'A war among the gods.' Briar nodded. 'With mortals caught in the middle.'
Quessahn squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples as the idea escalated. Her head ached, assaulted with far too much for one evening and wondering if the sleep she desired would be possible at all. She tried to banish the speculation of the others, but nagging details kept her from ignoring them completely. Jinn's words haunted her, his talk of the killings as a distraction, a show to obscure whatever Sathariel was truly working for-and she began to agree, finally seeing some of what he feared.
'I think,' she said, 'we must find the souls of the circle of skulls and protect them, keep them from the angel, just in case.'
'And what of the other souls? Those of their slain bloodlines?' Mara asked. 'Speculations of prophecy aside, the ritual of immortality being prepared is dangerous enough.'
'How many do they have left to take?' Quessahn asked. 'We must have time to find them.'
'Less than a dozen remain,' Briar answered. 'All of them children, orphaned and displaced, living with other families. A well-kept secret of the Watch, but-'
'Not secret enough,' Quessahn finished, cursing. 'They saved the easiest for last. Gods above.' She sighed. 'And we need to rest, or we'll be useless to do anything.'
'I do not sleep,' Briarbones said, eyeing the list, his false face twitching as he waved her and Mara away. 'Take what rest you need. I'll work on locating the children.'
'Find them quickly; we need to keep them safe,' the eladrin said, sitting in a dry corner and pulling her cloak tight.
'Yes, of course. Keep them safe, at least until we run out of options,' Mara muttered as she took the opposite corner, her illusion fading as she curled within her long, tattered robes, crimson eyes glowing dimly in her hood.
There was no malice or feeling at all in the hag's words, though they sent a chill down Quessahn's spine. If they could not keep the children from the skulls, if all else failed, she wondered if she would have the conviction to kill them herself. The thought of it made her sick, but she could not deny the possibility of failure. It was some time before she could sleep, listening as Briar worked, wondering if all their study had been for naught.
It occurred to her that, if they were already too late, she might not wake up at all.
Thin, lacy threads of smoke drifted from the ashes of a hearth fire in a high-ceilinged drawing room. Chunks of charred wood tumbled and hissed, sending small sparks to fly and die through an ornate grating. They glowed, casting an eerie light on a fine-cushioned chair and low couch. The front doors stood open, unguarded and allowing the season's chill to race through the manse, though no one remained to clutch at warm covers or to investigate the source of the sudden cold.
Jinn stood before the glowing embers, sword drawn as he waited, listening and letting the settling noises of the Saerfynn house guide his senses. Drops of blood had pooled and dried near the cushioned chair. A large, woven carpet of simple design and bright thread dominated the center of the drawing room, its far edge stained by ashen boot prints. With Pharra's Alley a short walk from the front gates, he was not surprised to find evidence of something amiss in the mansion. What he could not understand was why it had been abandoned.
The quiet home remained uncooperative, giving no indication of anyone on the premises and keeping its secrets close. He strolled around the edge of the room, looking at the paintings of the Saerfynn family, of the absent parents and several children, most, he assumed, lost as well. Callak, he observed, bore the hawkish features of a cruel man even as a child, each depiction of him including a slight sneer. Those of Rilyana were plain and unassuming, though Jinn noticed that the two never appeared in any portrait together as the other children did.
He wandered the remainder of the house, swiftly and quietly examining each room, finding most well ordered but in need of dusting and two recently used. The one he presumed as Callak's was filthy and stank of sweat and stale spirits, the bed unmade for what appeared several days by the condition of the sheets. The other bore a large, four-poster bed veiled in lace with blood upon the pillow and the sheets.
It stained his fingertips, cold but still damp and sticky.
He turned to study the rest of the chamber when the sound of shattering glass echoed through the mansion, thunderous and startling as Jinn whirled, sword raised. His skin felt flush as he waited, muscles tensing and heart racing. Tingling arcs of energy stabbed through his limbs as he crept down the long halls and winding stairs back toward the drawing room. Trembling and anxious, he paused in the arching doorway, his eyes caught by the dangling shadow of a limp body high above.
A young woman, rope wrapped tightly about her torso, a gag in her mouth, hung from the rafters of the chamber, swinging slightly. Her eyes stared down, wide and silently screaming for help, but Jinn was drawn more to the other end of the rope. In the half light of the broken window, dark wings gently folded around Sathariel's armored body, the trailing ends of his angelic form folded like legs beneath a robe of shadow as the angel sat in the cushioned chair.
The stolen sword burned in Jinnaoth's grip as he stepped forward, unable to resist the strange energy flowing through his body, at one with the sharp intent of the blade.
'Do come forward, deva. I'm quite sure she won't mind,' the angel purred, pulling on the rope so the young woman swung at its end, stiffening with a muffled gasp. 'What is one life, after all, when compared to countless others, eh?'
Reluctantly, Jinn forced himself to stop, an action that tested his strength, the effort frightening and exciting all at once. He could not lower the strange sword, its point trained upon the angel's heart and urging him to follow through, as if every answer to his every question were but a few strides away, the whole of creation's mysteries hidden behind a veil of angelic flesh. He fought the desire, lowering the weapon a hand's width.
'What is this?' Sathariel asked, sitting forward, eyes bright with sparks of ice. 'Why do you hesitate? Am I not what you have been seeking? Is this not the moment you have desired?'
Mastering himself, an eye on the girl dangling above them, Jinn took a single step backward but could retreat no farther. One step he demanded of himself, to be sure of his own will despite the hungry blade in his hand.
'Not this,' he said at last, golden gaze absorbing every detail of the angel, dissecting his opponent into parts. 'Face me on even ground; she is not a part of this.'
'Isn't she?' Sathariel replied, glancing up to his captive. 'She is young, innocent, and deliciously random. She is a world of souls contained in one supple body. Such as these will always be a part of this, they always have, since the beginning. They will always hang in the balance, so to speak.'
'Your kind hangs them there like shields,' Jinn muttered, holding his ground and mustering the patience to deal with Sathariel's overconfident preaching.
'Of course!' The angel laughed, a strange sound at odds with the blank face and flowing, mistlike hair. 'It works so well! It has for eons. And your side, it is not always so righteous, no?'
'Say what you came for,' Jinn said, feeling as though his resolve might slip at any moment, though he loathed the idea of proving the angel right. He tried not to think of Variel, tried not to imagine her in the angel's embrace, but his every effort only served to dredge up what he feared to recall.
'You are weary, deva,' Sathariel replied, leaning back in the chair as he twisted and untwisted the rope around his wrist, causing the young woman to slowly spin back and forth. 'There is a weight of time on your shoulders unlike others of your kind, pressing you down, grinding away at your spirit like a desert wind…'
'Where is Callak Saerfynn? Where is his sister?' Jinn asked, muscles tensed to leap across the room.
'He is with us,' Sathariel answered. 'And she is safe. Do you truly care?'
'I do,' Jinn lied.
'I can give her back to you. It is within my power, a gift from me to you,' the angel whispered, the simple words sliding into Jinn's mind like a cold razor, for there had truly only ever been one woman between him and Sathariel. He leaned back, sword shaking in his grip at the statement.
Absently Jinn shook his head, wide eyed at the very prospect, well aware of the twisted deals made with servants of the devil-god. They promised all one could wish for and generally held true to the letter of the contract-if not the spirit.
'In exchange for what?' he asked, the question slipping out before he could think.
'Very little. Take her and leave; live in peace. Live as she desired to, as you did once, but leave the souls of the Nine to me, they have certainly earned the place that Variel currently resides in.' He placed a hand over his
