To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (16 page)

“I thought he might grace us with his presence,” Callum said with a shrug. “In any case, what is it, exactly, that Rogan is using all his power to do?”

“I’m afraid I have little to report,” Alastair answered and turned toward Cecily. “His Majesty asks me to tell you he is most distressed, but as of yet we have found very little in our search.”

Cecily sighed. “Thank you for coming, anyway,” she said. Callum snorted and she rolled her eyes at him. “Is the king aware of these stories Callum has heard? People disappearing, or this band of smugglers dealing in slaves?”

“To be truthful, I’m not certain. The king has a great many issues to attend to.”

Mira nodded and the others looked around the room uncomfortably. “Of course,” Cecily replied.

The room got quiet and Cecily stared down at the table. Callum kept eating his bread.

“Cecily,” Alastair said, his voice breaking the silence. “I hate to bring this up, but, in light of the difficulty we’ve had finding Daro, I have to ask. Have you considered that perhaps Daro has been killed?”

All eyes swung to Cecily. Callum turned toward her and dropped his food. She slowly raised her gaze to meet Alastair’s eyes. “I know he is alive.”

“I want to believe that as much as you do. But none of us can be sure, and unfortunately, we have to be realistic about this.”

“No, I know he is alive,” she said and held Alastair’s gaze. He opened his mouth to reply, but she continued. “How much do you know about Imarans?”

His brow furrowed. “Imarans? As much as anyone, I suppose.”

“Did you know that the Imaran language has no word for mistress or adultery?”

Alastair’s eyes shifted from side to side and his brow deepened. “That’s fascinating, but I don’t see how—”

She cut him off. “They don’t have words for those things because those concepts don’t exist. An Imaran would no more cheat on his spouse than kill her. It simply isn’t done.” She paused, everyone quietly watching her. “The Imarans believe that everyone has an inner energy, what we might call a soul. But they see it as something even deeper. They call it the
feorh-aelan
. We would translate it as ‘soul fire’ or maybe ‘life energy.’ When an Imaran meets his mate, his
feorh-aelan
is said to sing to hers, and if their souls are compatible, her
feorh-aelan
will answer back. And when they marry, their energies meld, bonding together to become one. Once they are bonded, it lasts for the rest of their lives.”

“That’s very interesting, but I’m not sure where you’re going with all this,” Alastair said.

“When I met Daro, something came alive inside me. I didn’t understand what it was, and neither did he. Somehow his soul, his
feorh-aelan
, sang to mine, and mine answered. And when we married, our souls melded, inseparably. The spirit inside me changed. We became like two parts of the same person.” She glanced around the room at her friends. “I know he is alive because when he dies, his soul will sever from mine. And that hasn’t happened.”

A hushed silence settled over the room and Alastair looked down. “Well, that is good news, at least.” He looked back up and glanced at their other companions. “I did come to tell you that King Rogan is doing all he can. He implores you to use caution and to allow him to handle this unfortunate situation.”

Callum turned his head lazily toward Alastair. “Are you serious? You came here to tell us to sit tight because Rogan is handling it?”

“You’re experienced in the art of espionage,” Alastair replied. “You, of all people, must understand the delicacy of these matters.”

Serv spoke up. “In other words, Rogan doesn’t want us interfering and fouling up his plans.”

Griff sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t like it. How is it that Rogan’s plans don’t include us? Who else could he possibly trust for this?”

“I agree,” Sumara said as she brushed her dark hair away from her face. “Why hasn’t he entrusted this to us?”

“These aren’t the old days anymore,” Alastair answered. “We all have our own lives. His Majesty couldn’t assume you would all be here, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Griff and Serv are only in Halthas a portion of the year, isn’t that right? Merrick, we seldom have the pleasure of seeing you. Sumara, you yourself have obligations, as do the rest of us.” He gestured around the room. “King Rogan is doing his best, of that you can be certain.”

Cecily looked around at her friends. “Alastair is right. I spoke with Rogan myself and he assured me he would help. I know he’s doing everything he can.”

Serv patted Griff on the shoulder as he crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath. Callum kept eating his food, hunched over his plate and pointedly ignoring Alastair. Sumara nodded at Cecily, and Edson looked around uncomfortably. Cecily felt bad for the poor lad; he was caught up in something he probably didn’t understand.

“I’m afraid I must be off,” Alastair said. “I’m sorry I am unable to stay longer. Mira, the guard will have need of you this evening, I believe. Cecily, I will send word as soon as I have news to report.” He touched his right hand to his chest and bowed. Mira nodded and followed him out of the room.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the companions. Cecily stood and moved to stand by the window. They were on the ground floor, the busy street bustling with activity outside. She watched a woman walk by carrying a wicker basket of flowers, a baby strapped to her back and another child tagging along behind.

Callum eased in next to her and spoke in a low voice. “So that’s it? We wait for Rogan?”

Cecily sighed. “Yes. We wait for Rogan.”

Callum shook his head. “You trust him that much?”

“We both fought by his side. I trusted him with my life more times than I can count.”

“Believe me, I remember. He’s a decent enough king, even I have to admit that. But do you trust him with
this
?” Cecily looked at him and he held her gaze. “This isn’t the king’s world we’re talking about. We aren’t dealing with heads of noble houses and foreign dignitaries. This is abduction, smuggling, maybe slavery and who knows what else.” He darted a quick glance around the room and leaned in closer, his voice quiet. “This is a little more my domain than his, if you catch my meaning.”

“What do you suggest I do, then? Do you have a plan in that crafty head of yours?”

“Not yet. But I’m working on it. And when the time comes, I don’t think we should sit around waiting for Rogan’s errand boy to tell us what to do.”

Cecily chuckled. “Alastair is not that bad. He’s a good man.”

“Maybe he is.” Callum shrugged.

“How much do you know about what’s happening up at the Lyceum?” she asked. She wanted to change the subject.

“They don’t exactly enjoy my company, at least not out in the open, but I have connections. Why?”

“I have a contact at the Lyceum, and he sent me a rather odd letter before we left home. It doesn’t have anything to do with Daro, but I’m concerned.”

Callum’s face erupted into a wide smile. “Cecily Imaran, you sly thing. You have a secret contact at the Lyceum?”

“Magister Brunell—he was my mentor at the Lyceum of Power. I don’t know that I’d call it a secret, although he probably doesn’t broadcast our association. The gods know, there isn’t anyone else there who would even speak to me,” she said.

Callum raised his eyebrows. The Lyceum of Power was a clandestine wing of the Lyceum, little of which was known to outsiders. During King Hadran’s reign, the Lyceum of Power had worked closely with the Crown, and Cecily had been amongst those the king had used to carry out his orders.

“I do recall you left the Lyceum rather abruptly. They’re still holding a grudge?”

Cecily shrugged. “I haven’t been there in a long time. I’ve kept in contact with Brunell over the years. He’s too much of an academic to hold a grudge if there’s something that interests him. And he was always intensely interested in what I could do.”

“You do have some good tricks,” Callum said.

“I suppose. I don’t know if he ever understood why I left, but he never shunned me for it. And he was one of the few people from that time in my life who didn’t ostracize Daro. He always seemed interested in him, even if it was from a more academic standpoint than a personal one.”

“If you have a contact at the Lyceum, you should go see him. Most of them may be stodgy old curmudgeons, but a friend in the Lyceum can be a powerful thing. They have resources neither Rogan nor I have.”

Cecily hesitated. “I haven’t been there in so long. They’re just as likely to throw me out as let me in.”

“It has to be better than sitting around here, waiting for Rogan to throw us some crumbs. Besides, the library is open to anyone. They can’t toss you out of there unless you threaten to start a fire. Not that I would know.”

Cecily shook her head. She could only imagine Callum walking through the stacks of books and rolls of parchment, shouting, “Fire!”

She looked back out the window. Callum was right—she didn’t want to sit around waiting for anyone, even the king. “I guess I’ll take my chances at the Lyceum.” She looked back at Callum. “Care to join me?”

He smirked. “Not if you want to get past the front gates. They still haven’t forgiven me for the last time I visited.”

16. THE LYCEUM

Cecily walked through the gates of the Lyceum, past two guards standing at attention on either side of the entrance. The wide, tree-lined walkway was flanked by small courtyards and gardens that led into the grounds. The smell of lilies and lavender carried on the breeze. She passed one of the four dormitories, tall buildings of gray stone that curved in wide arcs around the center of the grounds. They were flanked by conical towers and the walls were inlaid with marble and dotted with numerous paned windows. Small groups of students lounged on benches or under the shade of trees, others walking with brisk steps to and from the dormitory entrances.

At the heart of the Lyceum was the great library, touted as the largest in the world. The round building was topped with a dome, a tall spire rising from its peak. Thick marble columns and a sturdy stone base contrasted with the delicacy of the detailed stonework and etched glass windows. Surrounding the library were the lecture halls, four rectangular buildings that jutted out from the center like spokes on a wheel, each with a tower at the far end. From afar, the lecture halls looked identical, but up close there were variations in the stonework that indicated which wing of the Lyceum they belonged to.

Cecily headed for the Lyceum of Vision, the wing of the Lyceum that trained Wielders. The other three wings were for Shapers. The Lyceum of Stone trained those who worked with stone, ores and gems, teaching craftsmen and artisans. The Lyceum of Seed specialized in Shapers working with plant life, including gardeners, woodworkers and those skilled in creating various remedies and potions. The Lyceum of Blood primarily trained Serum Shapers, people with the ability to treat the sick and injured.

The Lyceum of Vision was on the far side, so Cecily cut through the library. She walked up the smooth steps to the paneled wooden doors. They were arched at the top, coming to a point in the center. Gripping the thick iron handle she pulled, and the well-oiled door swung out on heavy black hinges.

Her boots clicked on the shining marble floor. As she looked up to the dome above, she could see floors upon floors of books, jutting out in rings around the outer wall, leaving the center open to the ceiling high above. The dome itself was lined with gilded beams, painted to look like leaves on a vine.

With a sigh, she walked through the library and up one of the many staircases. The musty smell of leather and worn pages brought back a flood of memories from her days as a student. She circled around the second floor and paused to run her fingers across the leather spines of several books on a sturdy shelf.

The second-floor door led out from the library across a raised walkway to the Lyceum of Vision. Once inside, she passed classrooms and lecture halls with students bustling about as they made their way to and from their classes. She wasn’t sure if Magister Brunell would be in a class, but she assumed she could check at his office. Her stomach fluttered with nervousness. She hadn’t been through these halls since before the war. She had burned a lot of bridges when she’d left the Lyceum.

Although the Lyceum was ostensibly divided into the four schools, there was the also Lyceum of Power, a far more secretive division. It didn’t have its own tower, but operated largely out of floors deep underneath the library. The faculty, however, had offices that were integrated with the other Lyceum buildings, further blurring the lines between the covert Lyceum of Power and the rest of the school. Cecily hadn’t known Magister Brunell was part of the Lyceum of Power until she herself had been initiated into it. He had recommended her to the Paragon, the head of the institution, based on her set of abilities. Initially she had been ecstatic; proud of her accomplishments, she had looked forward to an exciting and prosperous future.

But her life in the Lyceum of Power had turned out to be far different from what she’d envisioned. The training had been brutal, long days spent honing her Wielding abilities to a fine point. Magister Brunell had taken her under his wing and taught her to do things with her ability she hadn’t realized were possible. It hadn’t been long before King Hadran had taken an interest in her, and she’d found herself executing his personal orders, under the direction of her Magisters.