Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three (6 page)

"Unlikely, but not entirely impossible."

"There are dark magics that can be used to raise the dead," Dain conceded. "I don't know that anyone has practiced them for centuries. Surely it would not go unnoticed."

"The witch did it," Bolin said. "She managed to steal one of your own guard from Galys Auld, and turn him into some sort of morbid creature. It killed a Guardsman on that very wall before Berk sent it back to its final rest."

"You're suggesting Donovan has done the same to her?"

"I'm
suggesting
she was a conjuring of Donovan's," Bolin said. "Because the alternative calls my sanity into question."

Dain swirled the contents of his glass, but kept his eyes on Bolin. They had yet to revert to their normal cerulean. It was a peculiar trait of the Imperial bloodline, the shading of their eyes in concert with mood or use of power. It served as a warning to those who didn't know the man well enough to read his other cues.

"Thadeus didn't want you leaving Nisair," Dain said. "We discussed it at length, he and I. I knew, however, short of chaining you and throwing you in the dungeon, nothing would keep you from returning Nialyne to the Greensward. I think Thadeus may have forced the issue if I hadn't come along. He is concerned you are not wholly recovered from what happened at the Oak."

"Aye. He told me as much before we left." Bolin couldn't deny he had come very close to losing himself that night on the way to Nisair. He considered tracking Donovan by using the witch's power trapped in the crystal worth the risk. Those closest to him, however, saw it as a reckless move. Some presence, besides Donovan and his witch, moved through the ethereal that night. It had grabbed hold of Bolin and shredded him. If not for Ciara and Andrakaos somehow finding all the scattered pieces of his essence and binding them back together, Garek would have been forced to drive a knife through Bolin's heart, rather than allow him to become a puppet in unknown hands.

Bolin stood, pacing the confines of the room, finally coming to a stop near the shuttered window. He turned to face Dain, hands braced against the sill behind him. "In my first encounter with Donovan's witch, before leaving Galys Auld for Nisair, she wounded me. A bit of her magic remained even after the wound healed. I thought with her death it would have faded to nothing." He gave Dain a rueful frown. "That doesn't appear to be the case."

"You think Donovan is somehow using that against you?"

"Do you have another explanation?"

Dain rested his elbow on the chair's arm and settled his chin on his upraised fist. "You won't care for it."

Bolin held the Emperor's gaze for a long time. His jaw ticked but, for once, he held the words still behind his teeth.

"Do you know how I came to find you tonight?" Dain asked. "One of the guards alerted Everyn that the Lord General was walking the gate wall, talking to himself, and highly agitated. They assumed you were drunk. Knowing better, the captain wisely came for me. When I approached, the amount of power you held ready to direct my way would have tested my own. Goddess forbid if you would have unleashed it on any of the men."

"That wouldn't have happened," Bolin said, voice tight.

"Not intentionally, but you were seeing something up there no one else saw."

"So you believe I'm mad, then?"

Dain straightened in the chair and spoke his next words slowly and with great care. "I believe you are not entirely recovered from recent events."

"Because it's impossible that Donovan is actually behind this?"

"I'm not saying that, but do you sense him anywhere nearby? I don't. And one of us certainly would. Especially if he's flinging about the kind of power you're suggesting."

Bolin blew out a soft snort and looked away. As much as he wished he could, it was hard to argue Dain's point. No use of magic went unnoticed by those who possessed it. Most, however, was so benign as to not warrant even a passing appraisal. Like tossing rocks into a lake. The ripples sent out by a pebble might never reach the shore, and only the most carefully observant might notice the faint echo of them distorting the surface. Those caused by a boulder, however, would break against the shoreline like the crashing surf.

"I know the fact often eludes you," Dain said, "but you're not invincible. Nor are you immune to the frailties that plague all men. You've suffered a great deal over the past months, and have the grief of an intimate loss heaped on top of it all."

"So, that's why you insisted on coming then? To act as nursemaid?"

The Emperor flashed a quick smile. "In part."

"Nice to know you have such faith in me."

Dain shoved to his feet with an exasperated growl. He crossed to where Bolin stood and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I attend you as Emperor to honor a woman who gave her life in service to this empire, and as a friend, who is all too aware of how stubborn you are. My faith in you remains as resolute as it ever was."

Bolin raised a meaningful brow. "Hence the wards?"

He'd noticed them as soon as the last dregs of confusion slipped away, subtle enough to be missed if he hadn't already been alert to the smallest shift in power around him.

"They are more for the safety of the men than anything," Dain said.

"From me?"

Dain's eyes flashed in anger. "From whatever threat might approach that they are unequipped to defend against. Or would you rather we be caught unaware?"

"Of course not." Bolin shrugged out from beneath the Emperor's hand. "I'm sorry, Dain, tonight has apparently unsettled me more than I care to admit. I've allowed my grief to get the better of me. A moment of weakness I won't allow to happen again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll turn in."

The guards stationed outside the door saluted as Bolin left Dain's room and made for his own at the end of the hall. He didn't bother with a lamp as he closed his door. Guided only by the glowing embers in the brazier set off to one side of the bed, he shed his gear and stretched out on the mattress, one arm twisted behind his head. He toyed with Ciara's pendant, the gentle pulse of power a comforting warmth beneath his fingers. His eyes grew heavy and he finally stopped fighting their insistence to close.

In the moment before sleep pulled him resolutely under, a sensation like the light stroke of fingertips caressed his cheek, and a voice whispered beside his ear, "Sleep well. You and I have much to do."

CHAPTER NINE

Several days after their talk in the gardens, Berk found himself walking the streets of Nisair beside Ciara, pointing out anything he thought she might find of interest. Jorny and Pehl shadowed them, watching the crowds, keeping their eyes on whatever Berk couldn't. Ciara didn't flaunt her position as much as other Ladies of the Empire, but that wouldn't make her any less a target to those of lesser fortune, whose discontent with their own stations sometimes drove them to a blind hatred of nobility.

"You'll want to come back here during the Springtide Festival," Berk said as they strolled among the row of merchant shops that lined the avenue. "The shopkeepers try to outdo one another with decorations. It's better in the evening. They spare no expense in lighting their shops. Some even enlist magic users to create… "

He trailed off, his smile freezing as his gaze landed on a group of three men on the far corner. They stood in a tight knot, heads close together in quiet. Dressed in thick, travel stained, woolen cloaks, they looked too rough for this part of the city. They looked, to Berk's eye, like marauders.

The realization put his hand on the grip of his sword, even as he tried to convince himself that no marauder would dare risk coming into the city, especially not this part of it. Too close to the walls. Too many guards. The lower end, or the docks, where they'd only have to deal with the City Watch, perhaps. Still, to be caught anywhere within Nisair meant immediate execution.

"What's wrong?" Ciara asked, twisting her head to follow his gaze.

Berk gave her a quick smile. "Nothing."

"Which usually means 'something'."

"No, it doesn't."

Berk glanced toward the corner again. The men had dispersed, one going into a nearby shop, one heading back down the avenue, and  the other crossing toward the residential area of the city. He blew out a sigh and relaxed his hold on his sword. Goddess above, just because someone wore a woolen cloak to ward off the chill didn't make them a marauder. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, stopping when he caught Ciara's concerned look.

"I'm fine," he said, before she could ask the question poised on her lips. He forced a bit of false cheer through the irritation, and resumed his role of guide with a gesture toward the cluster of baker shops down the way. "If you want a real treat--"

"Hold there, Guardsmen."

The order came from behind them, and Berk turned to find six of the Council Guard approaching. They were led by Captain Marshall. He had a few years on Berk, and was just highborn enough to feel entitled. He brushed past Jorny and Pehl to put himself in front of Berk, flanked by two of his men. The other three took up positions around them as though expecting trouble.

In the hierarchy of Nisair's assorted military factions, the Imperial Guard held the top rung with the Council Guard, a notch below, in all but their own eyes. As the chosen guards for the Imperial Mages, they felt they should be accorded more respect and a higher degree of authority than the Imperial Guard. In Berk's experience, none felt that more strongly than Captain Marshall.

Berk faced the captain, putting an arm back to tuck Ciara behind him. Marshall's eyes flicked her way, his nose twitching as though he smelled something offensive.

"She's to come with us," he said, drawing his gaze back to Berk, shoulders squared. "Stand aside."

"By whose authority?" Berk asked.

Marshall lifted his brows. He drew a folded piece of parchment from behind his belt and presented it with roll of his wrist. "The Council of Mages. Of course."

Berk flicked the paper open, and forced his expression to remain neutral even though his stomach clenched as he read the missive. It took him a moment to get past
Warrant of Arrest
printed carefully across the top, the listing of charges below included
conspiring with an enemy of the Empire.
Lord Vaedryn's signature flowed across the bottom, his personal seal, and the seal of the Imperial Mages, affixed beside it.

"This is absurd," Berk said.

Marshall somehow managed to glower down his nose at Berk, though he stood a handspan shorter. "It is not your place to question the Council. Step aside."

"What is it?" Ciara asked, angling to peer past Berk's shoulder.

"She's not going with you," he said.

"You don't have the authority to stop me."

"Lady Ciara is under the protection of the Imperial Guard, Captain. I'm afraid I do have the authority."

Marshall took a step closer, forcing Berk to lean back slightly to keep his eyes from crossing. "
You
do not outrank me,
soldier
."

"You've served your warrant, Captain. I'll see it presented to Commander Garek."

"I am acting on behalf of the Council of Mages, by Lord Vaedryn's personal orders. You will step aside and remand the" --Marshall's nose wrinkled again-- "lady to my custody, or you will be joining her in chains."

"Berk, it's all right," Ciara said, trying to push past him. "I'll go with him. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

Berk ignored her. "You're more than welcome to accompany us to the commander's office, Captain, but I won't be relinquishing the lady to you without his personal approval."

"I am authorized to use all necessary force," Marshall said, his voice low enough for only Berk to hear. "In your case, that would be a particular pleasure."

"Do you really want that kind of scene in the middle of the avenue?" Berk tipped his head to look over Marshall's shoulder. "Six against three. Not insurmountable odds. But you're already drawing notice. How much more will you draw when you lose?"

This time Marshall didn't hold back the sneer. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you?"

Berk didn't bother to respond. He kept his eyes on Marshall as he said, "Jorny, Pehl, fall in."

The two pushed past the Council Guard to flank Ciara without question, hands on their weapons. At a signal from Marshall, his men flared out behind him, blocking the way.

"Do you think being in the Guard puts you above the law?" Marshall asked. "Or that being the Lord General's consort exempts her from due course? We are taking her to the Council Chambers by order of the Council of Imperial Mages. I will give you one last chance to stand aside before I place you under arrest as well."

A hand settled on Berk's shoulder, followed by Jorny's voice in his ear, "We can take them, I've little doubt of that, but the middle of the avenue isn't the place. His warrant's in order?"

Berk nodded.

Jorny made a noise. "Arrogant prigs, the lot of 'em."

Berk stepped back, turning to face Ciara, knowing Jorny and Pehl would keep their eyes on Marshall. He took her by the arm and pitched his voice low. "We've got to go with them. They have a warrant for your arrest. It has to be a mistake, I'm sure of it. I'll send Pehl to get the commander. He'll sort it out. In the meantime, I'm not leaving your side."

"Lady Honval," Ciara said, and gave a rueful shake of her head. "She doesn't care much for me. Can I see the warrant?"

Berk hesitated. Ciara didn't seem entirely surprised so he handed the warrant over, watching as her eyes flicked across the writing. Her expression slowly transformed from resignation, to shock, to a blank, carefully composed mask. She refolded the parchment and handed it back to Berk. Something in the quiet manner she drew herself up, lifting her chin just so, and rolling her shoulders back, sent a shiver through him.

"I'll go with them, Berk. Thadeus will straighten this all out. I'm certain." Her voice was even, and only the barest flicker of fear danced in her eyes. "You don't need to come with me."

"Yes, I do." He swiveled toward the others. "Jorny, you're with me. Pehl, get the commander to the Council Chamber as quickly as you can."

"Aye." Pehl shoved through the line of amber uniforms and sprinted off.

When Marshall signaled two of his men to take up positions beside Ciara, Berk dropped his hand back to his sword.

"Lady Ciara is voluntarily accompanying you," he said, his tone icy. "But make no mistake, Captain, she remains under our protection."

He slipped his hand around Ciara's arm, giving her a reassuring squeeze. With a nod toward Jorny, he forced Marshall to step aside as they started after Pehl in the direction of the castle. The captain snapped his fingers, waving his men to surround the three of them, before trotting up to assume the lead.
Ciara walked with her eyes straight ahead, and though she gave a good show of appearing outwardly composed, Berk could feel her trembling.

He lowered his head, putting his mouth close to her ear. "I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it."

"They've been looking for an excuse," she replied, still staring at Marshall's back, her voice a breathy, quivering whisper.

Berk tightened his grip. "The charges are ridiculous."

She rolled her lips closed and nodded. They walked in silence after that, but Berk kept his fingers lightly around Ciara's arm, more for his own peace of mind than hers. Though he could feel her fear, it seemed far less than his own for her, and that gave him the strength to keep walking. All he really wanted to do, was tell Ciara to run. That would pit him and Jorny against six Council Guards, and those odds were a bit long. Besides which, Berk knew Ciara would never abandon him. So he held onto the belief that a huge mistake had been made, and tried to keep his fears hidden.