cage
A flash of light in the window on his left caught Keravel’s eye. It was the signal. Rechane had seen Monren and his party. The Falcon was in his sights, but any suspicion before that final moment would send her soaring away again. Calm. Patience.
A twitch of his finger brought E'dan and A'lan to his side. These were blood-brothers; no one would doubt it. They were as darkly similar as the matched blades they were named for.
It was the way of their homeland to fight with two swords, but both were equally deadly with the single black blade that now rode on their hips. They had been masters when they'd been taken, young as they were. He had simply added to their twin blades the traditional black-steel one, kept them training, and they were the best he had.
Fierce near-black eyes met his grey ones evenly, openly. They never had seen the need for true deference, though after those first hard years they had stopped voicing their thoughts at least. That was often the trouble with training ashendari here, the ones they had brought from Asemal as children were far more pliant and respectful.
"You know what is expected of you, yes?" He asked them. If his voice was quiet, it was anything but gentle. Everything depended on them. The other ashendari could take care of Ravin and the others, and the loyal Brothers could handle Monren and his friends easily, it was the Falcon that he needed these two to handle. And if they failed, he knew he could not stop the seawall from breaking after that.
It rankled to have to rely on anyone this way, but sometimes these things were necessary. The Gift had not even been a threat to him, a mere weaver of Elements, and here this girl had not only been reached by it but had actually overcome it. That made her the most powerful Wielder in Asemal or Arith in at least one hundred years, if not more. He strongly suspected that it was much, much more. There is no shame in needing a few extra hands to deal with that, certainly. No shame, but it is irritating.
"Yes, my Lord." The brothers answered in unison. A'lan's voice was a hair lower, E'dan's eyes a touch darker, and the latter was a shade thinner, but they had the same cold stare, the same hard face. It was like looking at one man in a mirror. It seemed strangely unnatural when they moved at different times.
"I will be to the left of the door," E'dan began,
"And I to the right." A'lan finished.
"We each take her wrist, maintain contact at all costs, and do not stop until the band is secured. Then we will be sealed to her." They finished by rote. Keravel had repeated the instructions many times; there was no room for mistakes.
"Good. You are ready." It was not a question. The Firstborn stroked the deep red hoop on his knees. Inside the stone circlet stone was curled a long chain of the same color, connecting the collar to matching bracelets. E'dan would chain his right wrist to the Falcon's left, and the opposite was true of A'lan, leaving the strongest hand of each free to use a sword if needed, with the girl halfway between.
He had seen them practicing with their weak hands bound behind their backs. It did not look to slow them down. Any gap in one's performance was seamlessly filled by the other. It was fitting that they were named for the blades of their homeland—the e'dan was the left handed sword and a'lan the right—the brothers too were cold, lethal, and came in a matched set. He had seen them practicing with their strong hands behind their backs, too. It was a dance of death.
There was no need for two of them all the time after this was finished, though. Keravel supposed much of the time, once she had calmed down, one of them could have a break while the other was chained to her. Of course, after the Linking they would both be her Watchers, and she could not ever escape them.
"Once you have her in your hands, bring her to me. I will put this on myself." He ordered again. A quiet satisfaction flooded through him. The wine-red stone had been polished until it held a velvet sheen. The whole thing had been carved from one single block of Bloodstone, carved by the Elements with every scrap of skill he and those select Brothers had in them.
That was the only way to do anything to Bloodstone: alter it with pure Flame. A hammer and an anvil would not scratch it, and a natural inferno would leave it cool to the touch. It could only be molded with absolute heat, and nothing less. But its powers! Nothing short of astonishing, and oh, how astonished the girl will be.
This was a day long in coming. He would put this around her neck with his own hands. The thought made him shiver with pleasure. His scar stretched with his smile. A gong's deep reverberation filled the air.
She had arrived.
E'dan and A'lan stepped back beside the doors. Keravel felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him. The Falcon would be his. He spun a net of Wind, opening the doors slowly. Destiny was his.
Elaina strode through the doors to the hall in what she hoped was a regal way. Monren was behind her right shoulder, Ravin behind her left. Chin high, back straight, she schooled her face to stillness. She was a Creator. She was their better, never mind her travel-stained dress with its ragged hem. Keep on thinking that, don’t grovel or look about like some country idiot! She reminded herself, training her eyes on the end of the hall.
It was not large, its walls only plain stone. The decorations were simple carvings, not glittering gems or stained glass, but the man at the end of the hall left nothing to be desired.
Lord Keravel was tall, with wings of grey at his temples that gave him a sneering dignity and a strength beyond anything she had ever seen. A scar slashing down from his temple to his chin gave him a dangerous frown. He sat on the carved wooden chair as if it were a golden throne. Eyes of fire watched her like an eagle watched a mouse.
Elaina's doubts that the Brethren would believe her claim faded like morning mist under the heat of that gaze; those were the feverish eyes of a man seeing his prophesies fulfilled. The way he stroked that red stone on his lap caught her eye. What is that? Sudden motion just out of her sight, swift and smooth, set off alarms in her head.
Something was wrong. Elaina had just enough time to realize what Keravel was holding before the impact; it was a collar. A collar for me.
"Run!" The cry ripped from her throat as fingers closed over her shoulders, though she could not have said who she was calling to. She reached for the pillars, opening herself to Fire and Air. The hands moved to her neck, touched her skin. It was the guards, the ones by the doors dressed all in black like Ravin. Watchers.
The river of molten fire was gone. Darts of Air disappeared as if they had never been. It was Holdbrine all over again, only whatever protected the Watchers there was now being used as a weapon.
Elaina did not realize she was screaming until she saw someone clap their hands to their ears. Kicking with all her strength, she tried to fight free of the hands that held her.
They tightened.
Iron grips yanked her backwards, pulled her down. She saw the glint of black steel in the doorway, saw the flare of a fireball for an instant. There was a resounding crash in the distance. Then her back hit the stone floor, those hands still on her shoulders, on her bare neck. Two faces looked down at her—no, it was the same face twice over.
It was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. No one was that good looking. It was all she could do not to just lie there and stare at them in incredulous awe. Black hair brushing over skin like ivory, deep brown eyes that went on forever, all fine, strong features and lines, like a marble carving. It was as if spirits were looking down at her.
The force of the fall knocked the breath from her, but despite that and her preoccupation, Elaina did not stop flailing, arms straining, legs lashing out to hit anything. When she landed a blow on either of them, it did no more than when she struck the floor. She sank her teeth into the nearest arm. The taste of blood was sickening. A blow landed on her cheek and the limb was yanked from her teeth.
Dark, dark eyes stared down at her, concentrating, ignoring her fury. She tried to concentrate too, ignoring their beauty. At last the one on her right flung him
self across her body, pinning her with his weight from hips to knees. She couldn't kick, couldn't move her arms, and the pillars were still gone.
What have they done to me? It had begun as soon as they touched her. What web do the Drethlords know, what do they have other than the Orb? The Firstborn was descending from the dais, bringing the collar toward her.
A hand reached out and gripped her ankle, getting tangled in the hem of her skirt for a moment before closing again. His palm felt hot against her skin. Skin.
Could it be? Is it these two men and not their master? It was possible, but not certain. Sure or not, the thought only made her fight harder to free herself. Maybe there was a chance to escape, if she could just make the Watchers lose their grip for an instant . . . then maybe Fire itself would be hers.
There was nothing else to be done, she could not kick, could not thrash about at all. But she fought nonetheless. It did no good. Hands tightened around her arms, and she could not wrench herself free.
How can someone so ridiculously gorgeous be so strong? It isn’t fair to everyone else, she thought wildly, and there are two of them! After a moment, the pressure on her legs lifted. They hauled her mercilessly to her feet over her resistance, careful to keep their fingers far from her teeth. A glance over her shoulder showed the doors shut and barred. Before them lay Ravin, unmoving in a pool of blood. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks even as she snarled at her captors.
She hadn't even known him! How many people will stand in front of me and die in the end? My parents, Hetarth, the poor people of Holdbrine, and now a man who did not even know me! Only Landon managed to escape whatever awful magnetism she had.
Lord Keravel, Firstborn of the Brethren of the Emerald Throne stood before her. He was deranged. Long, thin fingers stroked the red stone collar in his hands, its matching chain hanging down to twin manacles sliding over the stone with his every step. The white scar across his cheek puckered with his slow, burning smile.
From around the chamber, Elaina could suddenly sense the eyes of many, some dark or blue or green, but more than a few had no color at all. Many of the others wore the all-black of the Brethren's bodyguard. They all waited in silence as she was dragged inexorably forward. Only her panting breaths echoed on the stones.
Elaina had never really needed to think about how physically strong anyone was. No one in Tar Haviel would have thought to lay a hand on her, and since they’d home left she’d been able to manhandle anyone with Air. Now that it occurred to her, these two were surely the strongest men she’d ever seen, even if they weren’t the biggest.
They were as little troubled with her struggling as a leopards with a kitten. Two others dressed in all black hurried forward—if it was possible to hurry with that wolfish grace—and clasped one of the red stone cuffs onto the wrist of each of her Watchers. Even with one of their hands encumbered, she could not break free.
It was useless. Monren was gone. The Drethlords had betrayed her, even more monstrously than she had been watching for.
Arith is lost.
With a twisted, maddened grin, Firstborn Keravel leaned forward to snap the stone collar around her neck. Elaina heard it click. It was like hearing the twang of a bowstring sending an arrow to her heart, with nothing to do but wait for death.
When she lunged for his throat, she did not feel her collar cutting into her throat, did not feel the hands on her shoulders, and did not feel the blow to her head that sent her spinning into blackness. She was lost.