“How kind,” she answered, but she made no move toward the spread.
As Lowl stepped aside, Argent turned to his servant. “That will be all, Lowl.”
Lowl bowed himself out, retreating through a side door into the servants’ rooms.
Once the door closed, Argent crossed to the table, speared a slice of apple with a knife, and bit a chunk. He settled to one of the two seats, legs outstretched, relaxed. He stared at her.
Kathryn found the gaze somehow too personal, too intimate. She moved to the table to escape his study. She busied herself with slicing a chunk of bread and smearing a baked cheese onto it. Her eyes focused on her task, she spoke as evenly as she could manage. “Your manservant mentioned some word on Tylar.”
“Yes. He’s been found.”
Kathryn could not stop her shoulders from tightening as she glanced toward the man. His eyes-or rather eye — remained stone. Unreadable. He waited. She met his gaze and held it. She would not give him the pleasure of hearing her ask.
Argent shifted and finally continued. “A Shadowknight out of the Summering Isles led a fleet of corsairs across the Deep, following bits of trail left behind by the godslayer. He was almost caught, engaged by this knight, but escaped in a vessel stolen from Tangle Reef.”
“Tangle Reef? How?” Kathryn settled the knife to the table, ignoring the bread and cheese. Tylar is still alive.
A shrug. “Fyla of the Reef has always been reclusive in her watery realm, suspicious of all. She has refused to communicate, even in this dire matter, withdrawing her realm from habitable seas. But in her wake, large swaths of dead tangleweed, singed and smoldering, foul the seas. Ships report a poisonous stench that kills with a mere breath. There can be no doubt that the realm was attacked most foully and now retreats to lick its wounds.”
“Tylar…”
“The godslayer proves his dark bent yet again.” Argent sat straighter, plucking a few grapes from a bunch. “But measures are being taken.”
Kathryn frowned. “Measures?”
He waved away her question with his knife. “I called a council. ’Til then we have more to settle between us. Please sit.”
She remained standing.
“Do you not wish to know why I chose you as castellan?”
Warily, Kathryn obeyed. She sank to the other seat, too curious to refuse. “Why?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because I need you.”
The earnestness of his words struck through her.
“In the past, you have demonstrated the ability to place the welfare of Tashijan above personal gain or desire. When I was overseer for your betrothed’s adjudication, you set your own heart aside to speak the truth. I watched the pain with which you spoke those damning words of accusation. Yet you did not falter or attempt to obfuscate.”
Kathryn looked down. The pain from that day remained with her. She had sat upon the chair of truth and told all how Tylar had come to bed on the night of the murder of the cobbler’s family covered in blood, smelling of ale and drink. She had already heard testimony about how his sword had been found among the bodies, how Gray Traders, under the cloak of anonymity, had shown records of Tylar’s dealings with them, and how on the night of the murders, a cross-street neighbor to the cobblers had seen a Shadowknight vanish into the night’s gloom.
“Each word you spoke destroyed a small part of you,” Argent said.
Kathryn forced her hands not to touch her belly. The heartache and anguish destroyed more than just her own well-being. She had been with child, Tylar’s child. She had been hoping to tell him the night he vanished, the morning he came home bloody to her sheets. But that moment was lost forever. During and after the trial, heartache wrung her body, finally choking the child from her. She remembered the blood on her hands, staining her sheets again. Strangely, there had been too little pain to take so much from her.
“It is such bravery of spirit that has always stayed with me,” Argent said quietly. “It is such bravery that is needed now, during this dark time.”
“Still, you chose me against tradition. One of the Council of Masters has always sat as castellan.”
“Not always. There has been precedent in the past. During the rule of Warden Gilfoyl, he chose another knight.”
Kathryn knew the story. “The two were lovers.”
“So it was rumored, but the pair did rule Tashijan for two decades, well and with much accomplishment. And prior to that, for the first three centuries, there was no Council of Masters. Tashijan was ruled solely by knights.”
“And is that what you wish again?”
“Of course not. I would not usurp such power. Balance in all things is the best way to govern.”
“So again, why pick me over an equally brave and well-spoken member of the Council of Masters?”
His one eye narrowed. “Because you have no equal, Kathryn ser Vail.”
Again the intensity of his gaze felt a violation. She reached to the mug of bitternut and warmed her palms upon its hot surface.
“I’ve waited a long time to have you at my side.”
Kathryn heard a hint of something deeper, a trace of huskiness in his voice. She remembered the stories of Warden Gilfoyl and his castellan. Leaders and lovers. Did Argent believe they, the two of them…? She shoved such a thought away, repulsed. Instead, one hand reached into a pocket and removed a black stone, her cast ballot. She placed it on the table. Painted on the stone’s surface, the crimson sigil was plain to see, a circle around a slash of crossed lines.
“What of this?” she asked.
Argent leaned forward again. “Ah, yes, the Fiery Cross.”
“So you don’t deny that you are a member of this order?”
“Not at all,” he said. “In fact, I’m the leader and founder.”
Kathryn’s blood went cold. She couldn’t keep the shock from her face.
“But please, don’t mistake the rumors and nighttime tales of the Cross. Such a group never existed. We don’t practice Dark Graces or blood rites. We don’t skulk around hidden chambers. We are merely a faction of knights who wish to see Tashijan function more independently of the rule of gods and men. It is a minor, yet volatile, distinction. Nothing sinister. So we took the old name of the Fiery Cross as our own. The symbol of fire was apt. It is only in flame that something stronger can be forged. And with Myrillia standing at a crossroads in history, choices have to be made. Which path to take? Ser Henri looked to the past, to the old ways. We knew such measures had grown stagnant and that a new path was needed. Ser Henri did not agree.”
Kathryn attempted to hide any reaction to the name of Ser Henri, but something must have shown through.
“No, I did not slay Ser Henri. We had our differences, but as I said, they were political and philosophical. Nothing to shed blood over.”
“And what of Castellan Mirra?”
“Ah, yes, now that is something of a concern.” Argent shook his head sadly. “Ser Henri and I had discussions about her. Few would know, but she has been growing more and more addled of mind and reason. Flights of suspicion that had no thread in reality.”
Kathryn kept her own suspicions silent. He had all the right answers, but were any of them true?
“Myrillia is faced with a dark time. Unrest and menace grow each day. Darkness has even reached Chrismferry, in the form of an assassin who slew one of Lord Chrism’s Hands.”
Kathryn, like all in Tashijan, had heard the bloody story.
“And there can be no doubt where the blame lies,” Argent said, brow tightening.
“Where is that?”
He stabbed a finger to the table. “Here.”
Kathryn glanced sharply at him.
“ ‘As Tashijan stands, so does Myrillia,’ ” he quoted. “And, likewise, as Tashijan ails, so will the Nine Lands. For the past century, the number of Shadowknights has been steadily declining, likewise the number of sons and daughters schooled to be Hands to the gods. Across Myrillia, conclaves have closed or crumbled into ruin. Is it any
