CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The making of a monster goes like this:
First take a shining soul and dim their light
Let hatred, pain, and fear conquer the mind
Sow seeds, let grow, then pluck the fruit when ripe
No heart takes its first beat hardened and cold
Corruption must intrude to make it so
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
Asla sat on the edge of her desk holding a slip of paper out to Darvyn. He crossed his arms, refusing to take it.
“You can’t ignore him forever. This one might be important.”
He averted his eyes, looking to the wall filled with children’s drawings scribbled onto rough parchment. Asla crafted the paper from the brush surrounding the school and proudly displayed her students’ work.
“This is the third telegram Aggar has sent,” she said.
Darvyn had no desire to be chastised by the Keepers for deviating from the plan and coming to the school. His work on the well was nearly complete; the children and staff would have no fear of running out of water now. But he was balancing a number of complex spells and just wanted to finish his work in peace.
Asla tapped her foot, not unkindly, but damnably persistent. She was the perfect mother-figure for all of these children. Her love for them was fierce and palpable, and she had no time for nonsense from anyone no matter their age.
Darvyn sighed. “Fine, just read it and tell me what my latest transgression is. And what penance I’m likely to pay.”
She scanned the coded page, the teasing light in her eyes dimming by the second. He leaned forward. “What is it?”
Asla looked up at him, horror staining her face. “You need to read this.” Her hand shook as she passed the scrap of paper to him. He gripped it lightly, decoding the message in his head.
Ambush at safe house. Children recaptured. You were needed.
The borders of his heart turned to stone as Darvyn read the note again. The last sentence burned itself into his brain. Blood drained from his body to pool at his feet.
What had happened? How had the Keeper safe house been compromised?
Asla reached out for him, but he was already spinning away. Walking out of her office, out of the school building until the heat of the midday sun burned overhead. He stalked over to where the crawler was parked, out of sight of the classroom windows.
Rage and sorrow beat an insistent rhythm inside his chest. He crushed the paper in his fist and tossed it to the ground where it caught fire. The ashes heated, blazing, until a charred circle on the ground was the only thing remaining.
Tremors racked his body, but he could not allow himself to truly lose control—too much was at stake. Next to his pile of embers, a brittle bush began to smoke. He lifted a brief gust of wind to ensure no fire spread, then paced for a minute before sitting down hard on the ground. His hair was too short to tear out, but he ran his fingers across his scalp, digging his nails into his skull.
No footsteps sounded, but he felt Kyara approach. He couldn’t have said how—she was still oddly and perfectly shielded from his Song—but he knew it was her before she sat down beside him.
Her soft silence was soothing. Much of the time he’d been in her presence had been spent quietly. She wasn’t one to fill the space with senseless chatter, but being near her left him rested in a way he’d experienced with few others. The fog of guilt hanging over him did not feel quite as suffocating as it had moments before.
“I saw you leave Asla’s office.”
“Something happened,” he said in a strangled tone. “Our team was ambushed at the safe house. The children we saved—they were all recaptured.” His voice broke.
Kyara tensed. “How?”
He shook his head. “It was a newer safe house. I have no idea how it could have been discovered.”
She stayed silent beside him.
“I should have been there.” He dropped his head in his hands, squeezing. “I could have…” He could have stopped it. Sensed the approach of their enemies from farther than anyone else. Farron and Lizana and Navar would have tried their best, but this mission had been part of his responsibility. And he had let them all down.
“And what of your work here?” Kyara asked quietly. “I take it you felt it was just as important.”
Darvyn stilled. Her gaze on him was just as tactile as her voice. The pressure made him look up. He found no pity in her stare, only grim resolve.
“You don’t understand.”
One of her shoulders lifted. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know that a single man cannot be in two places at once. Whatever responsibility you feel cannot change that fact.”
She broke eye contact and turned her gaze forward to the desert. “These times we’re living in—the misfortune we have to be born here, now … All we can do is our best, and I believe you’ve done yours.”
She reached over and took his hand in a firm grip. A tingling heat spread where their skin touched. His awareness of her came into razor-edged focus. She squeezed gently, drawing away some of the tension coiled inside him.
“What if my best isn’t good enough?”
Her grip on his hand didn’t ease. “What else can you give?”
He wanted to tell her what was expected from him. Not just his best but all of the miraculous accomplishments inherent in the myth that the Shadowfox had become. He was not simply a man. Being in two places at once was not an excuse, not for him. He was expected to be so much more, so much better. He had the strange feeling that Kyara would understand.
But of course he could never tell her.
Kyara focused only on the feel of holding Darvyn’s hand. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was simple and honest and good. She knew she didn’t deserve it but couldn’t let go.
She pushed away the other awareness creeping into her mind. The one that wanted to connect certain dots in an impossible way. She wouldn’t give credence to it. Not while Darvyn’s hand was so warm and while he was holding onto her so tight.
He’d looked so lonely sitting on the ground alone. She’d suspected something bad had happened but the idea of all the children recaptured made even her shriveled heart bleed.
She edged closer to him, almost involuntarily, until their shoulders touched. There was strength in this—it was a rationalization, but she didn’t let go of the thought. They leaned together, hand in hand, and when his head swiveled toward hers, her eyes dropped to his lips.
A taut line of awareness stretched between them. It wrapped around her chest, making her breathing shallow.
Darvyn’s eyes lowered and his stare sizzled down her nerve endings.
She had little experience with this; her ignorance was visceral. What would he do? Only a small space separated them. All it would take would be to lean forward slightly—but she didn’t dare. She remembered riding behind him on the horse and on the crawler. Holding onto him, strong and solid. The fear and anticipation were almost too much.
A chorus of cries rent the air, severing the invisible cord between them. Kyara and Darvyn jumped apart as the drumming of little feet thundered the ground.
“Midday break,” he said, rising and dusting off his trousers, a sheepish expression crossing his face.
Asla and the other teachers led the children outside where they immediately began to run, breaking off into groups and beginning their play.
“I’m almost done with my work here. Be ready to leave in a few?”
Kyara nodded silently and watched him walk off to disappear behind the largest school building. She gulped down a breath and chuckled to herself.
“Do you think he…?” She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. “No, of course not.” Shaking her head, she watched a game of carryball begin. Most of the students were out in the sun, but a group of older girls sat in the shade of one of the walkways.
Several smaller buildings were connected to the main building by the covered paths. The layout was similar to the cabal she’d grown up in but on a smaller scale. How had it been constructed all the way out here? Wherever here was … The Keepers would have ensured the school was well hidden, far from the highway and any military patrols, government Collectors, or wandering nomads. How did they get supplies? Rations? Water?
She opened her mind’s eye, bringing the field of darkness into view around her. The adults became visible as columns of writhing light. So many dimmer lights from the eighty-plus children here, healthy and strong. Surrounding the school were the normal desert vegetation and animal life, built tough to survive the climate but with the energy of death always threaded through as it was for every living thing.
Deep roots sought out water far under the earth, and insects burrowed down. Tinier organisms lived and died almost in the blink of an eye. But behind the school was a vast area far darker than the bush surrounding them. Kyara probed further, examining the very dim glow of the decay. This was an area full of verdant life, unusual for this deep in the desert.
The world around her came back into focus as she shuttered her inner vision. She rounded the largest building only to be startled by a sea of green. Fields stretched far into the distance, fertile soil bursting with healthy crops. Corn and wheat grew closest to the school. Nuts and small trees with white blossoms stretched out far in the distance. Though it was only a fraction of the size of the camps outside Sayya, the school’s plots were abundant and vast.
Darvyn stood in the midst of the wheat, a few hundred paces away. Kyara closed her eyes and sank back into the embrace of Nethersong, seeing it all in reverse. The fertilized soil glowed dully with the presence of decayed life. But mostly, the green and beautiful field was shadowed to her inner eye.
She refocused on the visual before her, then sank back into her other sight. Darvyn was clearly standing there, but no corresponding column of light appeared in her view. She strained to find him and finally was able to sense the tiniest flicker. He held little more Nethersong than an infant.
Kyara broke off her inner vision and stumbled backward. She hadn’t been aware of it before. There had always been other adults around and she hadn’t scrutinized his Nether, but now, viewing him alone, it was indisputable. How could a grown man have so little death energy?
An ache began in her heart as the wound on her chest pulsed.
It shouldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be. She covered her mouth to suppress the sob that bubbled up. But the blood spell would not be ignored.
The pain began, starting sharply and growing more intense, recognizing Kyara’s target. The spell would not be denied. It would make her capture the Shadowfox.