Stained Glass Monsters (27 page)

"I don't think she's very likely to want
to give you any orders," Kendall tried, tentatively.

"She made my mother
kneel
,
Kendall!"

"What would you rather she had told her
to do?" Kendall asked practically. "Given that she was trying to
warn you that you've got a bigger problem than her out there."

Sukata was too fair to deny the point,
but only succeeded in replacing angry horror with gloom. "Permanent
slavery. We thought ourselves so...above, but we will never be
anything but tools."

"What if they all die? All the
Montjuste-Surcleres. Would you be tools still?" When Sukata just
turned restively, Kendall added: "Do you think that's why she sent
her brother away?"

The purely offended look she had in
response was answer enough.

"I'd hate it," Kendall said bluntly.
"Hate it, hate it, hate it to death. I'd want to kill her. I can't
stand it when anyone tries to do what they think is for my good,
instead of letting me do for myself." She paused, searching for
inspiration. "You saw that Captain Medan brought that cat back with
him, did you? Made a pet of it, and it likes him enough to have not
run off on the trip. Is it a tool? This compulsion it was under was
the same thing, wasn't it? Yours is just permanently there, waiting
for an order. Could you cast one of those? Could your mother?"

"We would not," Sukata said firmly.

"Lady Weston put something like that on
Rennyn when she first met her. Something to force her to tell the
truth. She got really annoyed. The thing is – any mage who's good
enough can make anyone else into a tool. There's laws about it and
all, isn't there? About whether you're responsible for things you
do under magical influence. You're stuck under a permanent one,
which is really awful, but I don't see how it makes you not people,
any more than the cat isn't still a cat."

Sukata felt as dangerous as she had
outside Falk, like she could tear someone's arm off, but then her
shoulders slumped, and she sighed softly. "I suppose we are both.
Property. People. Thank you, Kendall. I don't think I can feel any
better about this, but I won't let it destroy me."

"No bones broken." Kendall shook her
head. "Will you be all right here? I need to go do something."

"What?"

"Get her some dinner. Best I can make
out, she hasn't eaten since yesterday."

Sukata went still, then she lifted her
chin. "I'll come with you."

"Sure?"

"Very."

A tap at the door set Rennyn to hastily
wiping her face, and she looked back as it opened to reveal Kendall
and Sukata carrying a plate, pitcher and glass. They didn't say
anything, just put the meal on the desk and left, one with her chin
set mule-stubborn and the other with eyes wide with dismay and
determination.

Rennyn stared at the door as it closed,
then managed a shaky smile. "You made some good friends, Seb."

The idea of eating repelled her, but she
forced down a few bites, and drank half a glass of sweet barley
water. It did help, but when she pushed herself to open the first
of the books Seb had collected for her, the pages were a blur,
meaningless.

She'd known this day was coming, had
known she would take the brunt of it. When she'd found herself
having to work closely with the Kellian earlier than planned, she'd
tried to armour herself against them, to maintain a distance so it
wouldn't hurt quite so much when they looked at her as they had
today. And then refused to look at her.

She doubted they would try and kill her
or Seb. They were a resilient and practical and very proud people,
but not unjust. They would recover from the initial shock, and
prepare themselves for the horror of Solace's control. Rennyn would
do everything she could to ensure it wasn't permanent. Then – well,
she was sure they would treat her with every courtesy, and try not
to flinch too obviously whenever she spoke.

The best move would be to leave Tyrland
afterwards. It made sense, was the kinder option for everyone
involved. There was the property in Kole, and the holdings and
investments there. Tyrland was her home, but it would not be
comfortable staying to play nightmare of the Kellian.

She wished Faille had been closer, so
she could have better seen his reaction. He had not spoken, had not
turned away, had not moved at all. But she knew he would loathe the
thought of being subject to the Montjuste-Surcleres. She kept
hearing his voice, asking her about trust.

Even in their horror they had not
withdrawn their trust – they believed she would stop Solace where
they could not. And since she wouldn't be able to do that sitting
around paralysed by things she couldn't change, Rennyn put aside
the day's losses and moved on to future battles, focusing on
reading through the marked places of the books. There was little
time left, and she was increasingly worried about interference from
her Wicked Uncle. Using creatures of this world as cat's-paws
completely bypassed the strongest of their defences.

"My Lady."

Not quite able to suppress a start,
Rennyn turned to discover Faille standing in the doorway. It was
fortunate she hadn't eaten more, because her stomach turned to a
knot at the sight of him: as correct as ever, but his eyes so
dark.

"What has been decided?" she asked,
managing to control the concern in her voice.

"The Council debates a call for
execution. It will not stand, but it delays the announcement of the
more likely decision."

"Imprisonment?" she guessed.

He nodded. "We are confined to barracks
tonight, and likely the dungeons tomorrow. They will need to be
reinforced."

Not strong enough to hold Kellian.
Probably, they would have to chain them. All of them, even
Sukata.

"I would like to test the limits of your
control," he said.

Rennyn blinked. But he meant it, was
waiting for her to give him an order, braced for the ordeal. He
actually expected her to do it.

"There are no limits to my control," she
said. "I'm not going to torture you to prove a thing I already
know."

"Can you control our thoughts? Our
feelings?" The vertical lines on either side of his mouth deepened,
but then he said: "I wish to experience this so that I know its
scope, so that my people can prepare for it. I do not doubt that it
is as you describe."

"A fear faced?"

He nodded, the jerkiness of the motion
betraying how true her words were. "It may not be as complete as
Queen Solace's, but it will give me a basis for comparison."

"Sit down."

Such a commonplace phrase to produce
such distress. His eyes did no more than widen as he moved to sit
tidily on the bed, but the set of his shoulders after was that of a
man who had taken a crippling blow.

"Stay there."

She turned back to her book because she
was angry, and saw no reason to make him deal with that. After
their walk in the forest she'd promised herself that she would
never give Faille an order. Broken already.

It also seemed important to hide that
she was glad. Grateful for forbearance. That he could set aside the
mountainous bar she had revealed to come and speak with her without
open revulsion, to deal with the issue rather than despise her for
her inheritance. That he was even able to look at her.

And it was impossible, of course, to
concentrate on anything with him sitting behind her being
incredibly upset. She tidied the desk, allowing him a lengthy
opportunity to take his basis for comparison, then turned and said,
"Enough."

He half-rose, but sat back down again,
eyes hooded. "I could as well be telling someone else's body to
move."

"In a way, you are," she said, not
avoiding harsh truths since he wanted to confront this. "As to
controlling feelings: no. The spell isn't structured for it. The
original Kellian were Solace's fingers. Literally. She used part of
one of her fingers in the casting, as that was the symbolism she
desired. Fingers do not have emotions: they are an extension of
one's self. She wanted guards who would never betray her, no more
than a hand would betray a wrist. Thoughts – that's more difficult
to define, but though I expect I could cause you to behave as if
the sky was green, I doubt I could make you believe it."

He took a long breath, weighing this.
"How will Solace's control differ from yours?"

"I can give verbal commands which
control your actions. Tiandel left extensive observations of his
experiences with the original Ten – the only thing which allowed me
to risk speaking to any of you at all, to know that only a direct,
intentional order must be obeyed. Solace – Solace is a part of the
spell which makes you Kellian which has been absent." She watched
his long, dagger-tipped fingers curl in his lap. "When Solace left
this world, the original Kellian had memories of what they had
experienced, but little impulse to act. Your human ancestry isn't
likely to make any great difference: your mind will probably not be
destroyed, but at the very least she will suppress your will. You
may be aware while this is happening, but your body will not be
your own. I don't know how it will...damage you."

"We might become as the Ten once
were?"

"Possibly. If she has control of you for
an extended period of time. A kind of death."

"Preferable, I should think." He was
recovering, the harshness fading from his face as he rapidly turned
over options. "And there is no shield, no way to block her access
to us?"

"Nothing viable. You can't even go into
the Eferum, if that was feasible for sixty people, since she will
exist in both worlds."

Faille went still, eyes narrowing.
"Sarana has been in the Eferum."

"I know."

Another blow. He closed his eyes, but
opened them again immediately, thinking it over. "Could Solace
erase memory?"

"That I don't know. Perhaps. Or she
could be under a command not to reveal her experience. I don't
think it would be possible for Solace to have...withheld herself
from Captain Illuma, or that Captain Illuma would have been unaware
of her presence. It is possible that Solace was simply out of range
– the physics of the Eferum are not something I can fully predict.
In any case, I would already be dead if she'd been under orders to
kill me."

Before he could respond there was a dull
vibration and the bed shuddered. Faille stood up in a blur, but it
wasn't an attack.

"The latest expansion," Rennyn said,
slipping past him. The corner of the bed was caught in the field of
effect from the focus she'd set near the far wall. Faille lifted it
out with one hand, setting it at an angle, then stood looking down
at the focus.

"Which of you can command us?" he asked,
his voice very thin. She couldn't tell if he was keeping back anger
or deepening dismay, only that he was very upset and very near.

"The current head of the family. Within
this world." She wished she still owned the arrogance of her early
teens, when she'd believed herself capable of anything, but the
more she'd learned of magic, the more she understood what she could
never do. "I'm sorry," she said, touching his shoulder. "I don't
know any way to make this different. I would change it if I
could."

"I know that," he said. Then he glanced
down to where her hand remained resting against him.

Rennyn felt muscle tense, and her face
grew hot as Faille gave her a very searching look. She was
astonished at herself, but suddenly and fiercely determined to not
step away or drop her gaze, though it was one of the most difficult
things she'd ever done. It was the wrong time. He was so
distressed, and she knew very well she could be totally misreading
that small exchange in the wood, and this was something she should
not do, but she just couldn't stand that she might never see him
again. She felt like she'd staked herself out in the sun, and if
his surprise turned to anger or disgust, a new-found part of her
would shrivel completely. But the worst time was the only time,
this moment between lies and the end.

Faille lifted one hand, catching strands
of hair up until he curled his fingers around the nape of her neck,
still searching her eyes for reaction. The flood of relief and
uncertainty made her heart thump so painfully she thought for an
instant she might faint, and she tightened her hand on the heavy
cloth of his uniform, wondering what her face looked like and if it
was possible for her heart to race so fast it stumbled.

Whatever her expression, he found his
answer. And kissed her. Not tentatively. Not lightly. This was
certainly the worst night of his life and his response was one of a
man at an emotional extreme, faster and more violent than she could
have anticipated.

As she caught her breath and tried to
respond, his other hand swept down to the small of her back,
pressing her against him, and then she was against the door,
gasping as she was lifted up so she was closer to his height, bare
skin tingling as her shirt came free. There was no space left
between them.

She was fumbling distractedly at the
heavy undercoat he wore when he finally broke free of her mouth,
long enough to cast a dissatisfied glance at Seb's bed. Rejecting
it, he picked her up. The door was a minor obstruction, then out
into the hall, a right turn to the stair where she'd once seen him
sitting, and up to the next level of the barracks. Another door, a
dark room and then one made vivid by moonlight. Rennyn had no idea
if anyone had seen them: he'd kissed her the entire way.

But he paused when they reached his bed,
and set her carefully on her feet again. The window was wide and
unshuttered and the high, full moon set him burning: eyes white
disks, hair cold flame, fingers tipped with diamond. He was
watching her face, and though it was nearly impossible for her to
make out his expression, she thought he was stepping back from the
urgency of his first response, giving her a chance to change her
mind.