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THE CARRIAGE STOPPED, and for a moment, no one moved. Aria looked from side to side, then across at Memfis and Meris. “Have we arrived?”
“Not quite,” Memfis answered. As he spoke, there was a knock at the door to his right. He slid the curtain open and looked out. “Memfis and Lady Meris,” he said. “And petitioners.”
“I’ll need to see them,” a voice said from outside. “May I open the door?”
“Of course.”
The door opened, and a man peered into the carriage. His eyes widened when he saw Aria, but he said nothing. Then he looked at Owyn, and his face went pale.
“Mother of us all,” he murmured. “I...” He stopped, then bowed.
“May we pass?” Aria asked. He looked up; she smiled at him, and he blushed a brilliant red.
“Yes, my Heir,” he said. “May the Mother guard and guide you.” He stepped back and closed the carriage door, and the vehicle lurched forward.
“Where are we going?” Aria asked. “You said caverns. We’ll be underground?”
“The Council — both Councils — meet in the cavern called the Heart of the Tribe,” Meris answered. “It’s believed to be the place where the first members of the tribe were born.”
“Cave?” Aven swallowed, suddenly hot and cold all at once. “How small a cave?” he asked, trying to keep a quaver out of his voice.
“It’s not,” Memfis added. “It’s not a small cave. There’s plenty of space inside.” He frowned and leaned forward. “Aven?”
Aven shook his head, leaning back in his seat. He rubbed his right palm against his thigh, then his left. “I... don’t like caves,” he said quietly. Mother, how old had he been? Five? Six? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was being alone in the tiny, pitch-black space, the cold, dark water, and the fear. “I don’t have a problem with small spaces. But caves—” He shook his head again.
Aria took his hand. “What happened?”
Aven looked at her. “I don’t remember how old I was. My mother and I were deep, in some of the caves near our island. Hunting lobster, probably. And looking for shark teeth. There was... a tremor. You get those, sometimes, underwater. Tremors you never feel on the land. Underneath, down deep, you’re closer to the heart of Adavar. You can feel it when he rolls over in his sleep—”
“What?” Owyn interrupted.
Aven grinned, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s what we call it, when the ground shakes. Father Adavar rolling in his sleep. You don’t want Him to wake.”
“He’s precious close to it,” Memfis muttered. “Go on.”
Aven nodded. “There was a tremor, and the cave where we were hunting collapsed. When the rocks settled, Ama was on the other side of the fall.” He swallowed. “The outside of the fall.” He looked up at Aria, at Owyn. “I was trapped in the cave, in the dark and cold, for I don’t know how long. Ama wouldn’t tell me how long it was before she could dig me out. All I know is that when we finally reached the surface, when we finally got back to the canoe... it was weeks before I went back into the water.”
“Does it help if I tell you that this cave is neither cold nor dark?” Memfis offered. “Or small, for that matter.”
Aven tried to smile. “I don’t know,” he answered. Aria squeezed his hand tightly, and Owyn reached across her to rest his hand on Aven’s knee.
“You’re not alone,” Owyn said. “We’re here with you. You’re not trapped in the dark alone.”
“Memfis, how long will we be in this cave?” Aria asked.
“An hour?” Memfis said. “Maybe a little more, but I’m going to try and make it less. Much less. I want to be done as fast as possible. We need to be out of the city and as far as we can be by dawn.”
“How close is dawn?” Owyn asked. “I have no idea how late it is. Or how early. It was dark when Fandor took us. I know that. But I’m not sure how long he had me.”
“It had been about two hours, I think, when I took my bearings to try and find Meris’ house,” Aven said. “And another hour before we got to you, Mouse.”
“Then however long we slept,” Aria added. “We’re on the far side of midnight now, aren’t we?”
“Call it between three and four hours to dawn,” Memfis said. “Closer to three.”
Aven nodded. He closed his eyes and moved the hand that Aria held so that it rested on top of Owyn’s hand. “I’m all right—”
“Liar,” Owyn called, sounding incredibly cheerful. Aven opened his eyes and glared at him, then laughed when Owyn blew him a kiss.
“I’ll try to be all right?” Aven offered. Owyn nodded.
“Better,” he answered. “Just try to act normal. Sometimes, pretending to be all right helps you to be all right. If that makes sense?”
Aven frowned, thinking about it. He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Just trust me on it.” Owyn squeezed Aven’s leg, then slipped his hand out from underneath Aven’s and Aria’s hands. “We’re stopping.”
Aven sat up as the carriage came to a shuddering stop. A door opened, and a guard looked in at them.
“Lady Meris, Memfis,” he said. “And petitioners. If you’ll come with me?”
Memfis stepped out first, and helped Meris out of the carriage. Owyn followed, then Aria, and Aven stepped out into the tunnel, moving away from the group so that he could slip his blades back into the harness. As he did, he looked around — the tunnel was large, wide and level, and lit every few feet with lamps that glowed without smoke or smell. It didn’t feel like he was underground, or in a cave, and he relaxed a little as he rejoined the group, moving to stand next to Aria and Owyn. The guard studied him for a moment, looked as if he was going to say something, then turned abruptly and walked away to converse with a second guard.
“What was that?” Aria murmured.
“Usually, you can’t bring weapons when you go before the Council,” Owyn answered. “I think he decided that it wasn’t worth fighting with the Heir over having her Companions disarmed.”
Aria nodded slowly. “And it would have been a fight. I will not see you disarmed. Not after everything that’s happened tonight.”
The guard returned, bringing the second guard with him. He glanced at them briefly, then turned to Meris. “The Council is seated.”
“I’m coming. Memfis, will you be taking your seat for this last time?”
Memfis frowned. He looked at Aria, then at Aven and Owyn. “No, Meris,” he said. “I’ll be petitioning with my son.”
Owyn turned pink and smiled. Meris nodded and followed the guard down the tunnel.
“What do I do now?” Aria asked. “All we want is supplies and to be out of the city, correct?”
“And to let them see us,” Aven added. “Meris told me that. To give them a face and a name, for when we need them later.”
Aria nodded. She drew herself up, reached up and touched the Diadem on her brow. Then she studied Owyn and Aven in turn. She nodded, and looked back at Memfis. “Will you go ahead of us, or follow?”
Memfis smiled. “I’ll follow, my Heir.”
“Then let us proceed.” Aria turned to the second guard. “I am ready. Will you show us the way?”
The guard bowed slightly. “A moment, my Heir,” he said. “The Council will signal when they’re ready. There’s a procedure—” A soft bell interrupted him, and he nodded. “That’s the signal. If you’ll follow me?”
Aria nodded, and started forward, following the guard. Aven and Owyn fell in behind her — Aven on her left, Owyn on her right. Aven didn’t look to see, but he could feel Memfis behind them. The tunnel narrowed slightly as they walked, the ceiling growing lower as they approached a large set of closed double doors. There were four guards at the doors, and they opened the doors as the group approached. The guard leading them stepped out of the way and bowed.
“Just go straight ahead, my Heir,” he said softly. “The Council will be in front of you.”
“Thank you,” Aria answered. She took a deep breath, drew herself up to her full height, and glanced back at them. Aven nodded, and Owyn grinned. She smiled, faced forward, and started walking. They followed, into the Heart of the Tribe.
Memfis had been right — the cave wasn’t dark, or cold. Nor could it ever have been called small. It was, Aven thought, like being inside an enormous bubble. He tried to keep his eyes forward, but he really wanted to look around and gape; if this had been underwater, there was room in here for at least two great gray whales to swim freely.
“You okay?” Owyn whispered.
“This is huge,” Aven whispered back, hearing the awe in his own voice. He heard Owyn snort, but didn’t look at him. If he had, he might have started laughing. He kept his eyes forward, looking at the Council. At the end of the hall, there was a long table that looked to have been carved out of the stone itself. The table was divided into three sections — a long table, a short one, and another long one. At the short table at the center was Meris, flanked by two men who were easily as old as she. The seats at the other tables were divided into four groups of three, except for two. Those seats were empty. One of those empty seats, Aven knew, belonged to Memfis. The other must have been Fandor’s.
There was a railing in front of the table, and a space where Melody could have stretched out without touching either. It was at the railing that Aria stopped. She rested her fingers lightly on the stone and waited. Aven stayed back, standing clear of Aria’s wings, and saw Meris smile at them.
“Identify yourselves for the Dark Council,” one of the men sitting with Meris said.
“I am Aria, daughter of Milon and his Air Companion Liara,” Aria answered, her clear voice ringing out in the cavern. “I bear the Diadem of Axia, and stand as Heir to the Firstborn.” She paused, then glanced over her left shoulder.
“I am Aven, son of Water Companion Aleia and Earth Companion Jehan,” Aven announced. “I bear the Water gem.”
“I am Owyn—” Owyn announced, only to be interrupted.
“Slave, slut, whore!”
Aven spun, drawing his swords at the sound of Fandor’s voice. The disgraced Loremaster stalked past them, past the railing, and up to the center table. He threw something down on the table top and stepped back, his arms folded over his chest. Meris scowled at him, picking up what appeared to be a rolled scroll. She unfurled it, and her eyes widened.
“Where the fuck did he come from?” Memfis growled. “Meris—”
Meris took a deep breath. “He... appears to have every right to be here,” she said slowly. “This is a full pardon, of all charges levied by the Council, and a reappointment to the Council.” She rolled the scroll up and set it gently down on the table. “Signed and sealed by Mannon’s own hand.”
“Can he do that?” Owyn demanded. “After everything Fandor did to me, and to Aven? Is the Council just going to let him walk away?”
Meris met his eyes, and shook her head. She started to speak, but Fandor cut her off. “There’s nothing they can do. I told you, boy. You’re mine.”
Aven stepped between Fandor and Owyn. “Do you want me to quarter him lengthwise? Or across his width?” he asked.
“Aven, stand down,” Aria murmured. “This isn’t your fight.”
Aven turned, his eyes wide. “Owyn—”
“Can fight his own battles,” Aria said calmly. She reached out and rested her hand on Owyn’s chest, her fingertips touching the gem at his throat, and lowered her voice. “And defend his own honor. Can’t you, son of Memfis, son of Trezi, of the line of Nerris?”
Owyn blinked. He blinked again. Then, to Aven’s shock, he smiled. “Yes, I can. My Heir, do I have your leave?”
Aria stepped in closer and kissed Owyn on the lips. “My very enthusiastic leave, my Fire.”
Memfis chuckled. “You’re devious, Aria. I like it. Owyn, remember your lessons.”
“Yes, Mem,” Owyn said.
Aven moved in close. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” he whispered.
“You’ll see in a minute,” Owyn said. “I’m naming you second, Fishie.”
Aven blinked. “Naming me what?”
“Oh?” Owyn breathed. “You don’t have that part? In your tribal laws?”
“I’ll explain,” Aria said. “Go on.”
Owyn nodded. He moved away from them, walking around the railing, idly twirling one of his smoke blades. He stopped just out of reach of Fandor and cocked his head to the side. “So, you’ve been pardoned,” he said. “And you’ve had all your rights restored. Now what?”
“Oh, should I tell them all what I have planned for you?” Fandor said with a laugh. “Or should I just tell Fisher?”
“I think they have a good idea, considering that tonight you’ve what? Kidnapped me, poisoned me, tortured me, and were going to rape me to death?” Owyn looked thoughtful. “To say nothing of the assault and kidnapping of a scion of the Water tribe. Everyone here knows what you did.” Owyn looked down. He took a deep breath, then looked up and met Fandor’s eyes. “What you’ve been doing. For years. How many other boys like me, hm? I bet you know. You know every name, every face. You remember all of us. And you love it, knowing that you had the power of life and death over us, and no one would ever stop you. You know, that’s why your lady left you. What was her name? Melisant? She found out you couldn’t keep it up unless you were fucking a little boy. That you got your rocks off on hurting kids, and that you paired with her young because she was little, and you could pretend that she was a boy. It’s in the separation decree.” He paused, and his brows rose, as if he was surprised. “You know, I just remembered. No one knows where Melisant went when she left you. I mean, she went home to her family. But then she vanished. I wonder... was that one more body in the lime pit, Fandor?”
The slap rang out through the caves, hard enough that Owyn’s head whipped to the side, and he staggered back a pace before he recovered. He spat, and Aven saw the blood on the floor. Aven stepped forward, only to stop with Aria’s hand on his arm.
“Watch, Aven,” she murmured. “Let him do this.”
Owyn touched his lip, looked down at his bloody fingers, and nodded.
“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he said, sounding pleased. He smiled, and for a moment, Aven thought of sharks. “You are not a man's equal, and you are not a man at heart."
Fandor caught his breath. “What?”
“You heard me,” Owyn said, then repeated, “You are not a man's equal, and you are not a man at heart."
Fandor laughed. “Is this a joke?” he demanded. “Is this supposed to be funny? A slave, demanding an honor challenge?”
“Oh,” Owyn breathed. “Oh, that’s right. You missed it. You weren’t on the Council when it happened.” He glanced back at Aven. “Do you still have it? Would you mind reading it to Fandor here? He missed it.”
Aven nodded, turning to take the bundle of papers from Memfis. He unfolded them, and once more read the words, “It is the decision of the Council of Forge, speaking for the Tribe of Fire, Children of Adavar, that the petition for adoption of the foundling Owyn, slave of unclaimed bloodline, be approved. Be it known that from this day forth, he shall be recognized as Owyn, son of Memfis, son of Trezi, of the line of Nerris, and a full member of the Tribe of Fire, with all rights, privileges, and responsibilities of such, as listed in the Codex. This adoption is so recorded in the Book of Silver, and renders all prior status null.” Aven finished and folded the papers, then handed them back to Memfis. Owyn nodded and turned back to Fandor.
“So, now that we’re all on the same page,” he said. “You’re still not a man’s equal, and you are not a fucking man at heart. Or anywhere else, for that matter.” He looked toward the center table. “Lady Meris, as the challenger, I have the right to say time and place, don’t I?”
Meris looked practically giddy. “You do, Owyn.”
“Then I say here and now,” Owyn said. He stepped back, and raised one of his smoke blades. “Right here, and right fucking now.”
“Memfis?” Fandor stammered. “What... Memfis died in the Palace...” his voice trailed off, and he turned to stare at Memfis. “Fisher.”
“Memfis,” Memfis corrected. “And I’m still breathing, last I checked.”
“I... I have no weapons, no...” Fandor sputtered and coughed, then turned to the Council. “As challenged, I have the choice of weapons.”
The man sitting to Meris’ left nodded. “You do. Name your weapon.”
Fandor scowled. He glanced at Owyn, and his scowl deepened. He pointed at Owyn. “He cannot use those. They’re proscribed weapons.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Owyn announced. “Stop fussing and pick. Or refuse the challenge.”
“I know what happens in the deep when a challenge is refused,” Aven whispered to Memfis. “What happens here?”
“Fandor is cast out of the tribe, and anyone who wants to can kill him,” Memfis answered. His voice carried through the cave, and Aven saw Fandor shudder. Next to Aven, Aria nodded.
“I hope he refuses,” she said, her voice carrying just as well as Memfis’ did. “I will enjoy turning him into a pincushion.”
“Oh, I don’t get a turn?” Aven asked.
“Perhaps, my Water. Perhaps.”
Aven bit back a smile. He could see Fandor listening to them, growing more and more agitated. “Swords,” he snapped. “I choose swords.”
The man at the table nodded, then turned to Owyn. “And your weapon?”
“Swords, I said!” Fandor snapped.
“You choose for yourself, Fandor,” the man said. “As Loremaster, you know the law. You don’t have any say over what weapon Owyn uses, save only that he may not use the proscribed smoke blades.” He smiled at Owyn. “Your weapon?”
“Whip chain, Senior Loremaster,” Owyn answered. “And I allow Fandor a quarter of an hour to fetch his weapon and change his trousers.” He glanced sideways at Fandor. “And to make his peace with the Mother.”