The Deathless. Peter Newman
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to wound it as far as anyone knew, and the second Sapphire Deathless to betray her house. What did that make him? The third?
Mia began her own story of the day, starting with a generous account of how Vasin had stirred them all, and as she told it her eyes met his, sparkling, and his smile grew that little bit wider.
He had allowed himself some Tack before the evening’s festivities. Not a full dose, he needed his wits about him still, but enough to ease the tension in his jaw and shoulders. He had to appear relaxed, the very image of the champion they considered him to be. When news of Rochant’s death reached the High Lord, there would be an investigation, and it was important he only draw the right kind of attention.
And so, despite the stress, he sat back and listened to Mia’s voice, his thoughts made pleasantly fuzzy by the Tack.
Then he saw a figure drift by the entrance to the room, pausing just long enough to catch his attention, and the smile fell from his face faster than a wingless hunter from the sky.
To a casual observer she appeared like just another Sapphire servant but he knew better. Her loyalties were more discerning than that. There was no signal given, no communication needed to get his attention. The very fact that she had come was all the summons he needed.
It’s all gone wrong! he thought, even as he forced himself to smile again and set his drink down, so that others would not see the way the liquid trembled in his cup.
Her name was Yi, and she had first come to him after his mother’s judgement at the hands of the High Lord. It had been night, the castle had slept. She had presented herself to him at the zenith of his grief. She had talked and the words had meant nothing. Yi was an agent of his mother, raised and trained in secret, ready to serve in all things. To advise, to take revenge, to act where others could not.
At the time he’d had no interest in taking action, had screamed at her to leave him, and she had gone without protest. The whole incident was soon forgotten, buried under a tide of emotions and drug-fuelled emptiness. Now he remembered, however, and now he understood, and now, he would listen.
To leave in the middle of Mia’s story would be an insult to her. And though any possibility of enjoying her company later had vanished, she deserved better than that. Besides, if he survived whatever Yi had come to warn him about, he would need many allies within his house.
So he waited, trying to be calm like his brother would be, while nodding and laughing at all the right places.
When he did stand to go there was a pleasing sound of disappointment from the assembled. ‘Please,’ he told them, ‘enjoy the bounty that grateful Sagan has provided. Eat, drink, whatever else brings you pleasure.’ There was a chuckle that he turned into a laugh by adding, ‘Except you, Zir. You stick to the food and drink.’
They made another attempt to get him to stay. He very nearly sat back down again. Another dose of Tack and he’d be able to escape his worries until tomorrow. A single thought of his mother, exiled, alone, mortal, was enough to banish that idea. ‘My friends,’ he began, ‘to be with you again has been the greatest of honours. I must go now, but I promise you this: keep the lights shining, keep your voices warm, and I will find you again.’
And with that, he left, the sounds of their banging on the table and singing his name, honouring him, carrying him from the hall.
He moved swiftly, worried he would attract more servants or dignitaries hoping for a private word, working his way to the lower, less frequented sections of the castle.
A door opened on his left and he could see Yi’s outline within. He turned quickly, went through and she shut the door behind him. Without a word she led him on. The light of the gemstones was waning, their stored energy almost spent, casting the walls in pale twilight. Even though it was late, the corridors were clear, and they made their way swiftly, without seeing another soul.
Vasin did not think too hard about how this was possible, there were plenty of other things to worry about. Though Yi appeared calm, the fact that she had sought him out anywhere other than his private chambers conveyed urgency, and disaster.
They descended deep into the bowels of the castle, into a tunnel that appeared on no maps, a short, angled, bumpy thing, like a piece of anatomy evolution no longer needed, forgotten, useless. Here, Yi stopped. ‘You met with my lady?’
‘I did, and I swore to do whatever it takes to bring her back.’
‘Then you should know that we have already begun and there have been complications.’
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘All of Lord Rochant’s descendants are dead, save two.’
A partial success or a total failure? ‘Which two?’
‘A baby, Satyendra. His mother managed to remove him from the castle. She had outside help.’
‘Outside help?’ He pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Lady Pari Tanzanite. She knew we were coming.’
‘How?’
Yi bowed deeply, apologetic.
If Pari knew then who else did? And did they know about his involvement? The deal he’d made with his mother? What she was trying to accomplish? A wave of panic rose up inside, enough to make him lean on the wall for support. From the tumult of worry a thought managed to swim free. ‘Two. You said two had survived. Who was the other?’
‘Lord Rochant. He survived the rebirthing ceremony but we have him.’
‘Where?’
There was the slightest pause, Yi’s thin lips pinching in displeasure. She pointed to the door behind her.
It was everything Vasin could do not to shout. ‘Here? You brought him here?’
‘On Captain Dil’s order.’
And clearly that order had left a bad taste in her mouth. ‘Where is Dil?’
‘With the prisoner.’
Vasin levered himself upright and strode through the door. The top of a crystal had poked itself through the back wall, its gemslight weak, silhouetting the two people in the room. They had stopped mid-motion at his arrival, giving them an unreal appearance, like a painting, presented for his approval.
And he did not approve. Not in the slightest.
A pole had been driven into the ground, old enough to have held many other prisoners before this one. Now, Lord Rochant Sapphire was tied to it, his wrists bound above his head, his legs tucked underneath so that his feet could be tied to the pole also. A rough sack with a breathing hole was strapped to his head. Through it, Vasin could see bruising, fresh. He looked from that to the swelling on Dil’s knuckles, and the heat in his face.
Enough, he thought.
And though his reflexes were dulled by the Tack, they were more than enough to intercept Dil’s wrist. He could feel the fine bones under his fingers and, in his anger, it was tempting to break them. How dare this man, this underling, sully the face of a Sapphire! But Vasin could not stoop to his level, so instead, with a single shove, he ejected Dil from the room.
Rochant had been responsible for his mother’s fall. He deserved to be punished, but that punishment would be just, and it would come from his or his mother’s hand. Anything else demeaned their cause.
He became aware that the bag had twitched in his direction. He turned and felt Rochant’s regard. It was as if the man could see through the bag, as if Vasin stood exposed before him.
And whether this was true or not, he could not bear to stay in the room a moment longer.
Once the door was closed behind him, he converted his fear to anger and turned it on Dil. This man had forgotten his place in the order of things and Vasin would ensure that he never forgot it again. ‘You failed us.’
‘It