either outside the gates when they closed or escaped beforehand. Everyone here is appalled at what the Arch Abbot is doing…or not doing.”
“An understatement,” Kolya offered, “but the Emperor is not what he once was. The loss of his sister has quite unhinged him.”
The Deacons nearby nodded their agreement. Sorcha glanced back at Raed who looked like he might never smile again. He had lost a sister, and she hoped he could survive that. Looking around further, Sorcha saw that every one of her colleagues was nursing a set of ruined Gauntlets or Strop like a broken limb. She was not going through this grief alone, but that didn’t make it any easier.
She took Merrick by the elbow and guided him into a slightly less-occupied corner. “What really happened between you and the Grand Duchess? I know you were attracted to Zofiya, but—”
“You heard everything I said to you in the infirmary?” Merrick blushed. It was amazing he was still capable of that after all this time with her.
“Yes, and it was a good thing too, I got into a couple of situations where your experience was very useful.” Quickly she outlined what she had seen in the nest of the Wrayth. Since it was Merrick, she spared no detail—even including what she had found out about her own heritage. The only detail she kept to herself was the deal with the Fensena. That seemed of little importance at this moment—and her partner would only fuss. So she lied a little and said Aachon and the weirstone had helped her remove the curse.
He sat down quickly on a box after that. “Well”—he cleared his throat before going on—“the story behind your conception explains many things about you, Sorcha. The strength of the Bonds we made, as well as your ability to survive Hatipai…”
“And perhaps why Rictun hated me, even from the novitiate,” Sorcha conceded. “He was never able to explain it, but something about me irritated him.”
“I always assumed it was your—” Merrick stopped suddenly, and she smiled.
Luckily, Raed saved the young Sensitive from further pain, when he wandered over.
“Have you got out of him what happened with Zofiya?” he asked mildly, as if they had all the time in the world.
Merrick flushed again. “There’s not much to tell. After Sorcha disappeared I went to the palace with the intention of getting the Grand Duchess to secure an airship, so I could pursue her.”
“I’m sure that was the reasoning,” Sorcha murmured, thinking of the sly looks the Imperial sister had been giving Merrick even on the way back from Chioma. She was experienced enough to know when two people were attracted to each other—even if one of them was second in line to the throne of the Empire.
Her partner ignored her jibe and went on. “Zofiya had been having some concerns about a minor noble, del Rue, who was being taken into the Emperor’s confidence in a deep and puzzling way. When I met him, I realized he was the man I had seen in the tunnels in Chioma—the man that tried to take my mother.”
Sorcha clenched her hands into fists. “When I was laid out you told me all about that—that they were of the Order of the Circle of Stars?”
Merrick nodded bleakly, while Raed frowned and asked, “But that Order was destroyed generations ago…”
“Apparently not,” the young Deacon said. “They’re not really as dead as we thought. They still want the Empire for their own. Your grandfather’s attempts to have them wiped out forced them underground—but they never left.”
“They’re responsible for all this. Ulrich. The White Palace. Chioma.” Sorcha leaned back on the box, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
All three of them considered the implications, but it was Raed that gathered his thoughts quickly enough to ask, “Well then, what can we do to stop them?”
“Find Zofiya,” Merrick replied swiftly. “The Emperor might become a little more reasonable with her back at his side, and perhaps we can fix what he has done to the Pattern.”
“The Pattern?” Sorcha blinked.
“Apparently there is a master Pattern for all the Gauntlets and Strops of the Order, and it was held in trust by the Emperor. It was a form of surety that we would not run amok and steal his throne as the Circle of Stars tried to. The Pattern’s destruction is to blame for the failure of the runes.” Merrick absentmindedly rubbed the length of the Strop between his fingers. “I don’t know what it looks like, but maybe it can be repaired somehow.”
Raed snorted, but held his tongue. This was all new information to Sorcha, but she believed what Merrick was saying; her partner knew a great deal more than she, even if he had been in the Order for a much shorter time. Book learning was not her forte, but then that was why they were partners; to be a strong team.
“So, if we know that this del Rue took the Grand Duchess, then how do we plan on getting her back?” Raed asked, his eyes staring at a distant point.
Merrick seemed to come to a decision, folding up his Strop and tucking it away quickly into his pocket. “He must be using the weirstone tunnels to pass back and forth between the palace and wherever he is keeping her. Very convenient since he doesn’t have to worry about guards or walls.”
“He could just be using Voishem,” Sorcha offered.
Her partner shook his head vehemently. “No, that rune doesn’t make you invisible, and he wouldn’t risk being seen. Besides, he’s constantly at the palace. He needs a way to pass around easily and without drawing comment. The Wrayth’s tunnels would work best.”
“So,” Raed said, standing up and brushing off his jacket, “you are going to say that we have to break into the palace and without the help of your runes?”
“Why don’t you choose something hard?” Sorcha groaned, thinking with longing of Voishem, now lost to her.
“We are not completely without resources, some of us have a wild talent or two.” Merrick would not meet anyone’s eyes, but Sorcha felt a surge of pride in her partner. She’d been outraged when first partnered with him— now she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Now, I don’t exactly know how well I can control whatever it is, but it is a weapon we can use…at least until we get the runes back.”
Raed nodded. “It has to be done, so let’s get to it. The longer Arkaym is without the Order the more geist activity will increase.” He walked back to Aachon, pulled him away and began to talk to him quietly. The first mate listened and nodded. As he did, his face became even grimmer.
Merrick, watching them, looked just as despondent. Sorcha laid her hand over his. “We’ll find a way back. We have to, and besides”—she nudged him—“you at least have some kind of power. Without my Gauntlets I am nothing.”
He shot her an appraising look. “With what you have told me, I don’t think that is necessarily true.”
She flinched and would have yanked her hand back, but he twisted his and held on tight.
“You can’t ignore this, Sorcha.” His brown eyes were stern in the dimly lit room. “Think of the Prince of Chioma; he too was a product of geistlord and human. The Wrayth are trying to make something with their breeding program. Maybe they already have what they wanted and they just now found that out.”
She stood and looked down at him, still holding her hand. “Once the Order is fixed, we’ll send back a Conclave of Deacons to root the Wrayth out. Until then, we have plenty to occupy ourselves with.”
In the way of Merrick, he did not argue. It was push and back away, with him—forever testing her boundaries and demanding more of her. Now he had found one, and he left it up to her to see if she was brave enough to cross it. Sorcha pressed her lips together and glared at him.
“Come on then,” he said, with a shrug. “Let’s go find the right Deacons to infiltrate our Emperor’s palace.”
She twisted her mouth. “I suppose you will insist on Kolya?”
Merrick assessed her for a moment. “Would you mind if I did?”
She shrugged and glanced over to her former partner. “If you think he will be useful, then that is fine with me.” In the moonlight, she realized she had never looked closely at Kolya—not since he’d recovered from the geist attack outside the palace. In all the time she’d spent angry with him, she had forgotten much of the good about him. She’d married him for a reason, not just for convenience. He had reminded her of that by helping Merrick.
The young Deacon’s hand rested on her shoulder. “I don’t think Kolya should come, not for this…but perhaps he can guard those left behind. I know he is a fine shot.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “he is indeed.”
