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Gile strode down a vast but largely neglected hallway. The carpet had more holes and rips than actual fabric, and cracks threaded the walls as if cast by a colossal spider. The ancient stone fortress had once been grand and majestic, a symbol of prosperity to the bygone empire that had created it. Ages of abandonment left it in a state of crumbling decay. The walls were split apart by thick vines; the spires blasted, the courtyards full of toppled monuments. But torches lit the dank halls, and the grounds were full of moving figures. The Malic Sect called it home for the moment.
Like Orabon and Gile, Killian served the High Lady. It was a surprise to discover that a Speaker dared to rebel against Alaric, but once again, it only underscored the complexities of Masiki's schemes. And since the entire Malic Sect operated as their Speaker did, that meant all of the Malic was under Masiki's control.
Gile was anxious to learn how well the seeds of confusion he had sown in Aceldama had sprouted. There were whispers of an attack on Marcellus by the creature Yanus, but whether he was dead or not was a matter of confusion. And Alaric was supposedly drawing the Sects to Aceldama to prepare for an assault by the humans, but Gile had heard of no such army gathering arms.
Combined with the impending war declared by Valdemar and his Bruallian hordes, Leodia was about to burn quite soon, it seemed. Gile had set the spark to those fires but still had no idea what the endgame was. He would figure it out in time, however. There was always a way if you thought things through long enough.
He stepped into a threadbare chamber, where Killian lounged on a cushioned chaise. His crimson-shaded hair hung to his shoulders, contrasting with the green of his eyes that glimmered beneath his brow. The embroidered vest of olive velvet and his unlaced, billowy white shirt were carelessly wrinkled, the cuffs undone. His slender hand rested against his knee, a silver-chased goblet between his fingers. He glanced up when Gile entered.
"The taste fades. Have ye noticed, Gile?"
Gile folded his arms. "The taste of what?"
"Every bloody thing." Killian's lips twisted. "Take this drink, for instance. Sinthium—one of the most potent elixirs ever blended. In the old times, we'd sip a thimbleful and laugh like bloody fools as we watched the world spin around us." He swirled the mixture in his goblet, lost in thought.
Downing the contents, he grimaced and flung the chalice out the open window. "Now, it is little more than water to my tongue. The taste fades, mate. Everything does. It's the curse of living, the bloody curse of time. Now I only feel alive when I put my bloody life on the line." He grinned, but his gaze was distant.
Gile stifled a yawn. He didn't confide in others and certainly wouldn't start with Killian. They were on the same course for the moment, but he knew Killian considered him a rival, someone to contend with for the High Lady's graces. Gile couldn't blame him, considering that he felt the same. Alliances were only meant to be temporary, and then it was each man for his own interests.
Killian smirked as if reading his thoughts. "The High Lady certainly could've given me a better conversationalist. I've had more stimulating discussions with my arse. But I suppose she doesn't employ you for your wit, does she?"
"She uses me to get things done. More than what I've seen from you and yours since I've been here."
Killian laughed. "The lad has spirit after all. Glad to see it, boyo. And don't worry your rather ugly skull about what I'm cooking up. It'll be worth the wait, I promise. But that's not what I called you here for."
"What did you call me for?"
"To upset my guest." Killian looked at the window. "We're about to have company, and I don't want him to get too comfortable. You're just the type of unknown factor that's bound to drive ol' Drowan all frothy."
"Lord Drowan? The Obdura Speaker is coming here?" Gile's mind flickered, trying to catch up. "Why?"
Killian held up a warning finger. "You're about to find out, boyo."
With a rush of wind, the scent of rotted leather wafted into the room. A bat-like shadow flitted from outside the window, but what nimbly landed on the sill was a man—a lithe dark-haired figure garbed in all black save for a snowy satin shirt. Lord Drowan paused there as though feeling for some invisible trap. Once satisfied, he gracefully stepped into the room with an air of unflappable calm.
"I appreciate you losing that beastly form." Killian arched a wry eyebrow. "Morphosis is a Craft I have little use for, except in emergencies. It's simply quite disgusting. And too much like those beastly Dhamphir, besides."
"For you, perhaps. But I do not fear using the Gifts given me." Drowan's eyes flicked to where Gile stood. "What is he doing here?"
"Who?" Killian looked as if noticing Gile for the first time. "Oh, you mean Gile. He begged to be part of me clan, and I don't have the heart to refuse a man that begs."
Drowan never took his eyes off Gile. "Alaric was looking to question this one further. You knew that, Killian. To find him in your company is disconcerting."
Killian grinned. "Alaric wants a lot of things. I lose track of 'em all."
Drowan glanced from Gile to Killian and back again. As Killian had predicted, Gile's presence unsettled Drowan. By arriving alone, he made an unspoken statement that he needed no protection even deep in Killian's base of operations, surrounded by the Malic Sect. But whatever intimidating he meant to do was dashed to pieces by his wariness of a trap.
"We must talk alone, Killian. What I say comes straight from Alaric's mouth."
Killian shrugged his slender shoulders. "Whatever you have to say can be spoken in front of Gile. We don't have any secrets in the Malic Sect."
Drowan's lips thinned as he cast another baleful glance at Gile. "The rumors are true. The domestics rally against us in war. Marcellus Admorran has slain Yanus and is in Norland this moment, seeking to convince the Norlanders to join his cause."
"Didn't know Yanus would go belly-up so easily. That get you all gutted, Drowan? Your masterpiece used as fodder against another Reaver?" Killian gave a twisted grin when Drowan refused to take the bait. "As for Norland, what's to worry? Without enemies, a sword starts to dull. As well as a bloke's wits." He chuckled as though at a secret joke. "Let our beloved king feel the fires of their hatred this time. We've been used for ages as fodder for the Blood, always our lives before theirs. This is more than just a struggle against rabid domestics. There's another force at play, one that may have its day in the end—stab me eyes bloody on that."
"You mean the Myrkalf." Drowan's voice was cold. "No more than rabble that will blow away at the slightest breeze."
"This rabble has exposed our presence to men. This rabble has the most bloodthirsty army man has seen sitting tight on the borders of the Dragonspine. This rabble has us at the brink of war. Take them lightly at your bloody peril." Killian looked at Drowan with narrowed eyes. "Will you send forces to Aceldama?"
"I already have. I'm here to see you do the same. Alaric has shown he can withstand outstanding odds and win. When he does, he will remember those who stood with him and those who didn't. Forget not with whom your allegiance lies."
"Bugger my allegiance." Killian tilted his head, studying Drowan. "Don't tell me you enjoy having your hands tied, Drowan. Aren't you tired of Alaric's leash around your neck? You have ambitions, don't deny it."
Drowan looked away for a moment, but his face was smooth and unreadable when he spoke. "We all have ambitions, Killian, but they are secondary to the interests of the Blood. Celestine has shown complete support, and Tasith has as well. I will do the same. Do you think to do otherwise for your part?"
"I plan on doing what I always do, boyo. What's best for me and my Sect."
Drowan frowned. "I always knew you to be reckless, but never a fool. If you cross Alaric, you will only find yourself destroyed."
"What I'll find myself is still standing when the rest of ye are burned, mate. Alaric told us to choose wisely. I've made me choice, and it's on the side of those who will win this bloody war."
"So, the truth at last." Drowan didn't seem shocked. "You have joined with the Myrkalf." He gestured to Gile. "Which means this one is a part of your ruse as well."
Killian spread out his arms. "Guilty as charged, mate. It should be no surprise. I never cared for Alaric's tiptoe approach, anyhow."
Drowan backed into the shadowed corner of the room as though Killian was infected with a contagious disease. "Your life will be forfeit. Your days are numbered for your treachery, Killian. You and all who stand with you will fall like dead branches, mark my words. We shall not meet again." Drowan's words hung in the air as he vanished. The shadows rippled in the wake of his disappearance, then all was still.
Killian smiled. "You're right about that, boyo. We won't."
Gile rounded on him. "You stone-brained sard! Has that sinthium gone straight to your bloody head? Even a war-drunken Norlander would have more sense than that."
Killian wore a caricature of confusion on his face. "Why, whatever do you mean, laddie?"
Gile thrust an accusing finger. "You gave him everything. You're just as reckless as Alaric said you are. What will stop him from sending his Dhamphir straight over here to seize you? Don't think I'll lift a finger to defend your worthless hide. I'll be long gone by then, mark my words."
"If you don't like the way I run things, you should leave." Killian leaned against the back of the chaise and closed his eyes. "My directive was to smuggle you out of Aceldama. Nothing was said about wrapping you in swaddling clothes and rocking you when you sob for your mother's teat. Personally, I don't see that you're worth the trouble."
Gile felt a familiar surge of murderous rage. "I'll show you what trouble I'm worth." When he focused Scintilla, every torch in the room flared, and the flames in the hearth roared, licking the stone. Heat seared across his vision, blurring everything in rippling waves.
Killian lazily opened one eye. "Before you do something you might regret, best know one thing. Most times we Gifted brawl, it's a lot of flinging fire and hurling rubble until someone gets hurt badly enough to yield. To me, that's not brawling. That's play."
His eyes glittered when he turned his head. "I don't play, boyo."
Soft laughter tickled the back of Gile's neck. "So much misdirected passion. It wouldn't do to tear each other's throats out before your tasks are complete, would it?" The voice from behind was instantly familiar.
Gile immediately dropped to his knees before his High Lady. "A thousand pardons, m'lady. I meant no disrespect." He had no idea when she arrived or how, but her presence demanded subservience, something he had learned from experience.
Masiki was nearly invisible because her feathered stole and woolen gown were dim as shadows. Her dark brown hair hung in unruly layers that nearly cloaked her face. Metallic bracelets clacked on both of her wrists, gleaming coldly in the firelight. "I'm sure you meant all the disrespect intended. As did Killian."
Killian rose and swiftly bowed. "High Lady."
Masiki's face was ageless, her olive skin smooth and flawless. She was favored with high cheekbones, a regal nose, and comely lips that smiled easily. Combined with her tall, supple form, she was the type of woman that would normally stir Gile's arousal. But he wasn't fooled. One look in her dark eyes was enough to know that her striking form was just a guise, a garment she wore to hide the ancient and powerful being that dwelled within.
"The ego in this room is stifling. Cool your tempers and come with me. We have matters of import to discuss."
They obediently followed up the steps to the rooftop of the chamber. It was the highest point of the fortress, and one of the few towers left standing. Human eyes would only witness the darkness of the sea from that vantage point, but their eyes saw much more.
Killian placed his hands against the crumbling balustrade and stared beyond. "The lights of Leodia beckon. So close. Close enough to strike and burn in one night, if given the word. So tell me, mistress—why are we being held back when war calls for us across the bay?"
"Haste will only bring destruction upon our heads." The briny scent of the sea was strong, the winds carrying a chill that they barely felt. "The Myrkalf were hunted to near extinction before. I know because I was there. Only when the time is right can we strike."
"Do you truly think an army of domestics can be any more than an annoyance to Alaric?" Killian sneered. "They are weak, their minds are dull, their weapons primitive."
"They are merely a distraction. Something to hold Alaric's attention until it's too late. The Reaver is the key. Alaric thinks it is weak for being tied to Marcellus. But it is the man that makes the Reaver powerful, as Alaric will find out."
Gile looked at her quizzically, but she didn't elaborate. "And what would you have of me, High Lady?"
"Work with Killian."
The two men spoke in unison. "Impossible." They glared at each other, not liking that either.
Masiki merely smiled. "Impossible is a word I will not hear from either of you. Both of you are too wily by half, and neither of you will trust the other. That means you will both work to do what I have commanded if only to spite the other."
Gile glowered at Killian. "Perhaps. Or one of us could kill the other just as easily."
"That would be inconvenient," Killian said with a thin smile.
"If either of you dies, the other will share his fate." Masiki's voice was sharp, and her eyes flared, exposing something inhuman behind them. "Mark me well. I will brook no insolence from either of you. There is no time for it."
Gile lowered his head. "As you wish, High Lady."
Killian barked a laugh. "I'll kiss Gile's ugly face and rock him to sleep every night so long as I get what's mine. But I hope the time comes soon. My people don't like standing still, and we gain no satisfaction sitting here building bloody ships. My soldiers gather, but they grow restless. With no one to fight, they'll soon be at each other's throats."
Masiki's tone was unsympathetic. "Patience. Your task is dependent on the ships you are building. The Norlanders have demonstrated the usefulness of an attack by sea. When the snows break, Marcellus will march. Our time will then be upon us. This plan will only succeed if you hold your Sect in check. You are their Speaker. Act like it."
Killian's mouth tightened. "I'll do my part, Mistress. Just make sure your pet warlord Valdemar does the same."
Masiki smiled. "It will be something to see, I promise. Alaric will fall first, and Kaerleon will be next. And then who will be able to prevent us from taking it all?"
Gile remained silent. He didn't doubt that Masiki would throw away their lives like the most useless refuse should she deem it necessary. Normally, he would scheme the best way to enrich himself before cutting loose on his own. But that was his former self. He had been nothing before she came to him. She had altered him, changed him into something greater than human. He owed her for that.
So he would serve, and he would enjoy it. The anticipation swelled, for like the sea, the tides of fortune were rising. He glanced at Killian, noting the calculated gleam in the other man's eyes. Killian had not yet learned that Masiki was always two steps ahead, always aware of any treacherous plots. Gile wondered how long it would be before Masiki ordered him to kill Killian.
She turned to Gile. "In the meantime, I will need your focus upon your friend Marcellus Admorran once more. You will find him in Norland."
"What do you want me to do with him?" Gile hoped the order was to kill Marcellus. He had a bellyful of tracking his movements with nothing to show for it.
"The same. Observe and report. His usefulness is nearly up, but I need to know his every move for now. Now that his secret is out, our Thralls know what he is, and they fear to come close. I know such weaknesses don't hamper you."
Gile fingered the fading scratches under his good eye. "He knows me by sight, Mistress. How am I to get close without discovery?"
"You are not without a crude manner of cunning, Gile. I'm sure you'll find a way."
Gile grinned. Masiki was right, of course. There was always a way if you thought things through long enough.