Cart clenched his jaw. Ashara was not exactly lying outright, but if she told the truth about the Dragon Forge, she would give the Sentinel Marshal what she needed: the dragonmarked houses would rise as one to condemn Jorlanna for daring to steal Gaven's Mark of Storm. Why not just tell them?
"I see," Mauren said. "So you do not wish to assist us in bringing Jorlanna to justice for her crimes?"
"I would if I could, but I have no information to give."
"And you, Harkin? Can you offer us any further insight?"
Harkin merely smiled and shrugged.
"I see. Then I will be forced to treat you both as willing accomplices when I do bring charges."
"As I said, I would help if I could," Ashara said.
"Well, if you think of anything you might have forgotten to mention, do let me know. I'm staying at the Scarlet Bastion, in Chalice Center."
"I hope you enjoy your stay in Fairhaven, Sentinel Marshal."
Mauren stood up and frowned down at the three of them. "I had hoped we could be allies in this just cause. I am a dangerous adversary."
Ossa brought her face close to Cart's again and whispered so only he could hear her. "Don't think I fell for your innocent act. I'm watching you, Cart. I'm watching all of you."
With a lingering last glance, Mauren made her way out of the bakery, Ossa trailing along behind her.
Ashara let out a long sigh and put her head on the table. "That was unpleasant," she said into her arm.
"I'm confused," Cart said. "Why didn't-?"
Harkin interrupted. "What was that project in the Blackcaps, anyway?"
"A weapon," Ashara said, looking up. "It brought the siege of Varna to a quick close."
Harkin whistled. "Doesn't sound like a failed experiment to me."
"Well, it did what it was supposed to do at Varna. But there were flaws in the design."
"So why not tell-?" Cart began.
"Flaws?" Harkin interrupted again, and Cart thought he caught a sidelong glance that suggested he did it on purpose, trying to irritate Cart. Ashara didn't seem to notice. "What kind of flaws?"
"Central to the design. It drew on unstable sources of power-sources we shouldn't have been dealing with at all."
Harkin smiled. "Now you have me intrigued."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You know you can talk to me-you always could." He shot another glance at Cart. "Remember how we used to talk through projects together?"
Ashara's face flushed bright red and she avoided Harkin's gaze. "Stop," she said.
Harkin turned to Cart, a broad smile on his face. "It's remarkable, really," he said. "You can find flaws in a weaving so much more easily if it's traced on your skin."
"Harkin, stop," Ashara said again.
"What's wrong? Are you afraid the warforged will get jealous? Can it even do that?"
Cart stood. He could almost hear Havrakhad's voice in his mind, reminding him to float above the tumult of emotions he was feeling, but he didn't want to. He wanted to be caught up in his rage, to give Harkin the pummeling he so richly deserved, to show Ashara that he wouldn't let an oaf like Harkin upset her.
"Oh, are you leaving?" Harkin said.
"No," Cart said, "you are."
"Not yet. Ashara and I have matters to discuss. Why don't you get some fresh air-stand outside and make sure the Sentinel Marshal doesn't come back?"
That sealed it. Cart seized a handful of Harkin's coat and shirt in one metal-bound fist and heaved him to his feet.
"Unhand me!" Harkin yelped.
Cart's eyes fell on Harkin's dragonmark, a small pattern on his left temple, and he almost obeyed the Cannith heir's command out of pure reflex. "No," he said. He lifted Harkin off the ground, carried him to the door of the bakery, and tossed him out.
Harkin landed on his feet, stumbled a few steps, and drew himself up, his face livid with fury. "You should not have done that, warforged. My House gave you life, and my hands have the power to take your life away."
"I was birthed in a Cannith forge, it's true," Cart said, folding his arms across his chest. "But that doesn't make you my father. Aundair's army gave me my training, my discipline. Haldren gave me my post and taught me much about the world. Ashara restored me to health when an assassin's blade might have killed me. Havrakhad gave me my first glimpse of real understanding. I owe much to many people, but to you… your family name alone does not command my respect."
"So you are Haldren's Cart." Harkin sneered. "You'll pay for this, war-forged, and so will Ashara." He spun and stormed down the street as Cart observed the cresting wave of rage that had surged in his chest subsiding, replaced by a growing feeling of dread.
Aunn appeared in the doorway, breathless and disheveled. "I'm so sorry," he panted. "It's gone."
"I know." Gaven lowered Senya's body to the ground and tried to arrange her in a position of dignity, painfully aware of the eyes of the assembled elves boring into his back.
"Another Thuranni," Aunn said. "She can't be far. If we hurry-"
"It doesn't matter." Senya's hands were so cold that they seemed to sap the warmth and life from his own as he folded them over her chest.
"What happened?" Aunn was right behind him now, looking over his shoulder.
"Her ancestor's presence was the only thing keeping her upright. And she could only linger here so long, I guess." Gaven stood up and looked down at the body.
Senya sat on the ground by the river outside Paluur Draal. She stretched her long legs in front of her, and leaned back on her hands. He'd never seen her so beautiful, so alluring. Her hair was wet, clinging to her face and neck, and drops of water glistened on her bare shoulders. "It's still early," she said with a flirtatious smile.
Gaven turned away and started pulling his boots on. "You never give up, do you?"
"Not when I know what I want."
Goodbye, Senya, he thought. I'm glad you managed to find what you truly wanted. Thank you for helping me do the same.
Aunn stepped to put Gaven partly between the elves and himself, glancing nervously at the assembly. "So what happens now?"
Gaven turned to face the elves. "What would you have me do?" he said. He had no idea whether they would respect the ancestor's last command and let him leave in peace, not after the murmurs he'd heard calling for his death.
A man at the front of the gathered elves stood and stepped forward. He wore a shapeless robe similar to Senya's, which suggested that he was a priest like she was, though he didn't wear the same skull tattoo disfiguring his face, and his reddish hair cascaded over his shoulders.
"We have funeral rites to perform," the priest said, "which outsiders may not attend."
A few voices in the crowd seemed to suggest that some of the elves, at least, weren't happy with the ancestor's command, but the priest silenced them with a commanding glare. He stepped closer to Gaven and lowered his voice.
"I would very much like to understand what happened here, if you can come outside with me and explain it before you leave."
"I'd be happy to," Gaven said. He smiled at the priest. "Especially since you seem to have the authority to get me out of here alive."
The priest did not return his smile. "Which I do only because our ancestor commanded it. That is part of what I wish to understand."
"Fair enough," Gaven said. "Shall we step outside?"
"Sons and daughters of Aerenal," the priest said, "make ready the rites for the departed."
A few elves stood again, some who might have been temple acolytes, others who looked more like warriors-including the one who had barred Gaven's path before, who again drew a scimitar and stood in the way of the door.
"Stand down, Vieran," the priest said. "You heard the command."
The warrior's face was a grim mask, and Gaven felt his body tense in preparation for a fight. The priest stood face to face with Vieran and put his hands on the warrior's shoulders.