often does he come here to Caercaern? How often is he here, in the fifth tier, in our personal chambers, our private garden?”
Fedorem’s hands lowered slowly, but she could see him considering what she’d said, could see him thinking.
“It has torn the Evant apart, my Tamaell,” Moiran added. “It is tearing us apart.”
And the tight frown that creased his brow gave her hope.
“Fedorem has called for a meeting of the Evant in two days,” Aeren said, then glanced up from the announcement to catch Eraeth’s gaze. His Protector raised one eyebrow in surprise. “All of the lords have been summoned, by the Tamaell himself.”
“Sooner than expected.”
“Yes. And the official summons is unexpected as well. Especially after seeing Lord Khalaek in the gardens last night.” Aeren frowned, troubled, as he let the paper announcing the meeting fall to his desk. He settled into the chair, heard it creak beneath him as he stared at the litter of parchment, the sleek feather quill and bottle of ink, without really seeing them.
Eraeth grunted. “What does it mean?”
“It means we will have to meet with the Lords of the Evant individually before the general meeting in two days. We have to convince them that it’s in their best interests to hear the dwarren out, regardless of what Lord Khalaek may be saying to the contrary.”
“Lord Barak will support you.”
Aeren nodded. “Without question. He is of the same mind as I regarding trade and the hostilities on the plains. But neither of us has as much power within the Evant as we’d like… or as we used to.”
Eraeth said nothing, but Aeren had already heard his thoughts on the descent of his House within the Evant. Part of it was due to the fact that Aeren had not yet bonded and produced an heir, and part of it was that Aeren himself was not as ruthless and ambitious as most of the other lords, especially Khalaek. His brother Aureon had been both. No one had expected Aeren to ascend to lord of the House. Which was why he’d become an acolyte in the Order.
But even that wasn’t the real reason his House had fallen within the Evant.
“It all comes back to the Escarpment,” he said with a sigh. When Eraeth merely raised one eyebrow in question, he continued. “Since the betrayal of the human King at the Escarpment, Lord Khalaek and his supporters-Lords Peloroun, Waerren, and Jydell-have ascended in the Evant, with the support of the Tamaell.”
“The Tamaell has never officially shown support for any of those lords.”
Aeren smiled slightly. Eraeth’s voice had taken on the same tone he’d used as Aeren’s tutor when he was younger. “Not aloud, no. Unspoken support. And his unspoken support, along with those four lords, gives Khalaek the majority in the Evant.” His smile faded. “He should have denounced Khalaek and the other lords who attacked King Maarten at the Escarpment the moment it occurred. The battle had ended. An alliance had been made.”
“Unless the Tamaell knew of the betrayal beforehand, unless he intended to betray the King all along.”
Aeren frowned heavily. “That is the real question, isn’t it? Did the Tamaell intend the betrayal or not? Was he part of the plan?” He met Eraeth’s steady gaze. “I wish I’d been there with the lords at the end. I wish I’d seen how it played out. Then I would know. But I was. .. elsewhere.”
Eraeth said nothing to the roughness in Aeren’s voice. “And none of the other lords know, those who were there?”
Aeren shook his head. “None who are willing to challenge the Tamaell and Khalaek openly, and none who are willing to speak bluntly in private. They are afraid of Khalaek and the power he has gained, power given to him by the Tamaell with his unspoken support.”
“So who do you need to convince to help you in the Evant with the dwarren?”
Aeren stood, suddenly restless, the memories of the battle at the Escarpment unsettling him. “Not Khalaek, obviously. And I’ve done what I can with the Tamaell already.”
“Peloroun? Waerren and Jydell?”
“Peloroun will follow Khalaek’s lead. Waerren as well. But Jydell
… he has shown some independence recently within the Evant.”
“Which only leaves Vaersoom.”
“I’ll speak to him as well. But his lands border the dwarren lands. He has faced more attacks from the dwarren in the past thirty years than anyone else, has suffered more losses.”
“But he doesn’t support Khalaek outright.”
Aeren grunted in agreement. He moved away from his desk, from the notes and correspondence of the Evant and the running of his House.
The room was meant as a meeting room, and it was where Aeren conducted most of the business of Rhyssal House while he was in Caercaern. Ornamental carpets covered the stone floors, and tapestries and a large map filled what little wall space remained between the numerous shelves full of books and artifacts-dwarren, Alvritshai, and human-that he’d collected through the years. But tucked against one wall, in its own little alcove, rested a small table, the Rhyssal House banner hanging above. Blue cloth covered the table in rumpled folds, and on top On it lay the memories of his family.
His hands brushed lightly over his mother’s brooch, silver with a white inlay of marbled stone. He touched his father’s knife, ran his finger along the flat of the blade, then skipped over to his second brother’s cattan. Fingers closed over the hilt, and he picked it up, pulled the sheath free in one smooth motion, the metal humming. A familiar tension pulled his shoulders taut as he remembered holding his brother’s body at the Escarpment, Aureon still clutching this blade, even as he coughed up blood from the wound in his chest. Aeren had tried to stanch the flow, had tried to save him…
His knuckles turned white where they gripped the leather-wrapped handle, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he resheathed the blade and set it back in its place. He grabbed the silver- chained necklace resting beside it, closing the white-gold pendant in the shape of flames inside his fist before turning.
“Get Colin,” Aeren said. “It’s time to pay our respects to Aielan and the Light. We’re going to the Sanctuary.”
Aeren slid the white-gold flame pendant-symbol of the Order and a signal indicating his standing within the Order-over his neck outside the huge Sanctuary doors. Made entirely of banded wood, the doors glowed in the late morning sunlight, the iron gates that were closed at night already flung open, black against the white-gray of the temple walls to either side. The steps before the doors were littered with small offerings-flowers and shallow bowls of wine mostly-but the wide open plaza itself was empty. Dociern, the second sounding of the chimes, had occurred a short time before, and those who would gather for the third would not arrive for hours.
Pendant settled, Aeren hesitated.
“You believe him,” Eraeth said, eyes flickering toward Colin, standing to one side, gaping at the temple. They were speaking Alvritshai.
“Yes. And I believe it is something the Evant does not have the power to handle.”
Aeren moved to the Sanctuary doors and knocked. Eraeth caught Colin’s arm and drew him near. The two accompanying Phalanx flanked them.
After a long moment, the massive wooden doors eased open, moving smoothly, effortlessly, without sound. A frowning acolyte peered out, his gaze flickering over Aeren. “The terciern service will not begin gathering for another-” he began automatically, in a slightly irritated voice.
And then his gaze grazed the pendant on Aeren’s chest.
He sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choked on it.
“I need to speak to Lotaern, the Chosen,” Aeren said. “Immediately. Tell him it regards the Order, not the Evant.”
The words startled the acolyte, who bowed in apology to Aeren. “I will find Lotaern and relay the message.”
He stepped back, pushing the door open wider as he did so, and Aeren passed through the vestibule and into the sanctuary proper. As soon as the rounded room opened up before him, lit with a thousand burning candles, the scent of tallow and incense and smoke and oil settling over him like a cloak, he felt the tension slough from his shoulders. He breathed in the heavy scents and released them with a long sigh, bowing his head at the
