Most mages had an active and a passive field. Active magical abilities required conscious effort, while passive powers were autonomic like breathing or sweating. My passive field evaluated strangers for threats and tried to make them like me on its own, which was why I had to constantly suppress it, while singing required a conscious effort and was therefore active. Konstantin’s passive field let him see through illusions, among other things, but to change shape he would need to exert himself.
“Are you telling me that Arkan generates a passive field?” I asked. Nobody had ever mentioned it. Not the Warden Network, not Alessandro’s spies.
“He does. It’s approximately one quarter of an inch deep. No object can penetrate the field without Arkan allowing it to do so. Neither a blade nor a bullet can hurt him. He exerts conscious effort to put on clothes and brush his hair in the morning. He can drop the field long enough to get drunk, although if you tried to pour alcohol down his throat against his will, it wouldn’t touch him. He has allowed himself to be cut on occasion, especially if he suspects he is being recorded and wants to protect his secret.”
Was this real or was he lying? I wished Nevada was in the room with us.
“How does he breathe?”
“The field rejects objects depending on their density and threat level. Gasses are unaffected, liquids are affected somewhat, and solid matter can’t penetrate at all.”
“Then a venenata attack, provided gas is used as a delivery system, would work.”
“Possibly,” he agreed. “Although we are not certain. As I said, it’s not density alone, it’s also the danger that’s a factor. He does get wet in the rain, but he has been repeatedly splashed with acid and it never burned him. Arkan doesn’t have a single poison mage in his inner circle. He employs them but keeps them at arm’s length. He prefers to prepare his own food with ingredients he gets from his own garden. He has a poison tester and travels with his own private shielder who guards his mind. The man is as unkillable as one can be.”
“What about a fulgurkinetic?” I asked.
“Funny you should mention that. That was how we attempted to eliminate him the second time. The field negated the lightning. It also negates flames and enerkinetic fire, we tried that.”
An icy tendril of frost crawled down my spine. “And Alessandro doesn’t know?”
“No.”
This was a game changer. The petrification power was the ultimate move, but it only lasted a few seconds and we counted on Arkan still being semi-vulnerable during it. We had a complex sequence planned including sniper shots, intersecting fields of fire, and poison delivery. That plan hinged on Alessandro not being within Arkan’s range when he stopped time.
None of that would work now.
“Although of course you will tell him the moment we’re done talking.” Konstantin sighed. “It will change nothing. Sasha is an optimist. Must be the Italian side of the family, because in Russia we view pessimism as an Olympic sport. We will kill Arkan tomorrow. Either your brother-in-law, your best friend, or your younger sister will injure him. Perhaps you can sing him to death. Make him slit his own throat. But none of you will be fast enough. Sasha will get to him first, and Arkan will end him. Which brings us back to my original question, what will you do after?”
What would I do once Alessandro died? “I don’t know.”
“Would you remain in the house where you and he were happy?” He glanced around. “This place holds so many memories for you, of making love, of planning a future, of laughing together, and every one of them will be tainted, because he will be gone. Will you stay here, hoping for an echo of that warmth or would it be too painful?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“If the hurt is too much, come to Russia with me.”
I had expected something like that but he still caught me off guard.
“I know it feels like a betrayal. After all, he’s still alive, talking and breathing. You can still hold him. But tomorrow, when all of that is over, you don’t have to face it alone. You can have a fresh start far away from all the things that happened before. No judgment, no guilt. A new life.”
“Is this a formal employment offer from the Imperium?”
“It’s an invitation from a prince of the blood to be his cherished guest,” he said.
“Aren’t the two synonymous?”
“Not necessarily.”
I sighed. “Konstantin, we both know that if I came with you, sooner or later someone would suggest that I should do a little favor for my hosts.”
“Nobody would ever suggest that. I would not permit it.”
He didn’t simply say it. He said it like he was ordering an ancient warrior to hold a bridge against an invading army. There was weight behind his words and complete assurance. There were very few places in the modern world a royal could say those words in that way and mean it.
“I would be lying if I said the Imperium wouldn’t want your talent. A mage of your caliber with your skill set would be a very desirable addition to the royal family’s arsenal. That’s not why I am extending this invitation.”
“Your Highness, I’m confused.” I’d managed to keep sarcasm out of the Highness somehow.
“I’ve watched a lot of Arkan’s surveillance video. There were days when I did nothing but stare at the screen for hours to gather the intelligence I required. Strange as it seemed, I began to look forward to it, because sometimes that surveillance was of you. I saw you in the Pit singing to a man-made god. I saw you go into prison to visit your grandmother and be sick after. I saw you walk your dog in the rain.”
I did not like where this was going. “It wasn’t me, Konstantin. It was an idea of me. You were in a terrible place, surrounded by enemies, pretending to be someone you are not, and having to constantly watch yourself, and you were staring at screens for days.”
He gave me a rueful smile. “This wasn’t the first time I’ve been away from home. I’ve run this kind of operation before, more than once, more than twenty times, yet I’ve never developed an interest in anyone. Everything I’ve said since we met, the ridiculous conversation with Sasha in the car I knew you would watch, the time you introduced the dogs to me, our chat in the kitchen, all of it was designed to find some flaw, some reason for me to walk away. Instead, here I am, wearing my real face.”
He knew we were watching him. Every moment had been calculated. Wow.
“I like the way you think. I like the way you smile. I notice how your face looks when the light from the kitchen window catches it while you chop vegetables on a cutting board. I look at you and I feel like a beggar, because I realize that half of my life something has been missing, and now I know exactly where it was all along. We are two of a kind. A matched pair.”
I wished with all my heart that this was another ploy like all the other games he played, but it wasn’t. He was completely sincere.
“I don’t expect to win against Sasha. You love him. But tomorrow he will be gone. This will become a house of painful memories, an unbearable place. The Wardens can expect nothing more of you. You would have more than fulfilled your duty. Either of your sisters can easily pick up the reins of your House. And they might be better suited for it because you will be drowning in grief. Your younger sister is a calculating pragmatist. With Nevada and your grandparents to guide her, she would have no problem steering the family forward.”
Strangely, he wasn’t wrong about Arabella.
“If you choose to give me a chance, the Baylors will become untouchable. They will be guaranteed Imperial citizenship and protection, and even if they choose to remain in the US, they will enjoy special status. Your cousins and Arabella will be welcome at the highest strata of society. They will never have to fight another feud, because the might of the Imperium will loom over their shoulders.”