Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (2 page)

“Anna Callenius,” said Caina after a moment’s thought. She had used so many false names she could not keep them all straight, and she had not used that one in a long time.

Not since Sicarion had murdered Halfdan in Marsis. 

“That was it,” said Kylon. “I thought you were beautiful then, but dangerous. And the Empire and New Kyre were at war, and you were with Corvalis, so I gave it no further thought. Then I married Thalastre, and after the day of the golden dead, I thought I would never see you again.” 

“But we both lost everything,” said Caina. 

“And then we met again in exile,” said Kylon. 

They lay together in silence for a moment. 

“Sometimes it feels as if my head is split in two,” said Caina. “I wish Corvalis hadn’t been killed. I wish Kalgri hadn’t murdered Thalastre. I wish I had never come to Istarinmul, and that I was still in Malarae. But I am…I am so glad we found each other again. I am so glad this happened.”

Kylon snorted. “I understand. When I was a child my sister and the Archons always seemed so certain of the right course. I wonder if they had as many doubts and regrets as we do.” His arm curled around her. “But I am glad, too.” 

“I love you, Kylon,” said Caina. 

His arm tightened against her. “I love you, Caina Amalas.” 

Something within her shivered, and she had to close her eyes for a moment.

“Look at me,” she said, rubbing at her face. “One brush with death and I become a weeping hysteric. If I try to start writing poetry, please stop me.”

“You could always take up painting,” said Kylon. “I’m sure Morgant would be happy to teach you.”

She stared at him for a moment.

“That was a joke,” said Kylon. 

Caina laughed and lay down against him.

“Nasser wants to talk to us,” said Kylon after a while.

“He does?” murmured Caina.

“He wants to talk to you, I expect,” said Kylon. “We need to decide what to do next. The Staff and the Seal cannot stay here.”

“They cannot,” said Caina. Her night with Kylon had made her forget about the Staff and the Seal of Iramis, the long-lost sorcerous regalia of the Princes of Iramis. She had carried those relics out of the Tomb of Kharnaces with great pain and nearly at the cost of her life. 

In a way, it was a reminder of Caina’s own insignificance. If she had died at Rumarah, Istarinmul would continue towards civil war. Grand Master Callatas would continue working towards his Apotheosis, murdering slaves and creating wraithblood. Worse, Kalgri had escaped Rumarah, and she knew that Caina and Nasser had the Staff and Seal. She would run straight to Callatas, and when Callatas learned the truth, nothing would stop him from claiming the regalia. He would kill everyone in Drynemet, everyone in Istarinmul, to claim the Staff and Seal for himself. 

They did not have much time. 

In fact, they were likely out of time. Caina had been unconscious for so long that Kalgri must surely have reached Callatas with the news by now. It was possible that Callatas himself had left Istarinmul with every ally and soldier he could muster, and was even now coming to descend upon Drynemet. She felt a twinge of guilt. If she had not been unconscious for so long, if the others had not waited for…

Caina shoved that aside. For a time she had blamed herself for Istarinmul’s impending civil war, but that war would have come even if she had died during her first day in Istarinmul. There was too much at stake for Caina to waste time in needless self-recrimination.

“We cannot stay here,” murmured Caina, staring at the door to the room.

“Would you want to?” said Kylon. 

She knew, practically and realistically, that they could not stay here. Callatas was coming for the Staff and the Seal. Istarinmul was about to rip itself apart in civil war. 

Caina didn’t really want to stay in Drynemet. 

She just wanted to stay here with Kylon. 

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?” said Caina. “If I asked you to leave it all behind…the Empire, the war, Callatas, wraithblood, all of it, would you come with me?”

“Of course,” said Kylon. 

The answer warmed her. “Thank you.”

“But you won’t, though,” said Kylon. 

“You know what I’m thinking now, do you?” said Caina. “You can still sense my emotions when you touch me.”

His hand slid up her bare back. “I can. But I don’t need to, not for this. You won’t give up. You won’t turn back. You’ve seen too many terrible things to pretend that you have not. You will see this through to the end.”

“With you?” said Caina. 

“With me,” said Kylon. 

They lapsed into silence after that. Caina felt herself drifting off to sleep. Soon, she knew, she would have to get up, to face what awaited her once more. Callatas and Kalgri would not have been idle while she recovered from Rumarah. But for now, for just a few moments, she wanted to lie quietly with the man she had come to love…

“Beware the fire.”

Caina shot out of bed so fast that she did not remember standing up. She snatched one of her throwing knives from the table and stood motionless, every muscle tense, her ears straining to hear anything.

“What is it?” said Kylon. He had gotten out of bed, the faint shimmer of air sorcery flickering around him, the valikon a shaft of white fire to Caina’s eyes.

“Did you hear that?” said Caina.

“I didn’t hear anything,” said Kylon. 

“A voice,” said Caina. “I heard a voice, saying ‘beware the fire’. You didn’t hear that?” 

Kylon shook his head. “Nothing.” 

Caina let out a long breath.

“I think,” she said, “that I might be hearing voices.” 

###

A short time later Caina walked through Strabane’s hall, Kylon at her side. The hall was gloomy and splendid in a barbaric sort of way, and Caina could imagine the ancient Caerish kings who had warred against the Emperor holding court in such a hall, surrounded by their blue-painted warriors. Flagstones covered the floor, and wisps of smoke rose from the dying coals in the central firepit. Dozens of Kaltari men lay scattered around the floor, wrapped in their cloaks, sleeping off last night’s revels. Strabane had called his men to arms, gathering the clans of the Kaltari Highlands to march to war. Last night he had feasted his men, the meal accompanied copious amounts of liquor. Apparently it had been quite the revel, but Caina hadn’t noticed. 

She had been preoccupied. 

Caina had donned the clothes of a Kaltari woman, a sleeveless green dress with a broad leather belt, a cloak bound over her shoulder with a bronze brooch, and a dagger at her belt. She missed her ghostsilver dagger, the weapon that she had stolen from Callatas’s Maze, but for some reason Kalgri had taken it with her. Likely she had kept it as some sort of macabre trophy. 

Kylon walked next to her, wearing his leather armor, a pair of daggers at his belt and the valikon slung over his shoulder. 

“Strangest thing,” muttered Caina.

“What is?” said Kylon, and he smiled. “That you’re walking through the hall of a Kaltari headman with an exiled Kyracian noble?”

Caina laughed a little. “That is very strange. You making jokes is also strange. You never make jokes.” 

“Perhaps I’m in a good mood,” said Kylon. “Rare as that may be. What is strange?”

“Your sword,” said Caina. “It’s glowing…but I don’t think I could see by it. If I was in a darkened room with no other light, I couldn’t use it to read. Yet the light is still there.”

Kylon shrugged. “Maybe it’s not really light, but your mind interprets it as light.” 

Caina nodded. She hadn’t asked to become a valikarion, but now that she was one, she would learn to make the most use of her new abilities. 

They might be useful. 

A broad stone terrace ran behind the back of the headman’s hall, overlooking a sheer cliff plunging into the valley below. It was a cloudy day, and mists wrapped the hills surrounding Drynemet, the pine trees rising from the haze. It was a wild and beautiful sight, and reminded Caina of the Disali hill country around the Vineyard, where she had trained as a Ghost nightfighter all those years ago.

Another memory flashed through Caina’s mind. She had reconciled with Claudia here, and after they had defeated the Red Huntress at Silent Ash Temple, Claudia had urged Caina to move past Corvalis’s death, to find someone else. 

She glanced at Kylon. Claudia had been more right than she had known. 

Claudia had also thrown one of the Umbarian Order’s Silent Hunters to his death from this terrace with a spell of psychokinetic force.

Caina hoped that Claudia was well. It had been nearly nine months since the fight at Silent Ash Temple, and Claudia’s child was due soon. Cassander Nilas was dead, but the Umbarians would send another ambassador to the Padishah’s court, and one of the Umbarians’ favorite tactics was to kidnap the children of their foes as leverage. A little shiver of rage went through Caina at the thought. If they tried to kidnap Claudia’s son, Corvalis’s nephew, she would make sure that the Umbarians bitterly regretted their folly.

She glanced at Kylon again. It seemed he had been right. She was not ready to flee from the fight. 

Four men and one woman awaited Caina and Kylon upon the terrace, sitting at a table built of rough-hewn pine planks. One of the men rose and approached Caina. He looked to be in his late fifties, his gray hair close-cropped, his blue eyes pale in his gaunt, lined face. He wore black boots, black trousers, and stark white shirt, and a long black coat that hung to his knees, a sword belt wrapped around his waist. A sheathed scimitar and a dagger with a red gem in the pommel hung at the belt, and to Caina’s eyes both weapons glowed with sorcerous power. 

The dagger’s red glow was almost painfully sharp. 

Caina stopped, folded her arms over her chest, and met the black-coated man’s pale eyes. He titled his head and grinned at her, the expression making his face look almost skull-like. 

Kylon only frowned at him.

“Well?” said Caina.

“Well what?” said Morgant the Razor, assassin of legend, artist of skill, and a man who enjoyed probing those around him for weakness. 

“You look like you have something clever to say,” said Caina.

“I always have something clever to stay,” said Morgant. “It’s one of the many benefits of my great age and wisdom. Why? Do you expect me to say something clever? About something in particular, perhaps?”

Caina opened her mouth, closed it again.

She had walked into that one. 

One of the other men stood. “If you are quite done amusing yourself, Master Markaine,” he said, his voice deep and smooth and calm, “perhaps we can attend to the business at hand.” He was tall and strong, with dark skin and a shaved head, his lips framed with a beard trimmed to precision. A black leather glove covered his left hand, and Caina saw the arcane power waiting in the sorcerous crystal that had replaced Nasser Glasshand’s left hand. 

“Nasser, Nasser, Nasser,” said Morgant, turning, “perhaps we should let them rest first. They look tired. Perhaps they didn’t sleep well.” 

The man sitting next to Nasser snorted. He was middle-aged and gray-haired, with the solid, muscled look of a veteran of the Legions of the Empire of Nighmar. “The noise from the hall, no doubt.” 

“Undoubtedly, Laertes,” said Nasser to his lieutenant. 

“I slept for a month,” said Caina. “It’s time to get to work.”

“Well spoken, Master Ciaran,” rumbled the huge man sitting at the head of the table. He was Kaltari, and wore chain mail and leather, his face and thick forearms and heavy hands marked with scars. Three human skulls hung from his belt, trophies taken in the Kaltari style. The hilt of a greatsword rose over his shoulder, and Caina had seen him use that to cut down Immortals. 

“Thank you, headman,” said Caina.

Strabane barked out a harsh laugh. “Though it’s not Master Ciaran, is it? I will always think of you as that. Never thought I would meet a woman as clever as you.”

“Should I take exception to that, lord headman?” said the woman sitting next to Nasser. She was tall for a woman, her skin the same shade as Nasser’s, her eyes bright and green. Despite her long silver hair, Caina thought Annarah was no more than thirty-five years of age. At least that was the age of her body – she had spent a century and a half trapped in the timeless prison of a netherworld sanctuary while Morgant had sought for a way to rescue her. 

“You are a loremaster of Iramis,” said Strabane. “That is different.” He waved a thick hand in Caina’s direction. “Just as she is one of the valikarion of old returned to the waking world, if you are to be believed. Though after we fled through the netherworld and fought the Huntress, I would have believed Master Ciaran was a valikarion.”

“I wasn’t,” said Caina. “Not back then.” Vaguely she wondered what the netherworld would look like to the eyes of a valikarion, and decided she never wanted to find out. 

Strabane grunted. “We live in peculiar times. Omens and portents and legends of the past walk under the sun once more. Hard to know what to do in such times.”

“The same thing a man does in any age,” said Morgant, walking back to his seat. “Find his enemies and kill them.”

Strabane barked out a laugh. “Well-spoken. For a man who talks far too much, you sometimes have good ideas.” 

“Speaking of our enemies,” said Nasser, “let us discuss the best ways to confound and hamper them.” 

“That would be killing them,” said Morgant, sitting down with a flourish of his black coat. 

Caina sat on the bench near Annarah, and Kylon sat next to her. Strabane’s bondwomen emerged from the hall, laying down plates of food and cups of drink, and then bowed and returned to the hall. The serving platters held bread and sausage and Kaltari cheese, which usually had too much garlic for Caina’s taste. Kylon helped himself to some of the food. Caina only took a cup of hot cider. She should have been hungry, she knew, but she did not feel like eating.

Still. The cider was good. 

“Now that Caina has recovered from her injuries,” said Nasser, “I suggest we depart Drynemet and the Kaltari Highlands at once.”