“The Conclave wishes no harm upon the Church, Holiness,” she said. “The highmage is a reasonable man, you will find. As I have said, he wants Andras punished for his crimes just as badly as you did.”
“Bah!” Unable to contain himself, Quarath stabbed a finger toward the remains of the Udenso. “Would you treat with one who did that, Holiness?”
“It was not the mages who brought the statue down,” Beldinas countered. “It fell at my command.”
“Perhaps,” Quarath insisted, “but-”
“Enough!” Beldinas said, cutting him off. “Neither of you will convince me. I will meditate on this, milady. It may be that matters have gone too far to solve with words. I will make my decision in the morning.”
With that, he turned away from his advisors, striding forward to the balustrade and standing there, staring out at the statue’s twisted remains. Knowing she had been dismissed, Leciane turned to go. The sorceress felt Quarath’s angry eyes on her back as she left the balcony.
If anything, the highmage seemed even less willing to compromise than the clergy.
“A moot?” Vincil echoed from within her mirror. For a moment he looked as if he might laugh, but then his smile collapsed into a look of incredulity. “You’re serious, aren’t you? The Lightbringer wants to meet with us.”
“He does, if you do,” Leciane dissembled. “Vincil, you must. If you’d seen the people, you would understand. They want blood, and if you don’t offer something for the peace, he’ll give it to them. It would only take a nudge to turn this whole empire against all the Robes. Do you want that?”
Vincil’s lip stiffened. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “Very well. Tell him we will meet-but in the Lordcity, not where you are now.”
“Thank you, Most High,” Leciane said, bowing her head.
Vincil grunted unhappily and vanished from the mirror. When he was gone, she let out a slow, weary breath. When she’d accepted the position of envoy, she hadn’t expected to broker peace talks between the order and the empire. I’d have turned down the offer if I had, she thought with a grimace. But Leciane was determined to keep the Church and the sorcerers from going to war. That would lead to no good for either side.
She went to the window and opened the shutters, letting the night breeze blow in. It was past midnight, Solinari riding high, the mist spotty upon the water. In the silver light, the ruins of the Udenso looked even more like a jumble of bones than they had in the daytime.
If Leciane had known any spells for it, she would have moved the metal out of sight-but there were limits to her power. It would take an archmage to perform such a feat.
Perhaps-
She snapped out of her reverie, her gaze shifting to the manor’s gardens. She’d seen a flash of movement, moonlight on skin. Looking closer, she recognized Cathan, standing among the starblooms. Her blood quickened at the sight of him. More than a week had passed since the night of the scrying-but she hadn’t forgotten.
He turned and glanced up at the window. She could see by the way his cheeks colored that he remembered too. His tongue ran over his lips, sharpening her own memories. That frightened her. She hadn’t been with a man since Vincil. What need was there, with her magic to occupy her? Now, though …
Her hands were moving before she realized it, drawing in the magic and channeling it, giving it form. By the time she thought about her actions it was done, the spell ready for the incantation that would unleash it. She bit her tongue, still holding back the word. She didn’t have to finish. There was still time.
“Kushat,” she whispered.
The world shimmered around her. Then, with a sudden rush, it fell away, leaving her floating in nothingness. This spell was only powerful enough for traveling short distances.
It was good enough to bring her down to the garden, though.
Cathan drew back in surprise as she appeared-then stopped, his eyes wide. He looked as if he might run-but didn’t. Instead, he stepped toward her. She could smell him, the scent of leather and sweat amid the garden’s flowers.
“I didn’t see you today,” she murmured. “Or yesterday.”
He stepped closer, arm’s length now. She angled her head, waiting. He reached out … and slapped her, hard, across the face.
“Damn you,” he swore.
Leciane stumbled and nearly fell. Her cheek aflame, she put a hand to her jaw and stared at him hurtfully.
“What?” was all she could manage to ask.
He looked at his hand, as though surprised by what he had done-but only for an instant. Then his angry gaze shifted back to her. “Don’t act innocent,” he growled. “I saw you use the amulet!” He started toward her again.
Several spells leaped into her mind, but she thrust the thoughts away. Using magic was the last thing she needed to do now. Instead Leciane held firm, facing him down as she fished the medallion out from beneath her robe.
“This?” she asked, holding it out “No, Cathan. I only contacted the Conclave before your men burned Andras. I didn’t know what they would do.”
He spat at her feet. “You still had a hand in Andras’s disappearance. After all we did to capture him. Now you have the gall to talk to the Kingpriest about making peace….”
Leciane shook her head. “I want peace,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I’m trying to help, Cathan.”
Hissing, he batted her fingers away. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you,” he snapped. “What did you do to me, that night? What sorcery did you use on me?”
“I never used any sorcery on you!” she protested, understanding he was talking about their kiss. She felt stricken. “All right, I nearly did, once, but I chose not to. What we did together was real-”
“No!” he barked. “Lying witch! You tried to make me break my vows, but I’m wise to your tricks. Make your ‘peace,’ if you wish, but stay away from me, and from Wentha and her children. If you ever do anything to harm His Holiness, I swear you’ll feel this.”
He put his hand threateningly on his sword. He was trembling all over. Then, with a snarl, he stormed away through the garden, muttering curses under his breath.
Leciane stood alone in Solinari’s light, listening to the chirping of the crickets.
Shuddering, she turned and hurried back to the manor. She wanted to return to her chambers before the tears blinded her completely. She didn’t, quite.
CHAPTER 19
The burning worked its way up his leg, his robes feeding the flames so they crept higher, quicker. Skin blackening and peeling away; gobbets of flesh dropping off to sizzle amid the tinder. Oh, Nuitari, the pain …
Andras meant, at the last moment, to curse Paladine, the Kingpriest, and the Divine Hammer, to wish death on every Istaran who cheered his own. He could feel the world falling away, the pain growing, the sounds and smells fading. He had often wondered what death felt like, those last moments when the soul clings to the body. A kind of peace settled over him-or perhaps that was just because he was beginning to black out from lack of air.
There was one way to be sure. He took a breath.
The flames made a cinder of his tongue, split open his palate, rushed down and down, filling his lungs. It was worse than he expected, worse than he’d thought possible, like a sun trying to kindle in his breast. He threw back his head and screeched, but after a heartbeat the flames found his vocal cords, and the scream turned into a bubbling hiss.
Still it went on, and he knew, even as his heart began to burn, that it would be like this for a long, long time….
He awoke with a whimper, phantom pains still twinging as the dream dissolved in his mind. He was standing up, it surprised him to see, propped by some invisible force that coursed around him. The same force held him paralyzed, unable to move his arms or legs.