Janna's brow furrowed. "Whose hands?"
"When you figure that out, you find me." Aunn turned his back on her and strode back around the corner, down the main passage, up the stairs, and out of the cathedral.
CHAPTER 27
Slowly, Cart began to understand.
Havrakhad spoke in his mind, words that soothed and guided him. He saw visions amid the explosions of golden light that replaced his sight-visions of memory and history, portent and nightmare. His mind was a stormy sea of emotion-raw terror, exultation, steely determination, love-but Havrakhad's voice coaxed him up above the storm, to float above the waves and ride them through the tumult. It was no different, really, from the discipline of a soldier, fighting on despite the fear and pain, careful not to be carried away by the surge of joy that came with each small victory.
He couldn't express or explain what he came to understand, but he knew that it left him changed.
"Listen carefully, Cart," Havrakhad said to him at last. It had been hours-he had no idea how many hours. "In a moment, I will remove the quori's eye from your mind. But before I do that, I have to restore your own sight. When I do, you must not turn and look at me. You must not. It will try to make you turn, but you must resist. Use what you have learned, and resist it."
"I understand."
"Not yet, but you begin to. Are you ready?"
"Wait. Where's Ashara?"
"I'm here." Her murmur came from across the room. She sounded sleepy. What had she been doing while Havrakhad was in his mind? Cart realized he had no idea.
"Will you sit beside me?" he asked.
He heard rustling and her soft footsteps, then she sank onto the couch beside him and put a hand on his arm.
"Are you ready?" Havrakhad repeated.
Cart nodded slowly.
"Then open your eyes."
He felt Havrakhad's hand at the back of his neck, and then his vision returned like a slow dawning. He saw Havrakhad's apartment, spare and clean, washed in morning light filtered through gauzy curtains over the windows. Ashara leaned into his view and smiled at him.
He had to turn and see Havrakhad. He knew-with all his being he knew-that if he turned, he would see not the beautiful man he knew as Havrakhad, but a monster veiled in flesh. Everything about Havrakhad was a lie. He fumbled for his axe, ready to turn around and strike the monster down.
"Cart?" Ashara was still holding his arm, looking up at him with worry on her face. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eyes were swollen from sleep.
She's in league with him, he thought. Panic seized his mind, and he crouched, ready to whirl and confront the monster.
"Use what you have learned, and resist it."
Cart stopped and straightened his legs. He felt the panic in his mind, but he rose above it-he observed it and then discarded it. He felt Havrakhad's fingers on his head, probing gently into his mind, and the panic slowly subsided.
Then another jolt of pain stabbed through his head, and the fear and doubt were gone. "It's gone," he said.
"Yes." Havrakhad came around the couch and into his field of vision. He looked more exhausted than Ashara did, but he smiled. "You did well."
"Thank you," Cart said, then he looked back at Ashara. "And thank you as well."
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. He encircled her in his arms and held her.
"I'm sorry," Cart told Havrakhad. "We'll go, and let you rest." Cart stood and lifted Ashara to her feet.
"Il-Yannah shines in you, Cart," Havrakhad said, walking them to the door. "Not in your axe or the strength of your arms."
Cart nodded and clasped the kalashtar's hand, Ashara gave a slight bow, and they stepped out into the stairwell of the apartment building. Ashara sighed and took his arm, and they walked together down the stairs.
"Where to now?" Ashara said.
"Do you need more sleep?"
"No. I slept just about the whole time we were there."
"How long was that?"
"All night. What did he do to you?"
"He taught… or showed me-" Cart shrugged. "He opened my eyes."
"After he blinded you."
"Hm." That was literally true, but at a different level, Cart felt like he had never learned to see before he met Havrakhad.
"So what now?"
"How about some breakfast?"
"What an excellent idea. I know just the place."
"Then lead the way."
Ashara held his arm as they walked away from the apartment building with its streaming banners and back in the general direction of Chalice Center. When they left the narrow residential streets and walked along more crowded roadways, though, Cart noticed hostile stares directed at them. Ashara didn't seem to mind, but Cart was uneasy. He patted her hands on his arm, then gently extricated himself from her grasp.
"Who cares what they think?" Ashara said.
Cart didn't want to look at her, so he let his gaze range over the wide street, with its row of trees down the center, bare as winter drew near. "In my experience, I find it better to avoid giving offense than to deal with angry people. Especially when they get violent."
"Violent? Because I'm holding your arm?"
"People get violent when I walk into their favorite tavern. Or because I'm on the wrong side of the street. Or because someone's brother died in the war and somehow I'm responsible. People don't need good reasons to be unreasonable."
Ashara laughed at his choice of words, and Cart hung his head. She could take the matter lightly, because she had never known the reality of life as a warforged. Quite the contrary-as an heir of House Cannith, she had enjoyed the servitude of the House's warforged creations for most of her life. She could still rightly command Cart's loyalty, as much as she wanted him to think of her as a friend.
She tried to take his arm again, but he pulled away. They walked in silence the rest of the way to Ashara's choice of breakfast locations-a bakery in Chalice Center. Cart didn't notice its name.
Cart sat with his arms folded across his chest and watched Ashara eat. The sting of her laughter was fading, and he was trying to remind himself to rise above it, to observe the storm of his emotions without being carried away by it. He liked watching people eat, except when they ate things that didn't seem to fit in the category of food-clams, mushrooms, potatoes. He particularly liked the way the muscles of Ashara's jaw flexed as she chewed, and the obvious pleasure on her face as she licked the dusting of cinnamon and sugar from her fingertips.
Her smile vanished as her eyes fell on something behind him, by the door. The smile returned a moment later, but different, perhaps forced. Cart heard footsteps behind him.
"Hello, Harkin," Ashara said.
Cart turned in his seat to see the blond Cannith heir standing behind him. He didn't return Ashara's smile.
"I thought I might find you here." Harkin seized a chair from another table and sat between them.
"What do you mean?" Ashara asked. "We were going to meet for luncheon."
"You were quite the scandal in Fairhaven this morning, walking arm in arm with your warforged like lovers."
Ashara's face turned crimson. "Why is it anyone's business what we do?"
Harkin laughed. "It's not, but that won't stop them from talking. Particularly when they can see the dragonmark on your arm. I understand the baron is in a fury."
"Jorlanna has already excoriated me. What else can she do?"
"You really don't know what you're in the middle of, do you?"
"Why don't you spell it out for me, Harkin?"
"Very well, Ashara. Jorlanna has decided to cast aside the Korth Edicts and swear allegiance to the queen, turning her part of House Cannith into an Aundairian noble family and its enclave into a Ministry of Artifice, responsible for producing armaments for the crown."