To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (35 page)

Number One buckled again as Sindre unleashed into him. He fell to his knees and cried out in agony. She kept the pain thick, driving him down onto the floor. When at last she relented, Number One was left gasping. The sudden absence of pain took his breath away.

“Up,” Nihil said, the word a sharp command.

Rising to his feet, Number One stood and straightened his back. He breathed heavily as he stared past Nihil, his gaze fixed on the wall. The voices screamed, a swirling mass of chaos in his mind. He didn’t push them down. He let them scream, the echoes of dead men feeding his fury.

Nihil stopped in front of him and Number One lost control. He surged toward Nihil, rage driving him forward. Nihil took a step back and Number One slammed into something solid. His body jerked back as if he’d struck a wall. He reached out and touched it, a slight shimmer in the air. A physical Shield.

Nihil’s mouth curled into a smile. “You don’t think I am without my own protections, do you? You aren’t the only one to benefit from the Arcstone’s gifts.” He pulled at the fingers of his gloves, tugging at each, and slipped his hands out. He tucked the gloves under one arm and cocked his head at Number One. “And Sindre is not the only one who can ensure your obedience.” The shimmer in the air dropped as Nihil stepped toward Number One and gripped his arm.

The energy inside Number One began to twist, as if Nihil had managed to grasp it and was tearing it from him. He cried out as he felt Nihil pull something inside of him. It felt as if Nihil would tear him apart. He wanted to move, to grasp Nihil and drain him dry, but Nihil may as well have held his beating heart in his hands. Pain burst through his body and he clenched his teeth, crying out in agony.

Nihil dropped his arm and stepped back. Number One gasped for breath, as he bent forward and clutched his stomach.

“Now,” Nihil said as if nothing had happened, pulling his gloves back over his hands, “tell me about Fourteen. He struggled to contain himself at the Watchtower. How did he perform in Wesfell?”

A measure of relief washed over him. This he could answer. He straightened his back. “He followed orders precisely.”

“This debacle, it was not the result of a failure on his part?”

Number One’s breath caught in his throat. That was what this was all about. Nihil had sent Fourteen, knowing he would be facing his wife. He’d wanted to see what happened. “No,” he said. “He fought as ordered.”

Nihil narrowed his eyes again, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. After a long pause, he nodded. “Good.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “An interesting thought occurred to me recently. I have never used a man that I have altered as a source. I wonder what would happen if I did?”

Number One’s shoulders tensed as he imagined himself seated in that chair, his arms strapped to the stone as his life was drained away, his power ripped from his soul and imbued into someone else.

Nihil looked Number One up and down and glanced pointedly at the Arcstone. “If you continue to fail me, we may find out.” He turned back toward the door and glanced over his shoulder at Sindre. “Make sure he doesn’t disobey me again.”

Number One’s eyes flicked to Sindre. She smiled, one side of her mouth curling up, lust in her eyes.

***

Number One awoke in his room, the wooden floor rigid under his back. He had no memory of how he’d gotten there. Sindre had tortured him mercilessly until he’d passed out from exhaustion and pain. His body ached as if he’d been beaten. Sindre’s work wouldn’t injure directly, but the spasms of agony took their toll nonetheless.

He turned to his side and carefully pulled himself up, reaching up to the edge of his bed for stability. Crystals of ice crackled across the bed frame and fanned out on the floor from his feet. He felt jittery and raw, his command of his power unraveling. He took a few shuddering breaths and lowered himself down onto the bed.

He had survived Nihil’s wrath. He wondered what the others had told him about Wesfell. It seemed they had been vague on the details. Nihil made no mention of Number One letting Cecily go, nor of him ordering Fourteen to stop when he could easily have killed her. Curious.

He let his aching back relax into the hard mattress. His mind was strangely clear, the voices quiet. Cecily had seen his face and said his name. He searched his mind and dug deep into Pathius’s memories. Cecily was there, from a past he thought was dead. The memories were his own, vastly unlike the faded ghosts that Nihil had poured into his mind.

Number One had survived this long through obedience. But Pathius had been the son of the king, and princes did not have to obey.

35. RETURN

The deep blue sapphire sparkled as Cecily held it up, the lamplight glinting off its facets. It wasn’t a large jewel, but the delicate silver surrounding it was a work of art. Daro’s necklace. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it over the bruises on her neck. She fingered the silver chain, the cool metal soft on her fingertips, and let tears fall unchecked down her cheeks. Her heart felt empty, broken as the memory of Daro’s cold eyes flashed through her mind.

Callum had locked down the Quarry, calling in favors and bringing in a veritable army of men. The entire Halthian Underground was on alert. The Sahaaran smugglers were intruding on their territory, and news of Nihil and his aberrant Wielders had spread. Cecily had questioned the wisdom of trusting their protection to the sort of men Callum could call up, but he assured her there was now no safer place than the Quarry.

She heard footsteps behind her, echoing down the stone hallway. She quickly brushed the tears from her face and tucked her necklace away as Serv entered the small room. It was hardly more than a storage room, a few wooden chairs set around a makeshift table, a tall stack of wooden boxes in the corner.

Serv shifted his sword as he sat down. He looked at the table and sat with her in silence for a long moment before speaking. “Life often leads us down a path we would not have chosen. It hurts to lose one you love, even if the loss isn’t in death.”

A lump rose in Cecily’s throat and she bit her lip to keep from crying. A tear broke free and ran down her cheek.

“We’ve all lived through tragedy at one time or another,” Serv continued, putting a gentle hand on her arm. “The pain is not something you should bear alone.”

Cecily reached up to wipe the tear from her face. “Where are the others?” She’d spent the last two days avoiding people, hoping to dodge their questions. A few days ago she would have been horrified if she had known she would kill Magister Brunell, let alone in a room full of her friends. Now she was simply glad he was dead.

“They’re in the meeting room, trying to agree on a plan. When I left, Callum and Griff were eating everything in sight, and Merrick was stalking around the room like a caged animal.”

With a breathy laugh, Cecily rose. “That sounds like it could get out of hand rather quickly. We wouldn’t want them to run out of food.”

She walked with Serv down the winding hallways, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The dim light of the glowstones and the weight of the earth above pressed at her. She was beginning to long for fresh air, and even the sun filtered through a cloudy, gray sky would have been a welcome change.

Callum sat hunched over the long rectangular table and picked at a plate of food. Merrick was indeed stalking around the room, walking with an anxious rhythm as Beau watched from a corner, his ears twitching. Sumara and Mira sat near each other, leaning close and speaking in low voices. Griff stood near his axe, which leaned blade-down against the wall. Edson huddled behind a small leather notebook, his quill scratching across the page.

They all looked up as Cecily entered. Callum leaned back in his chair and Merrick stopped his pacing.

Cecily took a deep breath. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know what to do next.” Her friends glanced at each other. “The only thing I know is that I can’t give up.”

“Give up. Bah!” Griff said.

“We’re not giving up either,” Callum said. “But in all our collective brilliance, we haven’t come up with much of a plan.”

A young messenger ducked past Cecily and darted forward to hand Callum a note. Callum’s brow furrowed as he read and he looked up at the boy. “Is this true?”

“Dunno,” the boy said. “I just deliver ‘em.”

Callum rose from his seat, still looking at the note. He crumpled it in his hand and tucked it away before Cecily could see where it had gone. “Wait here,” he said, his voice sounding bewildered. “I’ll be right back.”

Cecily watched as Callum and the boy left the room. She wandered to the back, too restless to sit down. Beau trotted over and looked up at her expectantly. She crouched down and scratched his head as he wagged his bushy tail. He leaned forward and sniffed her face, his wet nose rubbing her cheek.

Mira let out a quiet gasp and Cecily heard the chairs scrape across the floor as everyone got to their feet. A hushed silence filled the room and she turned around to find Callum, followed closely by Alastair. Cecily slowly stood and her gaze drifted past Alastair’s shoulder.

King Rogan walked into the room. He was absent his kingly raiment, dressed in an unadorned doublet, his crown nowhere to be found. A hush fell over the room and Cecily’s heart felt as if it had skipped a beat.

He stopped just inside the doorway, and his eyes locked on her. “Cecily,” he said, his voice soft.

Anger rose in Cecily’s chest and spread through her limbs like a crashing wave. She clenched her teeth and stalked across the room, the sound of her racing heart echoing in her ears. As she stopped in front of Rogan, she swung and slapped him, hitting him hard across the face with a loud smack. Rogan’s head flew to the side and he reached up to hold his cheek as the room erupted with commotion. Alastair’s mouth was open, his eyes raised in horror. Someone grabbed her arm, trying to drag her away, but she pulled against them and kept her eyes locked on the king, the palm of her hand burning.

Rogan held up his hands. “No, no, it’s okay. The gods know, I deserved that.”

The hand let go of Cecily’s arm and she could hear her friends murmuring behind her. Alastair crossed his arms and glared at her.

Rogan rubbed his cheek. “You were right, Cecily. I suspected Nihil abducted Daro from the moment you came to me. I kept it from you because if it was true, it meant I was at least partially to blame. I not only allowed Nihil to work with my blessing, I funded him. I let him convince me his work was too valuable to interrupt. I believed he was working for the benefit of the kingdom, that he would deliver me the means to ensure the security of my reign. I told myself that, as king, I had to make difficult choices. That much is true. Unfortunately, I chose wrong. I swear to you, I would do anything to change what I’ve done. I should have come to you, all of you,” he said as his eyes swept the room. “We should have faced this together.”

Serv placed a calming hand on Cecily’s shoulder. She looked up at her king and saw the man who had once been her friend. His eyes pleaded with her and she felt her anger diminish.

“We all owe our lives to Daro, in one way or another,” Rogan continued. “None of us would be where we are today without him.” He stepped forward, sank down on one knee, and reached up to hold her hands in his.

Cecily gasped. “Rogan, you don’t have to do that. Please.” Her gaze flicked around the room and her friends were staring, openmouthed. Alastair reached out as if to haul Rogan back up to his feet.

Rogan shook his head as he looked up at her. “If a man cannot admit when he has done wrong, he has no business leading others. Until Daro is returned to you, I am no longer the king. I am yours to command and I will help fight to get him back, to my last breath if that is what it takes.”

Tears sprung to Cecily’s eyes, and her anger melted away like ice on a hot stone. She gripped his hands and nodded, struggling to find words as he stood. “You’re right, we should face this together.”

Alastair leaned toward Rogan, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Majesty, with all due respect, do you really deem it wise to speak so rashly? You can’t simply renounce your throne for the sake of one man. Even if that man is Daro.”

“Calm yourself, Alastair,” Rogan said, as he straightened his clothes. “My reign is not worth the ruin of a man’s soul.” He looked around at their companions. “I owe all of you an apology. I shouldn’t have forgotten why I was king. It was because of all of you. I betrayed your faith in me, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Her companions nodded to Rogan, and even Callum managed a begrudging bob of his head.

Rogan took a seat and Cecily followed. They explained to him what they knew. He cringed as Callum told him of the Sahaaran smugglers trafficking slaves. They told him about their attempts to find Nihil’s location and their run-ins with his Wielders. Cecily described, with as even a voice as possible, their encounter in Wesfell.

“She’s right, it was Daro,” Griff said. “Hard as it is to admit. Even with that mask, any of us would have recognized him.”

“Well, he is a bit hard to miss,” Callum said.