“I am fine, Deacon Heroon,” he replied quietly. “I am just tired is all.”
He pulled himself to his feet, feeling his skin prickle with exhaustion, and tried to size up the six other Sensitives. They did not appear to have caught the strange visitation. Merrick was pleased; he did not want to stain their already fragile trust in him any further. What Nynnia had communicated was something to be digested, alone, and with his senses dedicated to it. The Council—or whatever it was—had asked him to do this, to look ahead and find the weaknesses in the armor of the Native Order.
To step into the future was not a journey to be taken lightly. He gestured to the seats. “Let’s set ourselves together, and see what we can find. There is a way forward, and like many times before, the Sensitives shall find it.”
The others looked less than impressed with his little speech, but it was all he had to give at this point. Nynnia had left him feeling fractured and disorientated. Her words about Sorcha would haunt him, but he could not let them distract him. For the first time in his life, he did not want to believe what he had been told by Nynnia and pushed what she had told him to the back of his mind. He had more than enough to occupy his time and thoughts with.
Sorcha was his partner, and there was no other reality he wanted to contemplate.
SEVEN
In the Shadow of Love
“Sorcha!” Raed stood in their shared room and called her name, even though it was a small enough space that he could immediately tell she wasn’t there. He stood there on the threshold, and let out a long breath. After shedding the fur cloak, he found fresh clothes in the tiny set of drawers, and stripped out of the ones he had recovered by the river. He always thought there was a strange feral scent in clothes that had come near the Rossin.
As he dressed, Raed eyed the cloak on the bed; it disturbed him, and yet it was a beautiful thing. Could it possibly be a gift from the Rossin? The fur was an exceptional silver color, not at all like the ruddy fur of the Beast that he shared flesh with. He’d found tufts of it before and knew the difference well enough. Then maybe it was something from a victim of the Rossin?
Raed pushed one of his hands through his hair in frustration. Perhaps, he should find Merrick and just make sure there was no geist connection. He would have asked Sorcha, but he did not want to add to her worries.
Things might have been terrible; they’d been on the run for months from the Emperor and the Circle of Stars after all. However, the truth of it was despite all of that these had still been the best months of his life because they had at least been together.
“My prince.” Aachon’s voice made Raed start and spin around. His friend moved around as quietly as a Deacon; his boyhood training standing him in good stead. The tall, dark man, with the physical presence of a bear, should not have been able to move around with the ease of a mouse. They may have had to leave their ship the Dominion behind, but Aachon had not given up on being Raed’s friend. “I am glad you were not here when—”
The first mate’s words ground to nothing when he took in the Young Pretender’s expression. He had hoped that Aachon wouldn’t be able to read what had happened. It was—as always—a false hope.
“Again?” Aachon whispered, glancing up and down the corridor, before stepping hastily into the room and shutting the door. “My prince, if the Rossin is finding—”
Now it was Raed’s turn to interrupt; he grasped his friend’s shoulder. “Sorcha and the Deacons have more to worry about than my curse. I have been dealing with it for the last couple of weeks.” When Aachon’s eyebrows shot up, Raed forestalled him once more. “However, things have changed; it appears the Rossin has not killed anyone. Perhaps he has found a way to be content with simply running free instead of needing blood . . .”
Carefully Raed angled himself, so that Aachon could not see the cloak on the bed. Luckily, the other man was distracted by this change in the Rossin’s behavior. He rubbed his chin and stared directly at Raed. “I find that highly unlikely. The Beast lives on blood and chaos—why would he be any different now?”
“Everything is turned upside down at the moment,” Raed replied. “The Deacons feel it—even I feel it.” He met his friend’s gaze, daring him to contradict him.
Aachon nodded slowly. “Indeed—and that is why I came to find you, my prince.” Aachon’s jaw clenched, as did his hands, but when he spoke his voice was considered. “Last night geists broke through into the citadel.”
Raed’s heartbeat picked up. “Is Sorcha—”
“Deacons Faris and Chambers are safe, but many were not so lucky.”
Raed felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if he was being watched. He cleared his throat. “But this is a Priory of the Order—how could they breach the walls with all the cantrips and runes?”
“This place was long abandoned,” Aachon explained, “and none of the Deacons here had the strength to shore up the crumbling cantrips of protection. This is no Mother Abbey.”
They both knew that was a rather sour joke; even the Mother Abbey now lay in ruins.
“So what happened?” Raed asked dully, already suspecting the answer.
“A dozen or so lay Brothers and followers were slain in the Great Hall, but Deacons Faris and Chambers were able to close the breach—at least temporarily.” Because Aachon had been his friend for years, Raed caught the slight flinch that his friend made, even mentioning Merrick’s name. The first mate was a man of real honor, and his failure to find the Deacon’s mother and brother cut deep.
In the chaos after the destruction of the Mother Abbey, Merrick had asked Aachon to rescue them from the Emperor’s palace, while he and Sorcha wrestled Zofiya from Derodak. Aachon had been unable to and had returned empty-handed. Most likely, the Emperor had already squirreled them away somewhere as surety against the Sensitive. What their fate had been remained a mystery. No matter how often Merrick used the runes to search for them he could not find anything.
“Where is Sorcha now?” Raed asked, hoping to provide a distraction for his friend.
It had taken some time for Aachon not to wince when Raed spoke of his lover. Their first meeting had been rather fraught, and then just before the fall of the Mother Abbey he had seen her do things in the home of the Wrayth that had underscored her relation to the geistlords. This was not the type of person the first mate wanted his Prince and friend to be connected with in any way.
“She is on the upper battlements,” he said in a low growl.
However, before they could get into any kind of awkward discussion, another figure appeared in the doorway behind them.
“Aachon! Raed!” Merrick smiled, and seemed not to notice the first mate shuffling out of the way, his shoulders slightly stiff. “I am glad to see you are both well. Sorcha was worried after she found you missing . . .” His eyes grazed appraisingly over the Young Pretender.
Raed glanced at Aachon, who took the none-too-subtle hint. Since Merrick arrived he had probably been looking for a way to escape the room. He bowed slightly to both of them. “I shall be in the infirmary if you need me, my prince.” Then he disappeared back into the citadel’s dark corridors.
Merrick looked at the Young Pretender, his head tilted. “Did you . . . did the Rossin find you last night, Raed?”
The Young Pretender gave a curt nod. “But don’t worry; no one died last night—at least not under his paws.”