Clovis regarded him evenly.
“My Whisperer sees much. He said you fled across the bridge, and once I knew that, I knew precisely where to find you.”
“How did he see me cross?” Crian asked, thinking of that horrible night. “Was he one of the soldiers?”
His father shook his head, laughing once more. “Not at all, you impudent whelp. My Whisperer paved the way for you. He was the one who chased the soldiers away, allowing you to cross unmolested. An unfortunate loss of life for those who perished, yes, but you are worth a hundred of them, my dear son. I had to know. I had to be certain.”
Crian’s jaw dropped open. He remembered how fortunate he had felt when the giant beast of smoke had lashed out at the soldiers. But still, the terror that had accompanied it, the bloody spectacle.…
With newfound horror, Crian stared at his father, wondering what manner of monster Clovis called ally.
“So you know,” Clovis said, reaching underneath the table, “I went into the Ghostwood myself to gather your things.” Up came Crian’s dragonglass mirror. He slid it across the flat surface, and Crian stopped it with hands that seemed to move on their own. His father’s gaze seemed to linger on the mirror, and the faintest trace of sadness flashed across his face.
“We only had to wait for you to come to us,” Clovis said, the corner of his lip upturned. “I never imagined you would arrive so quickly.”
“But why?” Nessa murmured so quietly that Crian could barely hear her. But his father did, and to Crian’s shock the man’s expression softened.
“Oh, sweet child,” he said, “if I had caught my son fleeing into the delta by himself, he could have accused his sister of lying and given me any excuse rather than admitting to his sins. I needed to catch him in the act-catch him with you, my sweet-in order to prove how much he has betrayed me.”
His father grinned then, an expression so malicious that Crian flew up from his chair, knocking it back against the double doors, and grabbed Nessa around the shoulders, moving her behind him. Avila lifted her sword and began to rise, but the Highest grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and yanked her back down. Her ruined face sneered at him.
“None of this is Nessa’s doing!” Crian screamed. “You will let her go, and you will let her go now. Take me if you want-execute me-but let her live, or so help me, I will end you both right here and now.”
His father sighed and closed his eyes. He pulled the silver-white hair back from his forehead, a gesture he always used when frustrated.
“I am not going to hurt her,” he said. “And although I would so enjoy hurting you, I will refrain from doing that either. Though you turned your back on your deity, you did so without fully realizing it, which makes you a far different case from your renegade sister.”
Crian’s jaw dropped open. This was a most unexpected answer to receive. The tiniest hint of hope rose in his belly as he listened to his father speak.
“However, you have broken the laws of our family, and that carries a price. Your title of Left Hand is at once rescinded, an honor I now place on Avila’s shoulders.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Avila.
“Silence.” He turned back to Crian. “Also, you will accompany us back to Veldaren and be stripped of the Crestwell name. You are no longer welcome at the family compound on the other side of the Queln. You will no longer regard me as father, and should you ever see your mother again, you shall not look her in the eye. Your room in Tower Servitude is hereby revoked. You will serve as a member of the Watch, living in the Tower Keep alongside the other mongrels who chose to give in to weakness, until you earn enough coin to find a dwelling of your own.”
Crian was shocked. He stepped back, a hand over his heart. I am to live? His blood pumped faster and he glanced behind him at Nessa, who was shaking, her hands clenched in front of her mouth.
“And what of my love?” he asked.
“Her?” said his father. “She’s Ashhur’s concern. What the girl does is up to her. She is free to go home if she chooses, or she can join you in Veldaren. I hold no ill will against her, naïve and stupid as she is. I expected better from you, Crian, not her.”
Nessa abruptly ceased her crying. Her wide, pleading blue eyes gazed up from beneath the snarled tangle of red hair.
“I am free to choose?” she asked.
The Highest pushed his chair back, stood up, and rounded the table. He knelt down until their faces were level.
“It is your choice,” he said. “Do you love this traitor enough to relinquish your god and fall into the arms of Karak? Do you love him enough to give up your life of ease and simplicity and spend the rest of your days washing clothes, raising babes, and cooking meals for a man who will never earn enough coin for you to live comfortably?”
Nessa gazed up at Crian, and for a moment he thought for sure she would flee from him, flee from the hardships that such a life would entail. Instead she rose from the floor, walked up to him with a confidence he had never seen before in her, rose up on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Always and forever, I choose you,” she said, biting her lower lip. “No matter what hardships we face, comfort will always come if you are by my side.”
“So be it,” said his father.
“You would do this for me?” Crian said to Nessa. “For us? Give up your life, your god?”
“What is a god to someone like me?” she replied. “All the prayer in the world would mean nothing if I never saw you again.”
“The choice is made,” declared the Highest. “You leave with us tonight, and your sentence begins the moment we arrive back on Veldaren soil. And do not even think of trying to rescue Moira. Your sister has made her choice, and she will die with the rest of the blasphemers in this godforsaken swampland.”
His father nodded to Avila, who scowled as she worked her way around the table, giving them both a wide berth. She yanked open one of the double doors and stormed out of the room. The Highest stood and approached him. He leaned in and whispered into Crian’s ear, just loud enough for his son to hear.
“Be glad forces other than myself wish you alive, boy. You tread dangerous ground here. You will be watched.”
With those foreboding words, Clovis left the room, his white hair trailing behind him like the tail of a sea serpent.
Once he and Nessa were alone, Crian tried to put his father’s anger out of his mind. He turned to his love and kissed her lips, softly, slowly. It felt as if she stole the breath from his lungs.
“Are we making the right choice?” he asked. “Deacon is no ally of theirs. Can we really leave them here under his control? He’s the one preparing the defense of Haven, a defense which I’m sure will capitulate the moment the battle begins.”
“What other choice do we have?” Nessa asked.
“I don’t know,” Crian said. “We can still try to flee-maybe run in opposite directions. Something, Nessa, something! They’ll die otherwise.”
“We are the only people we can hope to save,” Nessa whispered, but she didn’t sound confident. She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. She simply latched onto his arm and didn’t let go.
“We will send a letter to the others once we get to Veldaren,” he said. “They can’t watch us forever.”
She nodded. “That we can do.”
The decision made, Crian let out a sigh and accepted it. He scooped up his mirror from the table, tucked it beneath his elbow, and offered Nessa his arm. Together they walked out of the dining hall, virtually running toward the open door at the end of the corridor, where his father and Avila waited with the horses to bring them to their new lives as hard-working, nameless commoners.
CHAPTER 22