Reign of Ash (42 page)

Reluctantly, he moved on, slipping through the kitchen into the darkened parlor. Everyone had gone to bed. Blaine lit one of the lanterns, stirred the embers into a fire, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He settled into one of the chairs by the hearth, feeling the effects of the dangerous ride back from the lyceum.

The whiskey burned down his throat, but it did not warm him. He knew that there was no real question that he would go to look for Valshoa and try to find Vigus Quintrel.
If it were just risking myself, the matter would be settled. It’s everyone else who’ll go with me, who’ll put themselves in danger. Gods above, I’ve seen enough death. I don’t want their blood on my head.

“I thought I might find you here.” Kestel’s voice startled him, and Blaine stirred from his thoughts to set his glass aside and rise from his chair.

“You’re up late.”

Kestel shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Blaine managed a wan smile. “Neither could I.” Kestel was still dressed in the gown she had worn at dinner, a dark emerald dress that played up the deep red of her hair. Though frayed and worn in places, the satin in her dress still shimmered in the firelight. For several moments, neither of them said anything, and Blaine knew that the incident at the lyceum hung between them, although there had been no private moment since then for discussion.

We can’t go on like this. It’s worse than having said nothing
, Blaine thought. He drew a deep breath, discovering that it was much harder to find the courage to broach the subject than to ready himself for battle.

“What you said… at the lyceum. Did you mean it?” His voice was quiet, and he wondered if she could hear the uncertainty he felt.
Perhaps she’ll say it was the tension of the moment, that she was afraid I was going to die. Maybe I read more into it than she meant, and she’s trying to figure out how to set me right.

Kestel walked closer to the fireplace, but she did not meet his gaze. “I meant it,” she said softly. “Did you?”

It was strange, Blaine thought, to see Kestel look uncertain. Even in Velant, despite the worst that happened to them, she had always seemed utterly sure of herself, completely in command. “Yes,” he said, moving a step closer. “I’d been thinking about it for a long time, but I couldn’t figure out how to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same.”

Kestel finally met his gaze. “You were dead, Mick. For a moment or two, you were gone. I’d been afraid to tell you, for fear I’d lose your friendship, and then I lost you anyway. Almost.”

Blaine reached out to touch her cheek. “I didn’t die. And I didn’t run away.”

Kestel lifted a hand to clasp his. “You don’t have to go to Valshoa. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” She looked down. “I’m afraid for you, Mick. I’m afraid that the price to bring back the magic will be too high.”

Blaine drew her into his arms, folding her against his chest, and to his pleased amazement, she did not draw back. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she leaned against him. “I’m a bad risk to fall in love with,” he murmured, laying his cheek against her head.

“Too late.” She paused. “This would be so much simpler if we were still in Edgeland.”

Blaine tangled his fingers in her hair. “Because freezing our asses off with no sunlight for six months is so romantic?” He chuckled.

Kestel sighed. “No. Because I saw a way for it to work for us, without a war, without our pasts getting in the way.”

Blaine tipped her chin so she met his gaze. “I can’t avoid the battle that’s coming. Reese and Pollard won’t let the matter drop, even if I don’t go to Valshoa. As for what happened in the past, yours or mine, I made peace with that in Velant.”

Kestel slipped out of his arms and moved closer to the fire. “The problem is, I want more than I have a right to.” She looked back at him defiantly. “If we begin this, I want more than to be your lover or your mistress. I’m only interested in playing for keeps, and while that could work in Edgeland, where we were on our own, I don’t know how that can possibly work here.”

“Why not?”

Kestel gave him a sidelong look, as if he had missed the obvious. “Because you’re a lord, and I’m a courtesan. That defines what’s possible, and I’m not willing to settle.”

“Good. Because neither am I.”

Kestel’s gaze was wary. “Meaning?”

Blaine moved to stand behind her and gently turned her to look at him. “The way things appear to be shaping up, I’m not a lord – I’m a warlord. And I can’t think of a more perfect partner for a warlord than an assassin.” He leaned down to kiss her, savoring the moment.

“Your family —” she protested.

“Will learn to live with it,” Blaine finished. “There is no court, no nobility: no rules. Donderath is like Edgeland, a barren land where we can make of it what we will. And I want you with me.”
If I live through the battle
, he added silently.

“W
hy did Penhallow come to the castle?” Pollard delivered a sharp kick, and the bound man on the floor groaned in pain as Pollard’s boot connected with his ribs. Pollard’s guards had already taken their turn at the man who was bruised from head to toe, his clothing reduced to rags.

Lars Lynge, former seneschal of Quillarth Castle, lay in a heap on the floor. His shock of white hair was filthy and streaked with blood, and his eyes were purpled and swollen almost shut.

“Answer me!” Pollard ordered, making sure that his boot connected with the man’s hip.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Pollard said, and this time he landed a kick to the older man’s knee that elicited a howl of pain. “Tell me what you know.”

“Penhallow stayed a few nights. He kept his own counsel.”

Two of Pollard’s soldiers dragged the battered man across the room and dumped him into a chair. “Tell me about Penhallow and Treven Lowrey,” Pollard said in an icy voice.

“They came to the castle for refuge,” Lynge replied. “Then they left. I don’t know where they went.”

“What did they do while they were in the castle?” Pollard tapped his toe against the stone floor, an indication that he would not wait forever to get the information he sought.

Lynge drew a labored breath. “They wanted to know the history of Donderath.”

Pollard swore and kicked a wooden crate so hard that it skidded across the stone floor. He swung around and leaned down close to the seneschal’s swollen face. “What were they researching?”

“History. Nothing but history,” Lynge wheezed.

“What kind of history?” Pollard’s voice was dangerously even.

“The old families of Donderath,” Lynge replied. His skin was ashen where it wasn’t bruised, and his lips had taken on a bluish hint. Pollard guessed that the beating had gone harder on the seneschal than his men intended.
No real loss. We were going to kill him anyhow. It’s one more obstacle out of the way.

Reese’s
talishte
had arrived a week after Penhallow and the Knights of Esthrane left. Despite the castle’s guards, it had been easy for Reese’s men to break through the defenses. Pollard looked around the shambles of the castle’s main dining room. The Great Fire had damaged the castle badly, but he would make a thorough search. He planned to be certain that nothing valuable to Lowrey – or to Blaine McFadden’s cause – might still remain.

Pentreath Reese had slipped soundlessly into the room and stood in the shadows at the back.

“What did he want to know about the old families?” Pollard asked, gritting his teeth.
He was looking for the Lords of the Blood
, he thought.
The question is: What did he discover that Reese doesn’t already know?

“Lowrey was a thief. He was looking for valuable items,” Lynge said. “To sell, I imagine.”

From the look in Lynge’s eyes, Pollard was sure that the man had no illusions of leaving alive. “What did Lowrey steal?”

“Anything he could,” Lynge said. A fit of coughing took him, and blood flecked his spittle.

“Like what?” Pollard said, barely keeping his temper in check. He was certain Lynge was lying. Yet there was nothing to be gained by further injuring the man, and everything to be lost if it hastened his death before he could share what little he knew.

“When you stop having information for me, you stop having a reason to live,” Pollard grated. “I’m going to look forward to gibbing you like a fish.”

“No.”

Reese’s voice was sharp, and the command carried compulsion, freezing Pollard in place. Pollard swore under his breath, and when the compulsion eased, he leaned back, away from the old man. Lynge did not make a sound, but for the first time, there was real fear in his eyes.

In a few swift steps, Reese stood beside Pollard. He snatched up Lynge’s thin arm so hard that the man came off the chair a few inches, dislocating his shoulder. Lynge gasped as Reese bowed his head and sank his fangs into the cleft of Lynge’s elbow.

Pollard forced down a shudder. Reese was even more savage in the blood-taking than he had been with Pollard, making a gash like a hungry wolf. The old man’s lips moved, but Reese paid no heed. Reese continued to feed long past the point that Pollard knew the
talishte
had enough blood to provide the needed information. The seneschal convulsed, then fell back, limp. Reese dropped the bony arm, and the body slid to the floor.

“Lowrey and Penhallow believe Vigus Quintrel knew the secret of the origin of magic,” Reese commented. He withdrew a kerchief from his vest and dabbed at the blood that stained his mouth, and even in the lantern light, Pollard could see a ruddy flush that colored Reese’s cheeks from the feeding.

“Did they find anything that would locate Quintrel?” Pollard asked.

Reese stroked his chin as he thought, as if sorting through the memories he had gathered from Lynge’s blood. “Penhallow certainly thought so,” he said. “They were interested in the thirteen old families, the Lords of the Blood.” His expression darkened. “And disks. Obsidian disks that Penhallow believed had something to do with raising the magic.”

“What about McFadden?”

Reese’s anger was clear in his face. “From what Lynge saw, it’s clear Penhallow thinks McFadden can restore the magic.” He fell silent as he parsed through the other memories he had stolen. “Interesting,” he mused.

“What?”

Reese’s voice was an angry growl. “Now I know why Penhallow took on Bevin Connor, Garnoc’s servant. He’s a medium.” He let loose with a stream of invective. “That explains why things went so unexpectedly well for Penhallow with the Wraith Lord and why the Wraith Lord sided with him. He wants a body to possess.”

“Perhaps Lynge was mistaken,” Pollard said.

“Not in this. I could feel Lynge’s fear: He didn’t like the idea that the dead could possess the living. Damn,” Reese said. “This complicates matters. The Wraith Lord should not have been involved.”

“Did Penhallow learn anything else at the castle?” Pollard pressed.

Reese began to pace. “Yes. They went into the crypts beneath the castle – into the forbidden tombs of the Knights of Esthrane. Penhallow found several of the disks, and he took them with him.” Reese’s temper was clearly at a breaking point, and Pollard made sure he was out of convenient reach.

“If the disks alone could restore the magic, they would have done so already,” Pollard said.

Reese wheeled on him. “Not if they must be used by a Lord of the Blood.”

“Blaine McFadden.”

“Yes.”

Pollard frowned. “Garnoc’s servant – did he learn anything from the spirits?”

Reese frowned. “He was receiving information from someone, but Lynge was unclear about the source.” He slammed his fist into a wooden table, and his
talishte
strength smashed the thick wood. “It means Penhallow has an advantage, and a dangerous one.” Reese squared his shoulders. “He must be stopped.”

“And McFadden?”

“McFadden is more dangerous than I thought. I want him brought to me before he gets any closer to a way to restore the magic.” He began to pace. “If McFadden is chasing the old mages, it might explain why he turned up in Riker’s Ferry and again at the lyceum, then eluded my agents there.”

Reese turned to Pollard’s guards. “Take the body, and leave us.” He was silent until the men had dragged the corpse from the room.

“Why Riker’s Ferry? It’s in the middle of nowhere,” Pollard said.

Reese began to pace once more. “The mages I interrogated said that Valtyr had a theory about how magic worked. He was quite interested in the null places and the places of strong magic. They say that’s what his maps showed. McFadden’s interest makes me quite sure that at least one of those maps has found its way into his hands. It would also account for his unhealthy fascination with Mirdalur.” Reese paused. “If Quintrel’s obsessions are driving McFadden, and the Knights are now assisting Penhallow, then perhaps we should look more closely at Valshoa.”

“Valshoa is a myth,” Pollard challenged.

Reese shrugged. “‘Myths’ are what mortals call events they only half-remember. Valtyr was not the only one to believe Valshoa existed. It was rumored that at least some of the Knights of Esthrane sought out Valshoa when they were forced into exile.”

Pollard began to laugh. “That’s what McFadden is searching for? A place out of stories told around a campfire?”

Reese’s gaze was cold. “Laugh if you like. But McFadden returned from Edgeland for a reason. It’s possible he might have encountered Grimur there.” He made an expression of distaste. “Probable, if Lanyon Penhallow was meddling. I find it particularly interesting that Garnoc’s man also ended up in Edgeland and returned with McFadden and now seems to have become Penhallow’s servant.” He paused. “I do not believe in coincidence.”

“And now, rumors that the Knights of Esthrane have returned, in the kingdom’s direst hour,” Pollard said, skepticism clear in his voice.

“Not rumor,” Reese snapped. “They fought for the Wraith Lord and destroyed many of our men.

“What have you learned from your man in Riker’s Ferry?” Reese asked. “Has he seen McFadden?”

Pollard stepped back without thinking and steeled himself before answering. “He’s disappeared. But he was last seen being taken by a
talishte
who was with McFadden.”

Reese turned on him with a glare, and in his eyes, Pollard saw barely restrained fury. “You continue to disappoint me. McFadden is free and is still a step ahead of you.”

Pollard met Reese’s gaze. “Not for much longer.”