He stood there in the quiet for a few moments, waiting for Avila to do as he asked, but he heard nothing but her repetitive breathing. His anger grew, and he was about to spin around and scream, when Avila broke the silence first.
“You never answered my question,” she said. Whatever sexuality she had tried to exude was gone. “Who is Ness?”
His heart clenched and he found it difficult to draw in air.
“It’s no one, just a peasant girl,” he replied, but the tremble in his voice exposed his lie. With his family, Crian was always exposed by his emotions.
Avila laughed, and it was such a dispassionate sound that it chilled him to the bone.
“Just a peasant girl? I think not. The men of our house have taken a peasant or two over the years for sport, but they’ve never whispered their names in passion. Tell me the truth, Crian. Does this Ness have anything to do with the hawk you released?”
Crian spun around and stared at his sister, who gazed back with an expression of cold calculation that showed in the smooth rigidity around her eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, did you not wish me to know of that? There are always eyes upon you, Crian, as there are upon the rest of us. At first I thought you were communicating with Father behind my back, but the hawk was not one of ours. Now, though…” Her fingers traced absently through the space between her breasts. “Now you make me wonder.”
Crian kept his mouth shut.
Avila laughed. “Your silence is answer enough, brother. There could only be so many women with such a name who are worthy enough to steal your favor. Is it Nessa DuTaureau, youngest daughter of Isabel DuTaureau? A member of Ashhur’s First Families? If so, at least your tastes haven’t fallen all the way down to the mud. I wonder where the child is now.…”
“You leave her be,” growled Crian. He inched to his right, where Integrity hung from the corner of his wardrobe. If Avila noticed, it didn’t bother her. If anything, she looked more pleased.
“At last you admit it. I know the girl crossed Ashhur’s Bridge and into the delta. She arrived with her brother, and last I heard, they were staying at the Gemcroft estates.” Her tone became taunting. “Is that why you were sending the bird, sweet brother? Does my sibling turn down my advances because of forbidden love?”
She paused, her eyes boring into him. Thinking. Plotting.
“I almost didn’t believe it,” she said. “But it’s her, isn’t it? The reason you dye the silver from your hair?”
Her words were like a spear to the gut. His lack of clothing was nothing compared to the nakedness he felt now.
“You don’t control me,” he said, doing his best to remain calm. “I can do as I wish, fall in love with whomever I would like. I have broken no law, no commandment.”
Avila leapt off the bed, her lithe, naked form as agile as that of a lioness.
“You are Left Hand of the Highest!” she screamed, before regaining her composure. Her voice lowered. “You have a responsibility to your station and your family, not to mention your god. To continue on with her, you must disown us, your own kin. If you do that, you will not be welcomed in Neldar any longer. You will be an outcast, a man without a country. Ashhur’s people will not take you, I guarantee you that.”
“I’ll stay in the delta,” Crian said. “We can make a home there, far to the south, where the people are few. We wouldn’t be the only ones to have left the First Families.”
Avila shook her head and sighed. “You have always been naïve, brother, but this is painful. Why Father chose you as his Left Hand over me, I will never understand. Haven is doomed no matter what those heathens do. In five weeks the entire area will be crushed, and the delta will become part of Neldar. Father has ensured that a faction within will resist no matter what the rest might say, and their resistance is all we need. It is on his order, the order of the Highest, that this scenario has been plotted out, and he has Karak on his side.”
Crian’s blood pumped faster and faster. “What of the innocents? What of the young? What of our sister? Moira still resides in Haven! We have not been given word to bring her out.”
“We have no sister in Haven, brother. Moira ceased to be a Crestwell the moment she disobeyed our family’s edicts. She receives no warning, no special treatment. She is what you will become should you continue your stupid infatuation with this Nessa: banished. And what is this talk of innocents? The delta is populated by miscreants and blasphemers, adults and children alike. There is no innocence to be found. They have all turned their back on their creator, and they deserve every bit of the righteousness they are about to receive.”
“You’re going to let them all die,” he whispered.
“No,” replied Avila, folding her arms over her bare chest. “We’re going to kill them.”
He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Crian wanted to tell her she was wrong, deluded, but he knew enough about his father’s greed, his cold, unmoving faith in both Karak’s and his own perfection, to know that her words were true.
“Come back to us, brother,” Avila said, softening her voice. “Lie with me. Don’t do anything you might later regret.”
What happened next was a blur. Without thinking, Crian snatched an iron candleholder from atop his wardrobe. Avila lunged for a bundle that lay at her feet, possibly containing her hidden sword, but Crian was quicker. Down came the candleholder, striking her in the middle of the forehead. Her head snapped back, a red gash opening up in the middle of her pallid flesh. Again he hit her, and again, spraying dark blood in the candlelight. Avila slumped in his arms, and he shoved her backward, sprawling her across the makeshift bed with her arms and legs splayed. Her face was destroyed, her lovely features warped and speckled with crimson. Her chest rose and then fell, exhaling a bloody fizz that spread over her pale lips.
“What have I done?” he whispered, panic roaring through him, pounding between his ears.
Crian turned away from his sister’s still form, tearing through his things. He flung on a smock and leather breeches, and tossed a chainmail vest over his shoulder. Into a sack he dumped a change of clothes, three candles, a dagger, a box of tindersticks, and his wineskin. As a final keepsake he snatched the dragonglass mirror off the post on which it hung, stuffing it in the sack with everything else. In his haste he didn’t bother fastening Integrity to his waist, instead holding the scabbard by its strap and letting it dangle from his hand as he hefted his sack and bolted out of the tent.
The waning moon lit the countryside in an unnatural glow, and to Crian it seemed to stare down at him with a menacing sideways grin. The chill in the air took hold of him, even as the heat generated by his pumping arms and legs grew. His booted feet pounded the grass, shifting between the tents and lean-tos that surrounded him. His senses seemed heightened, his eyes wide, his ears on alert for the slightest shift or call. He ran into the stables, saddled a chestnut mare, fastening his belongings to the saddle, and then mounted her.
“Hey there!” called a voice. Crian spun on instinct, Integrity lashing out. Its sharp steel found flesh. Mouth open, jaw trembling, he watched as Harren crumbled to the ground beside the horse, a wide gash in his throat. Crian stared as the blood pooled beneath the fat man. In his mind’s eye, he didn’t see the lazy grunt he’d sent to the stables for punishment. Instead he saw Nessa in the ruins of Haven, bloodied and beaten by his father’s army.
He fled Omnmount as distant voices began to call out in alarm.
CHAPTER 15
“So is it everything you hoped it would be?” asked Kindren.
Aullienna nodded, her heart skipping a beat as she stared at the massive cavern before her. It was a breathtaking sight, both beautiful and macabre.