To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (21 page)

“Cecily, I am under orders to bring you back to the palace, with Mira as your escort and personal guard,” Alastair said, in his best authoritative voice.

Cecily groaned inside. Another pointless issue for everyone to argue over. She put her hands up to stop both Callum and Alastair from speaking. “I will stay here,” she said. The thought of being confined to the palace made her twitch. Alastair opened his mouth to speak, but she continued. “I appreciate Rogan’s concern, and Mira is welcome to stay with me. But I won’t stay in the palace.”

Alastair closed his mouth and pursed his lips as he rose from his chair. “Very well. With that, I must return to the palace.” Cecily rose. He turned toward her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Be careful,” he said, his voice quiet. “I wish you would come with me.”

“I know. But you and I both know I can’t sit around the palace with people waiting on me. Not now.”

Callum rose from his chair, put a hand on her elbow, and led her out into the stone hallway. He looked up and down the corridor before he leaned in, keeping his voice low. “I have a lead on something that I think is connected to Daro. But I could really use your help.”

Cecily narrowed her eyes.
Why is he whispering?
“Help with what?”

He glanced around again. “I have reason to believe someone high up is connected to the smugglers. They are getting in, past the inspectors, and I have a feeling I know why.”

She kept her voice quiet, but it was hard to conceal her annoyance. “I understand you don’t like these smugglers encroaching on your territory. But what does this have to do with Daro?”

“This isn’t personal. I think whoever has Daro is the one importing the slaves.”

“Why? Because you have a hunch that it is all connected?”

“Listen, I know it sounds like I’m making things up because it’s convenient, but I’m telling you, I know these smugglers are involved. I can’t prove it yet. That’s why I need you.”

What Callum was asking for slowly dawned on Cecily. “No, Callum. If you’re asking me to do what I think you’re asking, I can’t do it. I swore I was done with that.”

“I’m not asking you to find dirt on someone so a king can string them up outside the palace. These are slavers, and kidnappers, and we need to find out who is involved. It would just be a little late-night peek. No need to leave any bodies behind.”

“No. I can’t do it.”

Callum’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Come on, this won’t even be that difficult. We’ve done worse.”

“You’re not dragging me into this.”

Callum sighed and looked away. “Have it your way. But this would be far easier, and faster, if you’d help.”

Another boy trotted down the corridor and stopped in front of Callum. He handed him a folded slip of paper before turning on his heel and running back up the hallway. Callum gazed at the note, his brow furrowing as he read the contents.

“I have to go,” he said as he crumpled the note in his hand.

Cecily was used to seeing Callum’s messengers delivering missives, but he usually dismissed their importance and tucked the notes away. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I have to go take care of something. If you’re content to sit around and wait for Rogan, be my guest. But I’m not.”

She watched him walk up the corridor, and his footsteps echoed off the stone walls. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her and she swayed on her feet. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Still nothing from Rogan, and Callum was chasing smugglers. She closed her eyes and brought an image of Daro to her mind.
Where are you?
Every time her thoughts strayed to her husband she had the sickening feeling that, wherever he was, something horrible was happening to him.

She called to Mira to let her know she was heading to her room, one of the small sleeping quarters down another hallway in the Quarry. If she was going to be able to think straight, she needed more sleep.

21. TRANSFERENCE

Daro reached under his bed and felt the scratches in the wood. Thirty-four, thirty-five. Had he missed one? He tried to mark the day each morning when he woke, but his memory felt disorganized. The days blended together, a never-ending haze of visits from Sindre. She came to him daily now, always dressed the same, wearing that accursed medallion. Each day she wore him down, as she insisted on some small task. Whether it was kneeling before her, putting on his mask, or following simple instructions, she assaulted him mercilessly until he relented. Many nights he had fallen into unconsciousness, railing against paralysis, his body limp and useless on the floor, his hatred the only thing keeping him sane.

He began to find it easier to follow her instructions and feign obedience. He imagined his wife hovering just behind his shoulder, whispering in his ear. He would do what Sindre asked, but always with Cecily in his mind. His thoughts were all he had left, the only thing he could control. She would not take his mind, but outwardly, he would comply.

The lock clicked and Daro pulled on his mask. It was easier to begin this way. They dressed him in black, a pair of loose-fitting pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He didn’t know where his own clothes were—long gone, he supposed. The mask covered his head down to his shoulders, the only opening across his eyes. It was uncomfortable at first, but he soon took refuge in the anonymity. He hid behind the mask, retreating into the recesses of his mind.

Sindre entered, but this time she left the door ajar. He looked past her, curious to see if someone else would enter. Thus far the only people he had seen were the woman and a hooded and masked person who brought his food, emptied his chamber pot and helped him wash each morning. Judging by the hands, he thought it was a small man, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d stopped trying to engage the person in conversation after the first few days. He never got so much as a nod in response.

“Follow me,” Sindre said. She turned and walked out the door.

Daro hesitated. He hadn’t left the room since his arrival. The four walls had become his world. Adrenaline made his stomach flutter and his limbs tingle. He took a few steps and peeked out the door, unexpectedly anxious. It was a long hallway with bare wooden floors and several other doors on both sides. The walls were paneled with dull and cracked wainscoting and sconces with oil lamps lined the hallway, in a style Daro had only seen on some of the older buildings in Halthas. The air had a musty smell to it, the mild scent of decay.

Sindre stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Come.”

She walked down the hallway and Daro followed. His eyes darted around and drunk in the newness after so many days of being locked in his cell. He quickly lost his sense of direction as the twisting hallways branched off in different directions, one set of stairs leading up, another leading back down. He wondered if she was walking him in circles simply to confuse him.

He passed sections of dark, heavy drapes and he wondered if they hid windows. He would have given much for a glimpse outside, some indication of where he was. Sindre pressed on and he quickened his step to keep up with her, his bare feet padding after the sharp click of her boots.

She turned left, through a doorway that led down another hall. The thick door stood open and Daro noticed a series of locks. He followed her to another door on the right, noticing several people hovering near the opening as he stepped inside.

It opened into a large windowless room, a mess of shelves and cabinets along the walls. In the center was a square wooden table, thick legs supporting a heavy tabletop. Atop the table stood a large stone, almost triangular in shape, resembling a miniaturized mountain. It was white speckled with green, and as Daro gazed at it, the colors seemed to shift and meld together. Something about it reminded him of the Life Tree in Halthas, but as he looked closer, it appeared to be made of the same stone as Sindre’s medallion.

Off to the side, a man sat at a desk, writing on a piece of parchment. He looked to be in his fifties, clean shaven with closely cropped dark hair. Black robes hung from his frame, much like those worn by the Magisters of the Lyceum. He nodded to Sindre and looked at Daro as he slowly rose from his seat.

“Come in,” Sindre commanded, motioning for Daro to enter. He hesitated, then took a small step as his eyes darted between the two people. Something about that stone made him increasingly anxious and he didn’t want to get near it.

“Impressive,” the man said as he took a few steps closer to Daro and looked him up and down. His eyes reminded Daro of the woman’s, a strange mix of color, his a swirl of blue and green. “I see you have accomplished much with him, Sindre.”

“Yes,” she replied. “His will is strong, but I believe we will find that to our advantage.”

He nodded, still looking at Daro as one might inspect wares at a market. “You deem him ready?”

“I would have preferred more time, but yes.”

“Ready for what?” Daro asked, his voice low.

The man cast a sidelong glance at Sindre. “You haven’t given me as much time as the others,” she said. “Another week and he would be more compliant.”

He turned back to Daro and rubbed his hands together. He wore supple leather gloves. “Of course. Patience has been difficult with this one, I admit. I am anxious to see the results.”

“As am I,” said Sindre. “I have put a great deal of work into this one.”

“Who are you?” Daro growled. Fear made his neck twitch, the muscles in his back tense. He clenched his fists and took a step forward.

Sindre stepped toward him but the man held up his hand. “No, Sindre, not yet. I suppose you were right; perhaps you needed more time.” He peered into the slit in Daro’s mask. “I’ve grown used to working with subjects who are more… pliable. But I think this is good.” He gestured to the table behind him and stepped out of the way. “Come, sit.”

Daro looked from the man to Sindre. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Sit in the chair,” she said, her voice lilting as if she spoke to a child.

Daro closed his eyes and thought of his wife. He hesitated another moment, expecting a spark of pain to drop him at any second. He knew Sindre would force him to her will, regardless of how long he held out. It was the same every single day. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and obeyed.

“Good,” she purred and rubbed his shoulders with a light touch.

Daro decided on a bit of boldness. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

Sindre’s fingers dug into his shoulders, but the man put his hand up. “Fair questions. We have kept you in the dark for quite some time.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to Daro. “I am Nihil, and you might call this my laboratory. I have spent many years researching the possibilities hidden within Wielders and have had some great success unlocking their potential. I am a seeker of knowledge, really. I delve into the depths of Wielding energies.”

“What does this have to do with me? I’m no Wielder.”

“No?” Nihil asked. “Not in the Halthian sense, that is probably true. But if I am not mistaken, you have Imaran blood.”

Daro nodded, but he didn’t understand.
What does my father have to do with this?

“I have long believed that Imarans manipulate energy in a manner similar to Wielders. It is difficult to study, as the Imarans live such an isolated existence. We know very little about their abilities or how they work. Of course, I’d have preferred a full-blooded Imaran to work with, but I was unsuccessful at procuring one. Then, my associates brought you to my attention. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner. I spend too much time here, I suppose. But you, the war hero, a half-blooded Imaran, living the life of a Halthian. I am very interested to see what you can show me.”

Nihil turned and beckoned to someone near the door. “Bring the Stone Shaper.”

Sindre kept her hands on Daro’s shoulders, her gentle pressure enough to hold him down. His anxiety rose but he knew it would be useless to try to escape. His breathing quickened as someone led a man into the laboratory. His hands were bound and his head covered with a brown sack. He was led to a chair opposite Daro, across the table on the other side of the strange rock.

“You see, I was born in Attalon,” Nihil said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. Terrible place to be a Wielder.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “When my father realized what I was, well, he did his best. We fled to Sahaar, where I wouldn’t have to hide my abilities. When I was old enough, I came to Halthas.” He moved about the room and gathered a leather-bound book, ink and a quill. “Ah, Halthas. City of Wonders, they called it, home of the famed Lyceum. It was a wonder, I admit. So much beauty, so many accomplishments. So modern. The Lyceum itself was less impressive, I’m afraid.” He tugged on the fingers of his gloves and slipped them off. “But my work hasn’t suffered without their patronage. In fact, I think they would have held me back.”

The hooded man shook in his seat and whimpered quietly. As he looked closely, Daro could see bruises on his arms. His tattered clothing was dirty and hung off his bony frame. Sindre’s grip tightened on Daro’s shoulders and his implant tingled.