“Khalaek agreed to come too easily,” Eraeth said in Andovan, so that Colin could understand.
“Especially considering that the Tamaell all but declared that his support of Khalaek and the others over the last thirty years has been a mistake,” Aeren said.
“He still has not answered the real question,” Lotaern muttered as he handed off orders for supplies to be gathered for the envoy to waiting acolytes, then turned his attention toward Colin, Aeren, and Eraeth. They’d gathered in his offices in the Sanctuary, the plants shoved to the side, the room bustling with activity. They were departing tomorrow at dociern, the second chiming. “He didn’t say what his mistake back at the Escarpment was. Did he plan the betrayal of King Maarten, along with Khalaek and the others? Or did he simply take advantage of the opportunity at the time and claim the betrayal as his own?”
When neither Aeren nor Eraeth answered, the silence unsettled, Lotaern grunted and continued. “But I agree. Khalaek agreed too quickly, and because he agreed Lord Peloroun and Lord Waerren agreed to come as well. And now you claim that Benedine’s actions are indeed connected to him?”
“So it would seem. The Phalanx followed Benedine to a courtyard on Brae. There, Benedine met with a man that Colin identified as one of Lord Khalaek’s aides.”
Lotaern swore. As he did, the hairs on Colin’s arms prickled, standing on end. He felt something brush past him, like a gust of wind, and he turned toward the open door to the Chosen’s office with a frown, a shiver coursing through him. He tasted dry leaves in his mouth, smelled damp earth. “What was that?” he asked sharply.
“What was what?” Aeren asked.
“I felt something, like a breeze. And I can smell leaves and earth.”
Eraeth had moved to the door, hand on his cattan, but he turned back now. “I don’t see anything.”
“It must have been a draft,” Lotaern said. “And we are surrounded by plants.”
Everyone looked at Colin, but the scent of leaves and earth was fading now, so he settled back into his seat. Eraeth returned to his position behind Aeren.
“I don’t understand the connection between Benedine, Khalaek, and the awakening of the sarenavriell,” Lotaern said. “It doesn’t make any sense. What is his connection to the Wells? Why does he want to know where they are located?”
“I don’t think he cares about the sarenavriell. His goal has always been control of the Evant. He wants to become the Tamaell.”
“The Wraiths.” All three Alvritshai turned to Colin, and he shifted under their scrutiny. “Khalaek may not care about the sarenavriell, but the Wraiths do. If Khalaek is looking for the locations of the remaining Wells, then he must be doing it for the Wraiths.”
“That,” Lotaern said, his voice heavy and dark, “it not a pleasant thought, and violates at least a dozen of the Order’s tenants.”
“Nevertheless.” Aeren had lowered his head in thought, then looked at Colin. “You said the antruel-the Faelehgre-thought the Wraiths were moving north.” Colin nodded and Aeren turned back to Lotaern. “Khalaek’s lands are north of the forest, to the west of Lord Vaersoom and Licaeta. It’s possible his lands were also attacked by the sukrael, and when he arrived to investigate-”
“He found the Wraiths.” Lotaern drew in a deep breath, although it did little to break the lines of anger that creased his face. “If this is true, then the Wraiths must be offering him something that will help him gain the Evant. But what?”
Aeren shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything that would warrant the risk of releasing the sukrael.”
“Perhaps you misjudge Khalaek’s ambition,” Eraeth said bluntly.
Aeren frowned.
Lotaern stirred and rose from behind his desk, his eyes narrowed in anger. “I think it’s time we spoke to Benedine about his… actions. He may know why Khalaek is interested in the sarenavriell and whether he’s working with the Wraiths.”
They followed Lotaern out of his personal rooms and into the corridors of the Sanctuary. Lotaern waved acolytes away as they made their way past the common areas and into the dormitories. Most took one look at the Chosen’s face and backed off.
“I’ve had Benedine’s activities here in the Sanctuary monitored since you arrived back in Caercaern,” Lotaern said as they arrived before one of the small dormitory rooms. “He keeps to himself mostly,” Lotaern said as he knocked. When no one responded, he frowned and pushed the door open, stepping through. “His main activity is research and-”
Lotaern halted, two steps inside the small room beyond. Colin heard his voice catch, saw his hand tighten on the handle of the door And then the stench of blood hit Colin hard. He gagged, stumbled backward into Eraeth, heard Aeren suck in a sharp breath, hand raised to cover his mouth, and then Eraeth shoved past them all. The Chosen shook himself, then stepped back out into the hall.
“Aielan’s Light,” Aeren gasped, breathing through his mouth. “What is it?”
“Karvel!” Lotaern barked, then called something to an acolyte farther down the hall. The acolyte leaped to retrieve a lantern, rushing toward them. He began to ask something in Alvritsthai.
He didn’t finish, the stench of blood and shit hitting him as he reached the doorway. He bent over, began to retch. Lotaern snatched the lantern from him, then stepped up behind Eraeth, raising the light high, his face a stoic mask, devoid of emotion. Colin and Aeren moved in behind him.
The room contained a rough cot, a single stool, and a small table with a few sheets of parchment, a tome, and a bottle of ink. A feather quill lay broken to one side. The tome and parchment and most of the table were coated with what looked like spilled ink.
Except it wasn’t ink. It was blood.
It saturated the blanket on the cot, dripped from its edge onto the floor, had formed a pool that continued to spread along the stones. Splatters of it streaked the walls in grisly patterns. Colin had never seen so much blood, and he felt his stomach clenching at the shock of it, at its dark, viscous color, its stench, the taste of it on the air.
Then Eraeth took a step into the room, and Colin saw what had caught his attention.
Benedine’s body lay in the center of the room, mostly obscured from view by the table and stool. But what he could see of the body made Colin’s stomach turn again. He tasted bile, acidic and thick, and he swallowed, hard, trembling as it burned his throat. The acolyte’s body had been slashed open with too many cuts to count, so many his clothes were nothing but tatters, the skin beneath not much different. He lay facedown, his back lacerated, the backs of his legs, his calves, shredded. His throat had been slit, his head to one side, his eyes wide, mouth open. Blood streaked the pale contours of his face, had matted in his hair and pooled in the hollow of his back. The stone beneath him had been stained black with it.
“How did this happen?” Lotaern muttered. Then he turned on Karvel and roared, “Find Tallin, or any member of the Flame. Now!”
Karvel, face still pasty white, staggered to his feet and rushed off, even though Loatern had spoken in Andovan. Lotaern turned back to the room, where Eraeth had knelt down next to the body. He touched the pool of blood, rubbed it between his fingers with a grimace, then stood.
“The blood hasn’t had time to congeal yet. This happened recently.”
“Who did this?” Lotaern growled.
Colin suddenly remembered the look on Khalaek’s aide’s face in the courtyard as he watched Benedine leave: cold and heartless.
“Khalaek,” Aeren said. “He must not need Benedine’s help any longer.”
“Impossible. How did he gain access to the Sanctuary? I have acolytes guarding all of the entrances!”
Two acolytes dressed in the same robes as the others, but with a white patch of flames in the centers of their chests, charged down the corridor, faces tense. Colin was surprised to see they carried swords and saw Aeren and Eraeth trade a shocked look as well. These men did not act like acolytes. Their actions were tight, controlled, and dangerous, as if they were members of the Phalanx.
Lotaern stepped away from the room and met them. A heated discussion in Alvritshai ensued, one of the acolytes stepping into Benedine’s room, inspecting the body, then returning, his face grim. When Lotaern finally turned back to them, he didn’t look any happier. “They say Benedine worked in the archives all morning and retired
