Sorcha’s confusion and disappointment hammered away in the corner that he had shoved his primary Bond. A Conclave was a serious matter, and few of the Actives knew that it was Sensitives that formed them. He was, from recollection, right now acting as the nexus of the Conclave. He would be the only one to retain complete memory of proceedings during the event. It was one of the many secrets the Sensitives kept to themselves…that and the nature of the final rune of Sight.
By the Bones, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use that as well tonight.
Merrick, through effort of will, pulled together his scattering thoughts.
It was a short walk from the Arch Abbot’s rooms to the Devotional, but it felt like an eternity to get there; so many feet, so many breaths and so many thoughts to filter and make as one. He was suddenly given a great appreciation of what Actives went through every time they used their runes. His skin burned and his eyes watered, but he was giddy with the feeling. It was like walking a tightrope with a deadly fall on each side.
As they reached the end of the corridor to the Devotional, he paused at the great ironbound oak door. The sound of voices was coming from the other side, but not as many as he would have thought, and he could tell that the flame of del Rue’s attention was now directed at them. He’d naturally been aware when the Conclave was formed; there was no other rune activity within the whole of the Abbey after all. So because of that, they burned like a signal fire on a moonless night.
We can’t allow him time to respond. All we have is surprise, Merrick sent along the Bond. We have to move now!
Sorcha’s blue eyes fixed on him with total trust. She nodded, and he opened the door to lead them into the Devotional.
Merrick had never seen the whole congregation of the Mother Abbey assembled anywhere before. The great vaulted space of the Devotional was full to the brim with his colleagues. Hundreds of Deacons, a virtual sea of brown, blue and green cloaks lay before him. Every wooden pew was filled, and they had taken up the aisles as well. If it had been a theater production it would have been a grand night indeed, Merrick thought, somewhat strangely.
Then he noticed the rest of the gathering was not just Deacons. Taking up the apse section at the front of the Devotional was a good number of armed Imperial Guards, and in their middle stood the Emperor, his sister and a smiling del Rue. Before them in turn, disturbingly on their knees, was the entire Presbyterial Council, from the Arch Abbot to the ancient Presbyter Mournling. All were bent in supplication—some to greater degrees than others. Merrick’s spiraling thoughts alighted on how another Order had once been slain for not showing the correct level of penitence to some horde-leading warlord. Was this what was going on?
“There they are, the traitors!” Del Rue’s voice echoed in the vast space of the Devotional and all heads turned as one to them.
Merrick’s mind was occupied with holding the Conclave together, and he felt as though he was trapped in amber. Sorcha was luckily not so encumbered. She smiled and stepped down the nave as if she were out for a stroll. “I think you are not familiar with our way of doing things here. The Devotional is for our Order, not yours. I believe you gave it up when the people of Arkaym had enough of your cruel endeavors, and the Emperor outlawed you all.”
The Emperor did not flinch, but a wave of whispers ran through those assembled. The Imperial Guards had not yet raised their rifles, but they looked ready to at a moment’s notice.
Merrick finally had enough of a hold on the Conclave that he was able to study Zofiya. She stood, silent at her brother’s side, but her eyes did not meet his. Through his Center he could see she was not the woman he had shared a bed with a little over a week ago. Del Rue had broken her—something that he would have never thought possible. Through his Center, the Sensitive could see a gleam of gold on the bright scarlet of her soul. It was a stain that had not been there before, and it sickened him. How had del Rue managed to tame the determined royal so quickly? Merrick liked knowing about his opponents, their strengths and weaknesses—or at least being able to research them. By hiding and destroying all information on the Circle of Stars, Raed’s grandfather had done them all a great disservice.
Del Rue ignored Sorcha’s barb, instead pointing to Raed standing behind her. “Look, she has brought the Young Pretender with her, Imperial Majesty. Proof that the Order is conspiring against you as I said.”
Kaleva spun around, his face contorted with rage. Merrick knew then what the golden stain was. The strain of del Rue’s influence on him was subtler than in the Grand Duchess, but it ran far deeper—and he had no time to work on it now.
“If you recall, Your Imperial Majesty,” Raed said to the man who occupied the place he might have occupied, “last year, I risked my own life to save your sister. This, I hope, means you will let me speak before you shoot me dead in this place of sanctuary.”
Merrick held his breath. Killing people in the precepts of the Mother Abbey was forbidden, because it was highly likely to create a geist—not that he expected the Circle of Stars to care much about that. Del Rue’s eyes narrowed on the Young Pretender, but perhaps the threat of the Rossin stayed him from doing anything rash. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard shifted in their ready position—not enough for a normal eye to tell but the Deacons saw it. These guards, even if they had not been there, still knew what the Order had done for the Empire. He could only hope that would give them a moment’s pause.
Given this brief moment, Merrick considered using his wild talent on the room, but there were too many conflicting emotions between the fear of the Deacons, the Emperor’s burning rage and the confusion of the guards. If he picked the wrong one to amplify then he could trigger a massacre.
“This man calling himself del Rue is no friend to the Empire.” Raed’s eyes flicked over the Imperial Guard and the Deacons, trying to hold their attention.
While he did so, Merrick began examining the Grand Duchess. Zofiya had a great strength of mind—very similar to a Deacon in fact. If he could just find a way to free it a little, she would do the rest for herself. Dimly he felt Sorcha’s frustration begin to bubble up. The idea of guards in the Devotional was an abomination to her, and he couldn’t hold her in check forever.
“He’s a traitor, a conspirator and the one actually responsible for your sister’s abduction.” Raed gestured at the Grand Duchess in an overly dramatic fashion. “In fact he is one of the Order of the Circle of Stars, the very Order that my grandfather’s father cast down for trying to overthrow the Empire once before.” He pointed up into the massive vaulted ceiling, making all of the assembled look up to where the hacked-off faces on the statues, even now, hung above them. Out of the corner of his eye, Merrick saw an unsettling smile light on del Rue’s lips. He had not looked up nor did he make any protestations that it was not true. He was very confident.
The Presbyters, forgetting they were powerless, rose to their feet in shock. Most looked horrified, but Mournling had the appearance of one who had dreaded such a day and was now seeing it come to fruition. Arch Abbot Rictun opened his mouth a few times, as if he wished he could find the words, but nothing came out.
Sorcha, we will need to move quickly and soon. Merrick blasted the image of what he wanted to do along the Bond. She flinched slightly, but then gave him the tiniest of nods in response. Underneath the sleeves of her cloak her hands clenched.
“And I am to take your word against the word of a member of my aristocracy?” Kaleva threw back his head, filling the Devotional with cracked and mocking laughter. “You are the Pretender to my throne, and now you think to claim it. Guards, take this man into custody immediately!”