He snugged the belt. “That’s the beginning of a new day for a thief.”
Tylar clapped him on the shoulder. “Watch yourself. Where will you head first?”
Rogger touched the side of his nose. “Perhaps I’d best leave my path unknown for now.”
Tylar nodded. He clasped Rogger in a firm embrace. The thief was heading off to investigate how far the Cabal’s corruption had spread in other god’s households. He would be traveling under the guise of his interrupted pilgrimage. In fact, he wore a fresh brand, Chrism’s sigil, on his backside. “Seemed the best place,” Rogger had commented.
“When will I hear from you?” Tylar asked now as they both separated.
“When you least expect it,” Rogger said with a wink. “I’ll send word through Krevan and the Black Flaggers.”
With a final few words of parting, the two separated. Rogger headed away. Tylar turned to face his next obstacle.
The doors to Chrism’s rooms.
As regent, they were now his rooms. But he was not sure he was ready to step through those doors. He glanced over his shoulder. Beyond the windows, the sun descended into the flow of the Tigre River, painting the skies in rosy hues and violet splashes.
A brilliant sunset.
But Tylar knew most of the beauty came from the pall of smoke that continued to steam from the smoldering myrrwood forest. The fires had yet to die away fully. Deep embers still glowed, buried among the piles of ashes. A forest that lived for four thousand years did not expire easily.
A door closed to the left, drawing his attention.
Kathryn stepped through it. Both of them froze, caught by surprise.
“Kathryn…” he finally choked out.
For the past many days, they had been missing each other, each busy with a thousand details and questions, drawn in opposite directions. He fell more and more into his duties here. Her attentions were drawn to Tashijan.
Or was it simply that they were each avoiding the other, unsure what to do? How to face a past… and a future?
“I… I was just picking up something Dart left in Laurelle’s room.” Kathryn nodded to the room she just left. “We head out for Tashijan in the morning.”
“So soon?” It was like everyone was fleeing from his side.
“There is much to settle at Tashijan,” Kathryn said. “Argent has already headed back. He hurries to firm those still loyal to him. After he passed the soothmancer’s test, clearing his name of any of the bloodiness that occurred at the Citadel, he seeks to reestablish his position.”
“Argent still refuses to step down? Even after he admits to employing a cursed sword?”
Kathryn shook her head. “There is still enough support for him both among the Fiery Cross members and the Council to keep his seat.”
“And what of the Fiery Cross?” Tylar asked. He drew her closer to the golden doors, away from direct sight.
Kathryn frowned. “I don’t know how Argent passed his soothing, but I know what I saw. Perhaps he knows nothing about the dead knight and the bloody sacrifice, but someone in the Fiery Cross does. There is foulness afoot, and I will root it out.”
Tylar’s brow crinkled with concern. Perryl still remained missing, vanished from his room. “And what of Dart? Is it safe to bring her into such a house?”
“I don’t think your house is any safer,” Kathryn said with a glint of irritation. “I’m not sure all the gods are as satisfied as they claim with your regency. And we don’t know where the Cabal will strike next, but your neck is sticking out there.”
Tylar nodded, conceding the point. He had his own house to clean. Stray ilk-beasts were still showing up throughout the city, having escaped to the gardens during the aftermath of the battle. And any face could hide a Cabalist.
“I’ll keep the girl safe,” Kathryn assured him.
Words suddenly died between them. Kathryn seemed to be waiting for something from him. Her eyes drifted down and away.
“I must go,” she finally mumbled.
A part of him wanted to ask her to stay. But how could he? She was needed at Tashijan. There were few over there he could truly trust, and as castellan, she could do the most good. And what could he offer to make her stay? The discomfort between them, born of old bitterness and guilt, only seemed to worsen with time spent in each other’s company.
Neither had the words to heal… if it could ever be done.
It was too complicated, too wounded, too bloodied.
He nodded. “Travel safe.”
She hesitated, glancing up at him, a breath away from saying something else.
A neighboring door opened to the right. Delia stepped out. Her eyes widened to find Kathryn and Tylar huddled together.
“Excuse me,” she said shyly.
Delia wore a simple shift of white linen belted at the waist with a black cord, a match to her dark hair. She carried her tools in her hands.
Her eyes found Tylar. “You… you mentioned wanting to complete the day’s bloodletting before final bells.”
Tylar stared at her. After watching the shifting shadows of Kathryn’s cloak, Delia seemed somehow crisper, more vivid, and lighter of spirit.
“Of course,” he said. “I had forgotten.”
He glanced to Kathryn. She backed away, turned, and stepped toward the main hallway. But not before he noted the pain in her eyes.
“Kathryn…”
She glanced back at him and shook her head.
No more words. They each had their own path to follow from here.
She marched down the hall.
Tylar watched until she vanished out the far door. She was right. He turned to the wide golden doors, grabbed the handle, and shoved into his new chambers.
Here was his path.
In Darkness…
Mirra moved slowly down the black stair, wrapped in a furred cloak and leaning on a stout cane. She took care to open the wards before her and close them after.
Precautions must be taken… even down here.
She moved far beneath Tashijan, as deep as Stormwatch Tower thrust high. None knew of these old tunnels and caverns. They were ancient even in the times of the human kings, burial crypts of the primitive el’rayn, a race before man. Not even their bones remained, just piles of dust and a few teeth.
Such is the impermanence of flesh…
She continued deeper. She needed no torch to guide her steps. She knew the way. Light was not welcome here. It threatened the barrier between this world and the naether below. Only in such sunless places did the naether come close enough to cross without the Godsword.
Still, she paused on the stair to rest her knees and back. She stared up. All was set. Her duty was almost done: to spread dissent, to corrupt, to confuse. Ser Henri had been too pliant a fool, so easy to flail his fears, to beset him with suspicions. She had set him against the Fiery Cross, playing one side upon the other. And the linchpin had been Henri’s golden boy, Tylar ser Noche. How simple it had been to tease the mistrust of the Gray Traders, to get them to plant murder at Tylar’s feet, then have him stripped and broken. It also broke poor Henri, made him even more compliant to her whispered words of conspiracies and dark covenants within the order.
The schism had been set.
