“Where are we going?” the Young Pretender asked, hating to sound so helpless, but peering out from the carriage still only revealed more sand and a group of Imperial Guard.
The Grand Duchess did not respond at first, so Raed tried to weigh his options. Without the Rossin there were very few. He couldn’t be sure of overpowering Zofiya, who was a fine warrior in her own right. If she carried any sort of geist, which he suspected was the case, then the chances went down even further.
He couldn’t for the life of him find the Bond that Merrick and Sorcha talked about. Raed was ready to roll from the carriage and see what happened, but just as he was gearing up to do that, Zofiya spoke again.
“We are going where you wanted to go all this time, Raed Syndar Rossin—we are going to meet your sister.” Her voice was soft and precise.
The Young Pretender only just managed to stop himself from leaping on her. “Fraine? You took Fraine?”
She bared her teeth in a smile that would give him nightmares. “ ‘Took’ is such a strong word.”
Raed clenched his teeth, sucked in his self-control, then gave her a curt nod. “For now you live, Grand Duchess Zofiya. Until I see her.”
She did not reply, and he did not try to engage her any further in conversation. In this manner they traveled on into the darkness and the desert: the second in line to the Imperial throne and the man who had been born to it.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Eye and the Fist
Sorcha let Merrick lead the way mainly so she could keep an eye on her young partner. They had to avoid the main thoroughfares, which made getting back to the palace a rather laborious process. Everyone not on the streets was slamming shut their doors—barricading them if they could.
“The pull of the geistlord”—Merrick shot a glance over his shoulder—“is only felt by those true believers.”
Sorcha’s laugh was so sharp it could have cut. “I always knew faith was a bad habit.”
“It may be that all gods are not geists.” The alleyways were strung with washing lines so that Merrick had to push through someone’s dirty linens merely to make headway.
Just how her partner could say such a thing with such confidence was a mystery. He had returned with more secrets than was right. She was just about to demand some sort of explanation when Merrick flicked two sheets aside and saw a scene that neither of them could walk away from—even if they wanted to.
Abbot Yohari was the last person Sorcha would have expected to see in the back alleys of Orinthal, especially bleeding on the ground holding up the blue fire shield of Aydien while being attacked by his own Deacons.
Merrick stood there for a moment, horrified by the sight of those attackers Delie and Jey. The older partner saw Sorcha and smiled—a smile that sank reality into the Vermillion Dacon’s heart. She was not wearing her Gauntlets—the other Active most certainly was.
It was not the first time she had faced off against one of the Order, so she moved a little faster than Merrick. Grabbing him by the back of his robe, she yanked him hard, sending them both tumbling, just as the lightning of Chityre filled the alleyway. It danced over the Abbot’s waning shield before flicking and spitting up the mud walls. Seldom had Sorcha had the opportunity to experience the rune from the other side of the Gauntlet—it really was most impressive.
Still, finally she had a target for her rage. Sorcha had her Gauntlets on in a heartbeat, rolled to her feet and wrapped her own Aydien around them. No Chiomese turncoat Deacon was going to best her. Even the idiot Arch Abbot Rictun had never brought into question her own talent or power. Her shield pulsed brighter, moved faster and enveloped Abbot Yohari before his could drop away. Together Merrick and Sorcha went to his side.
She could not, however, spare a glance down; it was not that holding Aydien up was hard, but she watched Delie carefully as she dropped Chityre. The older woman whispered a word to her Sensitive, who looked as calm as a rabbit before a polecat.
At her side Sorcha heard Merrick tending to the Abbot, though her partner’s Center still remained open and shared with her. He will live. Merrick’s voice in her head was hot with outrage.
“You’ve attacked your own Abbot—a cardinal offense whichever way you cut it.” Sorcha cocked her head and addressed the two rogue Deacons through the flickering blue of Aydien. “As representative of the Mother Abbey, I demand you surrender your Strop and Gauntlets to me and prepare to be escorted to Vermillion for trial.”
Delie’s lip curled while her hands flexed—Sorcha already knew the answer before it came. “Never! The Order is a hollow nothing now that the Bright One has returned.”
The idea that anyone would place the Order of the Eye and the Fist below a little god made Sorcha bark out a laugh. “You break your oath to the people of this land for a childish imagining? I did not know fools were so easily let into the Chiomese Order!”
“Perhaps not the best reply—” Merrick’s warning was cut short as Delie shoved Jey out of the way and raised her Gauntlets. The green light of Shayst flickered on the Chiomese Deacon’s Gauntlets, and Sorcha felt her rage flare at the same time. She had to let it out.
If these Deacons thought that they could drain power from her with the very same rune they used on geists, they were about to be disabused of the notion.
“Take out that damn Sensitive!” she snarled at Merrick while calling Seym to her. A giddy rush and then the Rune of Flesh filled her muscles with strength, giving her the power of one possessed.
Kill her? Merrick’s question made her head ring with his horror.
Not unless you have to. Reaching the older Active, she sprang upon her with vengeful glee. Delie’s eyes widened as she realized that Shayst was not taking power away from Sorcha nearly quickly enough. The depth of the triple Bond was unique, but the Deacon from Vermillion did not give Delie time to ponder it long.
Gauntlets were seldom used as a weapon of physical attack—but that did not mean they could not be put to that purpose. Sorcha delivered a strong left hook into the other Active’s stomach, knocking her back and leaving her gasping for breath.
However, she too could draw on Shayst, and when she did, she came at Sorcha with as much rage as the Vermillion Deacon. They had no time to spar or take each other’s measure; the runes could not be held indefinitely, and this was no competitive boxing match.
Merrick and Jey were fighting nearby, their strikes fast and more accurate than those of the Active. Yet none of them were drawing swords. Despite falling on one another like brawling children, not one of the Deacons would draw their blades on another.
Though she might be angry, somewhere in the back of Sorcha’s mind lurked the suspicion that Hatipai had done something to her fellow Deacons. Unlike the traitors in Ulrich, these two had a bemused air about them, as if they were not quite all there.
Still, they could do plenty of damage. Sorcha took a good uppercut blow from Delie and reeled back. The Rune of Flesh dulled pain and swelled muscles, but she would feel the damage all the same when she let go of it. The next blow the Chiomese Deacon hammered down at her, Sorcha caught fast with her left hand. Pivoting on one foot, she caught Delie in a wristlock behind her back.
“Give up,” she hissed in the other’s ear. “Remember your training and your loyalty.”
Her opponent struggled. “My first loyalty was always to the Bright One—there can be no greater calling than to obey her will.”
Sorcha dared a glance at Merrick. His eyes were shadowed with pain, even as he kicked out and knocked Jey from her feet. It was not surprising that he took no pleasure from attacking a fellow Deacon and a woman. The female Sensitive looked up at Merrick and for a second there appeared some clarity in her vision.
“Delie,” she gasped, “please—let’s just go.”