Combined with the impending war declared by Valdemar and his Bruallian hordes, Leodia was about to burn quite soon, it seemed. Gile had been the spark to start those fires, but still had no idea what the endgame was. He would figure it out in time, however. There was always a way if you thought things through long enough.
He stepped into a threadbare chamber, where Killian lounged on a cushioned chaise. His crimson-shaded hair hung to his shoulders, contrasting with the green of his eyes that glimmered beneath his brow. The embroidered vest of olive velvet and his unlaced, billowy white shirt were carelessly wrinkled, the cuffs undone. His slender hand rested against his knee, a silver-chased goblet between his fingers. He glanced up when Gile entered.
"The taste fades. Have ye noticed, Gile?"
Gile folded his arms. "The taste of what?"
"Every bloody thing." Killian's lips twisted. "Take this drink for instance. Sinthium, one of the most potent elixirs ever blended. In the old times, we'd sip a thimbleful and laugh like bloody fools as we watched the world spin around us." He swirled the mixture in his goblet, lost in thought.
Downing the contents, he grimaced and flung the chalice out the open window. "Now it is little more than water to my tongue. The taste fades, mate. Everything does. It's the curse of living. The curse of time. Now I only feel alive when I put my bloody life on the line." He grinned, but his gaze was distant.
Gile stifled a yawn. He didn't confide in others, and certainly wouldn't think of doing so with Killian. They were on the same course for the moment, but he knew Killian considered him a rival, someone to contend with for the High Lady's graces. Gile couldn't blame him, considering that he felt the same. Alliances were only meant to be temporary, and then it was each man for his own interests.
Killian smirked as if reading his thoughts. "The High Lady certainly could've given me a better conversationalist. I've had more stimulating discussions with my arse. But I suppose she doesn't employ you for your wit, does she?"
"She uses me to get things done. More than what I've seen from you and yours since I've been here."
Killian laughed. "The lad has spirit after all. Glad to see it, boyo. And don't worry your rather ugly skull about what I'm cooking up. It'll be worth the wait, I promise. But that's not what I called you here for."
"What did you call me for?"
"To upset my guest." Killian looked at the window. "We're about to have company, and I don't want him to get too comfortable. You're just the type of unknown factor that's bound to drive ol' Drowan all frothy."
"Lord Drowan? The Obdura Speaker is coming here?" Gile's mind flickered, trying to catch up. "Why?"
Killian held up a warning finger. "You're about to find out, boyo."
With a rush of wind, the scent of rotted leather wafted into the room. A bat-like shadow flitted from outside the window, but what nimbly landed on the sill was a man — a lithe dark-haired figure garbed in all black save for a snowy satin shirt. Lord Drowan paused there for a moment as though feeling for some invisible trap. Once satisfied, he gracefully stepped into the room with an air of unflappable calm.
"I appreciate you losing that beastly form." Killian arched a wry eyebrow. "Morphosis is a Craft I have little use for, except in emergencies. It's simply quite disgusting. And too much like those beastly Dhamphir, besides."
"For you, perhaps. But I do not fear using the Gifts given me." Drowan's eyes flicked to where Gile stood. "What is he doing here?"
"Who?" Killian looked as if noticing Gile for the first time. "Oh, you mean Gile. He begged to be part of me clan, and I don't have the heart to refuse a man that begs."
Drowan never took his eyes off Gile. "Alaric was looking to question this one further. You knew that, Killian. To find him in your company is disconcerting."
"Alaric wants a lot of things. I lose track of them all." Killian grinned.
Drowan glanced from Gile to Killian and back again. Gile saw what Killian did. As he had predicted, Gile's presence unsettled Drowan. By arriving alone, Drowan made an unspoken statement that he needed no protection even deep in Killian's base of operations, surrounded by the Malic Sect. But whatever intimidating he meant to do was dashed to pieces by his wariness of a trap.
"We must talk alone, Killian. What I say comes straight from Alaric's mouth."
Killian shrugged his slender shoulders. "Whatever you have to say can be spoken in front of Gile. We don't have any secrets in the Malic Sect."
Drowan's lips thinned as he cast another baleful glance at Gile. "The rumors are true. The domestics rally against us in war. Marcellus Admorran has slain Yanus and is in Norland this moment, seeking to convince the Norlanders to join his cause."
"Didn't know Yanus would go belly-up so easily. That get you all gutted, Drowan? Your masterpiece used as fodder against another Reaver?" Killian gave a twisted grin when Drowan refused to take the bait. "As for Norland, what's to worry? Without enemies, a sword starts to dull. As well as a bloke's wits." He chuckled as though at a secret joke. "Let our beloved king feel the fires of their hatred this time. We've been used for ages as fodder for the Blood, always our lives before theirs. This is more than just a struggle against rabid domestics. There is another force at play, one that may have its day in the end — stab me eyes bloody on that."
"You mean the Guelph." Drowan's voice was cold. "No more than rabble that will blow away at the slightest breeze."
"This rabble has exposed our presence to men. This rabble has the most bloodthirsty army man has seen sitting tight on the borders of the Dragonspine. This rabble has us at the brink of war. Take them lightly at your bloody peril." Killian looked at Drowan with narrowed eyes. "Will you send forces to Aceldama?"
"I already have. I'm here to see you do the same. Alaric has shown he can withstand outstanding odds and win. When he does, he will remember those who stood with him and those who did not. Forget not with whom your allegiance lies."
"Bugger my allegiance." Killian tilted his head, studying Drowan. "Don't tell me you enjoy having your hands tied, Drowan. Aren't you tired of Alaric's leash around your neck? You have ambitions, don't deny it."
Drowan looked away for a moment, but when he spoke his face was smooth and unreadable. "We all have ambitions, Killian, but they are secondary to the interests of the Blood. Celestine has shown complete support. Tasith has as well. I will do the same. Do you think to do otherwise for your part?"
"I plan on doing what I always do, boyo. What's best for me and my Sect."
Drowan frowned. "I always knew you to be reckless. But never a fool. If you cross Alaric, you will only find yourself destroyed."
"What I'll find myself is still standing when the rest of ye are burned, mate. Alaric told us to choose wisely. I've made me choice, and it's on the side of those who will win this bloody war."
"So, the truth at last." Drowan didn't seem shocked. "You have joined with these rebels. You have put your lot in with the Guelph." He gestured to Gile. "Which means this one is a part of your ruse as well."
Killian spread out his arms. "Guilty as charged, mate. It should be no surprise. I never cared for Alaric's tiptoe approach, anyhow."
Drowan backed away as though Killian was infected with a contagious disease. "Your life will be forfeit. Your days are numbered for your treachery, Killian. You and all who stand with you will fall like dead branches, mark my words. We shall not meet again." He stepped into the darkened corner, where Gile felt him focus. He wasn't skilled enough to distinguish the different merges of Eler and Aether, but Drowan's words hung in the air as he vanished. The shadows rippled in the wake of his disappearance, then all was still.