The door creaked open and Cillian entered with an aura about her like a grizzled veteran contemplating a coming battle. She glanced at the sanctor who was still fretting over our momentary touch, and her lips tightened.
“Your time is up, Edrin,” she said. “We will take care of your friend until she has recovered enough to leave.” It was a polite way of saying she was hostage to my good behaviour. Cillian had learned the game of politics well.
Charra grabbed my sleeve. “Promise me.”
How could I refuse? “You have my word.”
A small sigh of relief escaped her lips. “Do whatever you have to.” She was telling me she was expendable and that her daughter needed me more, whatever the cost.
A strange emotion surfaced, one that took me a while to recognize: shame. It had been a long time since shame and I had last been acquainted. I’d had my fair share of regrets over the years, but not shame.
I knew fine well that the Arcanum had ways and means to discover Layla was Lynas’ mageborn daughter, and they might even find out that we had hidden that fact against the law of Setharis, whatever any falsified papers said. The Arcanum would destroy everything belonging to Charra as an example, and they would hunt Layla down and send her to the pyre. She was much too old to go through the Forging so they would put her down like a rabid dog. And there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do about it.
A magus could fight another magus, our loyalty belonging to Setharis and the Arcanum as whole, but the mageborn law was magically ingrained, so if they found out the truth about Layla then even I wouldn’t be able to lift a hand to stop them.
I hugged Charra tight, like it was our last. Tears blurred my sight. “Goodbye, my friend.” It had been all too brief and I doubted she would be allowed to see me again. I fixed her face in my mind, so I could remember it until my end.
She coughed, struggling not to cry. “There’s been absolutely no pleasure in knowing you, Walker.”
“Vile woman,” I said, smiling so I didn’t cry.
Cillian narrowed her eyes at us, not understanding the ripples beneath the surface of our conversation.
I stood on cramping and burning legs and waved off the guards. I welcomed the pain as I hobbled from the room.
As they escorted me down a hall back to my cell I caught sight of the very last thing I needed to see, my old tormentor, Harailt. I was so deep in despair that I couldn’t even bring myself to dredge up all the old grudges. I said nothing as the guards ushered me past him.
“Wait,” Harailt said. The guards halted. Cillian tapped her foot impatiently, but otherwise remained silent.
I turned my head to face him.
“Edrin Walker,” he said, with less hatred in his voice than I might have imagined, and showing no surprise at the sight of me.
“I’m not in the mood,” I said, lacking the strength to headbutt him. “Leave me be.”
“I owe you an apology, magus,” he replied.
I glared.
“For my past actions,” he continued. “I was less than gentlemanly. I hope you can forgive me.” He extended a hand.
I slapped it aside. A bright bead of blood welled up in my finger from a cut.
“Sorry,” Harailt said, holding his hand up to show the scuffed signet ring on his finger. The gold and onyx emblem of House Grasske was cracked and bent. “I found I could not part with it, even after… well, in any case I was foolish and petty in the past. I think you were the first to show me that. I am ashamed that I was not a better man. There are many things I would change if only I had the opportunity.”
“I…”
“All I can plead is an arrogant and ignorant childhood,” he said. “Events have transpired to educate me and put me on a new path.”
People could change a lot in ten years, but I couldn’t forget the terror he caused and I wasn’t the sort who forgave: by nature I was the sort of man who would let a grudge fester and then wait in a darkened alley to break your kneecaps with a hammer. Or I was before meeting Lynas, but without him I was slipping back. I refused to believe in this new Harailt. I sagged into my guards’ grip, not knowing what to say. In the end I just nodded, too dazed to reply. For years I’d nursed a variety of elaborate and brutal revenges, but now I was sick and tired of it all. What was the point? Cillian finally had enough of the delay and started walking again, the guards dragging me in her wake.
“What happened to him?” Had Eva been correct as to his changed nature? I refused to believe it.
“For a time he looked likely to succeed Lady Ilea,” Cillian said. “Instead he was cast out of his House. He is no longer the heir to House Grasske. His cousin sits in his stead. It has been commonly viewed as a wise decision.”
I couldn’t help but agree. The thought of Harailt with all the power and influence of a High House at his fingertips was madness.
Harailt ran after us, “Ah, I forgot to say; it has been… such a unique pleasure seeing you again. It’s been far too long, my little Edrin.” He chuckled, leaning in until we were almost touching. “I hope we meet again, very soon.”
That intonation. Those slick tones of the Old Town – the very words of the blood sorcerer!
Out of the sight of the others he mouthed “I skinned your friend” and smirked in malicious amusement.
I snarled and tried to tear his fucking throat out with my bare teeth, only to be wrenched back by my guards. “He’s a monster! Harailt is a fucking blood sorcerer in league with the Skallgrim! I’ll gut you, you–” They slammed me up against a wall, knocking the wind out of me.
Harailt staggered back and fell on his arse, a look of shock on his face as his eyes flicked from me to Cillian. “The man has gone mad. I was just trying to be nice.”
Liarliarliarliar!
I lost it. Biting and clawing, thrashing to get free. Kill! Come Dissev–
Something slammed into my skull and I sagged, everything gone blurry. A noxious rag was placed against my mouth, its alchemic stench making everything hazy and distant.
I woke wrapped in chains as they dumped me into the bed. They may as well not have bothered – my body was a wreck after letting the magic roar through me like a wildfire. And I hadn’t even saved Charra in the end, just delayed her death. Exhaustion, despair and gnawing fury crushed me down.
The sanctor settled into the chair at the bottom of the bed to keep watch.
“Get some rest,” Cillian said. “You will need it. I hope for your sake everything you told me was true.” She chewed on her lip. “I hope for our sake that you were wrong.”
I screwed up gritty eyes, tried to focus. I’ll kill you Harailt! If it’s the last thing I ever do. But darkness descended, fatigue dragging me down into a safe and welcome nothingness.
Chapter 22
I yelp and try to flinch away, but for a young girl Charra’s grip is strong as iron.
“Don’t be such a baby,” she chides. With a cloth already stained red she dabs away crusted blood from my mashed lips and swollen nose.