Chapter Twenty

Frantically Caelan pressed his fingers against Elandra's throat and found a pulse. He sagged with relief and gathered her still body in his arms, drawing her back into the concealment of the darkness.

Across the parade ground, a group of Madruns were coming now, having been alerted by the screams and the flash of light. Bearing torches, they ran with their uncanny speed, and more joined them. It would be scant minutes before they arrived to finish what the shadows had begun.

Laying Elandra down next to the door, Caelan retrieved his sword, then remembered the half-seen assailant who had thrown the dagger at him.

Breathing out short and hard, Caelan closed his fist around the hilt of the dagger and plucked it from the wood. Using sevaisin he joined with the weapon, learning who owned it and who had thrown it.

Agel.

The answer made him ill, but he snapped from the joining and gazed around swiftly without sparing time for his emotions. His nostrils flared, drawing in scents, sifting them. He spared one more glance at the approaching Madruns, then hurried off to the right, in the direction from which the dagger had been thrown.

At the front corner of the temple vestibule, he found a narrow flight of steps heading down the side of the temple. At the foot of them crouched a man in pale robes, struggling with a broken shoe lacing.

Agel.

Caelan’s heart felt like stone in his chest. Gripping his sword, he went hurtling down the steps.

Agel sprang up to run, but he was hampered by his shoe. He went no more than a few paces before Caelan caught him and drove him full force to the ground.

Crying out, Agel lay unmoving beneath him. Caelan scrambled up, seizing his cousin by his robes and hauling him upright. He shook Agel the way a dog would shake a rat.

“Give us the way in!” he said through his teeth.

Agel moaned something, reeling bonelessly in Caelan’s grip.

“Damn you to hell if you do not get us inside! Agel!”

At that moment he was ready to strangle his cousin from sheer rage if nothing else. He had nothing to lose now, nothing to care about.

As though sensing that, in silence Agel pulled a large metal key from his pocket.

Caelan seized it and turned, dragging his cousin with him as he ran back up the steps.

The Madruns were less than fifty paces from the main ceremonial steps. They roared at the sight of him and quickened their pace.

Stepping over Elandra’s unconscious form, Caelan slammed the key into the lock and turned it. The heavy door opened with a creak of its hinges.

He shoved Agel inside and picked up the girl. Her head lolled over his arm, her long hair spilling down like a curtain. Caelan carried her inside, then propped her against him while he pulled the door shut and locked it again. A heavy bar leaned against the wall. He threw that into the brackets as additional security.

A heavy thump against the panels made him flinch back. More thuds and kicks resounded off the door, and he could hear the cries of the enemy outside.

On a pedestal near the door, a single lamp cast a feeble glow. Caelan turned around and saw a narrow foyer with an open doorway at the opposite end. The air smelled musty and unclean. He heard unfamiliar sounds in the distance, and his skin crawled.

Agel stood erect once more, no longer stunned. His eyes met Caelan’s stonily even as a fresh barrage of kicks and thumps came from the door.

“That won’t hold against them long,” Agel said.

“Even with a spell-lock?”

“I know nothing of such things.”

Caelan didn’t trouble to argue. “Lead us below, to the hiding place of the priests.”

Agel frowned in defiance. “You’ll find no refuge here, disbeliever.”

Caelan’s final shreds of respect for this man faded. So Agel had joined the ranks of the blasphemers. His healer’s robes were a sham, his piety fake.

“Liar,” Caelan said harshly. “You have sipped the blood of the damned.”

Agel’s eyes flinched slightly, as though Caelan’s knowledge surprised him.

“You belong to Sien,” Caelan accused him. “Admit it!”

Agel inclined his head.

Grief knotted itself in Caelan’s heart, but he stayed remote from it. There was no time to deal with Agel now. Nor did he intend to discuss Agel’s attempt to kill him. Instead, he met his cousin’s wary eyes. “In the name of the empress, give her the assistance you would deny me.”

“The empress has no authority here,” Agel said sharply.

“What is this?” Another, deeper voice broke in.

Caelan turned quickly to face the doorway at the far end of the foyer.

Sien emerged, his deep set eyes luminous and alert in the gloom. His saffron robes had been discarded. He wore instead a tunic and leggings beneath a heavy traveling cloak.

At the sight of Caelan he checked, stared, then frowned. “You have brought the enemy to us,” he said. “You fool! Could you not lead them away long enough for—”

Caelan hefted the girl higher in his arms. “I ask help for the empress.”

Sien’s frown deepened. “The empress,” he said as though he did not recognize Elandra.

“Great Gault, man!” Caelan cried. “The empress! Your sovereign ruler.”

“Yes, of course,” Sien said, blinking. “Her arrival is unexpected. It will alter things—” Breaking off his sentence, he seemed to recover his court manners. With a slight bow, he gestured toward the doorway behind him. “This way.”

Caelan strode forward without hesitation. Beyond the doorway, a flight of steps descended steeply. He could see a feeble glow of light below, and he went down the steps as fast as he could with his burden. Behind him, he heard a low murmur of voices as though Sien was giving Agel a set of instructions.

I am mad to come here, Caelan thought, but he shoved his doubts away. There was no choice. He could not reason with the Madruns, or ask for civilized treatment if they were to take Elandra prisoner. They would defile and kill her, and the very thought of such a fate made him tighten his hold involuntarily.

He would not fail this woman, he vowed silently, still going down steps. He would not.

At the bottom of the steps, he stopped and gazed around apprehensively. The place was featureless, swept clean. Aside from the small lamp on its pedestal, he saw no furnishings. Three doors surrounded him, all firmly shut. The smell down here was worse, hinting of decay and death.

He could tell himself that it was only the stench associated with blood sacrifices, that entrails for the auguries had to be cleaned and disposed of somewhere, that carcasses of dead animals had to be butchered for daily distribution to the poor.

But his instincts knew there was more to the smell than innocent surface explanations. There was something darker at work down here. Something he did not want to meet, or know.

He swallowed hard, half-ready to retreat, but Sien joined him and walked across to a door carved with the faces of unnamed spirits. He pulled it open.

“Through here. Is she injured?”

“I don’t know,” Caelan replied, carrying her through.

He found himself in a narrow passageway, unlit except for the lamplight cast from behind him. When Sien shut the door, they were plunged into cold darkness.

“Wait,” Sien said, and a second later a dim radiance appeared. It spread, pushing back the encompassing darkness.

The light glowed from Sien’s left hand, faint but steady, just enough to show their way.

Caelan found his heartbeat thudding too fast. He swallowed again, but it did not ease the dryness in his throat.

“You were nearly too late,” the priest remarked. “They will be leaving soon. Or so they intended before you led the Madruns here. Now there may not be an opportunity. We are not as well hidden down here as we should be.”

“What do you mean?” Caelan asked quickly with a sharp look at the priest. “Is the emperor here?”

“Of course.”

Caelan blinked, too astonished at his luck to speak.

It was Sien’s turn to frown at him. “Is that not why you brought her to the temple?”

Confused, Caelan swung his gaze away. “Yes. But I— I thought we were too late.”

“You nearly were. If she is hurt, I had better examine her. Or let Agel attend her. It will not do for the emperor to see her in this state.”

Unwillingly Caelan halted. He knelt and gently propped the girl against his knee, supporting her while Sien bent over her.

She looked so young and vulnerable. Even smudged with dirt and soot, she was breathtaking. He could have gazed at her for hours, marveling at the delicacy of her bone structure, at the wide, clear expanse of her brow, at the thick crescent of her dark lashes against her cheekbones. Tall and slender, she lay against him with no more weight than a feather. Even in her bedraggled clothes and tangled hair, her high lineage showed plainly in her narrow wrists and ankles, in the tapering perfection of her hands that all evening had gripped his with such strength and determination.

Caelan prayed for her now, worried that the shadow had damaged her irreparably.

“It was choking her,” he said softly. “I don’t—”

“What was?” Sien asked.

Only then did Caelan realize he had spoken aloud. He looked up and met the priest’s yellow gaze. An unnameable fear took hold of Caelan’s entrails and squeezed, but he forced himself not to look away.

“A shadow,” he replied. “A shadow of a man, but unattached to anyone alive or present.”

Sien did not seem surprised. He went on gazing into Caelan’s eyes as though to probe to his very soul. “Was it?” he asked.

His voice held only interest, nothing more.

Suspicion came alive in Caelan. He frowned. “You—”

“It did not act by my command,” Sien said, lifting his hand. “Cast no accusations at me.”

His remarks confirmed Caelan’s suspicions. “So you can command these creatures?” he asked. “You can bring them away from the person who casts them and make them do your bidding?”

Sien frowned at the empress, letting his hands hover just above her. “What is this material, this cloak?” he asked. “I cannot touch her.”

“Her cloak is Mahiran-made,” Caelan said. He found it interesting that the cloak’s spell could repel the priest. That alone told Caelan to not trust Sien. Not that he intended to anyway. He wished she had been wearing her hood. Perhaps then the shadow could not have reached her throat.

“For someone so young, she is remarkably resourceful,” Sien said.

“Yes, she is. And I asked you if you can separate men from their shadows.”

Looking cool and unruffled by Caelan’s questions, Sien went on gazing at the empress. “You are an unbeliever,” he replied. “I have no answers to give you.”

“But did you set this thing loose on her?” Caelan persisted with growing horror.

“No.”

“Do you know who—or what—did?”

Again Sien paused to glance at him. “An interesting phrasing of that question. What is your name, guardsman?”

Caelan was surprised that Sien had forgotten him. “Caelan E’non.”

“Ah, yes. You were rejected by this lady as a possible protector. Yet here you are. How interesting.” There was an idle note of amusement woven in Sien’s tone.

Caelan caught it, and his lips tightened. “You toy with me, Lord Sien,” he said grimly. “You know me from before that. You have seen me often at the heels of my former master.”

“Yes, I have. And now you serve the empress instead. Although you were not her chosen protector, and you do not wear her colors.”

“Rander Malk is dead,” Caelan said evasively. “Killed by shadows. Will she recover?”

Sien stared intently at him. “What will you pay for her recovery?”

Confused, Caelan reached for his belt. If it was a matter of a healing fee—

“No,” Sien said as though he had read the thought in Caelan’s mind. “Put away your coinage, fool. It is answers I want. Where do you come from? What spawned you? Why do you serve those who are doomed? Why do you resist us? Resist even your own kinsman Agel? What powers enable you to fight like no other man alive?”

Caelan’s chin lifted, and his eyes grew steely. “I have no answers for you.”

Sien backed away from the empress and stood up. “Then I have no help for her Majesty.”

Furiously Caelan moved on him fast, pinning him with enough force to make the priest’s shaved head thump against the wall. Eyes narrowed, Caelan glared at Sien. “No matter what unholy shadows you serve, your duty still lies here. Attend her Majesty now, or—”

Sien’s long fingers curled around Caelan’s, and Caelan felt sevaisin leap into him from the other man.

For the first time in his life, he experienced the joining from the other direction. It was strong but clumsily done. It was an invasion, a violation. And he could feel himself shifting also to sevaisin, as though to make the link doubly strong.

Horrified, Caelan held himself back, refusing to cooperate with what called to him.

He could have snapped the link with severance, but caution warned him not to reveal the other side of his gift.

That left him with no choice but to endure Sien’s exploration of his feelings and his thoughts, even parts of his memories.

Then the priest withdrew with sinuous slowness, his questing coldness fading away. Shuddering, Caelan broke free of the man, shoving himself back. His legs felt wobbly and weak. His stomach was roiling. He felt both chilled and hot, as though a fever had seized him. Most of all, he felt defiled, as though he had been bathed in slime.

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Sien’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was very informative.”

Caelan jerked out his dagger and held it on the man, ready to plunge it deep to end that smirk forever.

“I have a piece of you now,” Sien said fearlessly. “If you want it back, you must come to me of your own free will and ask for it.”

“No,” Caelan said hoarsely.

“You will come,” Sien said with soft assurance. “And you will give me the rest of your secrets in exchange.”

“Never.”

Laughter ghosted from Sien’s throat. His deep-set eyes glowed at Caelan with a madman’s fervor. “The shadow god wants you. He knows of you now. You are marked, and you cannot escape what awaits you.”

“You’re lying,” Caelan said defiantly. He closed his ears to what Sien was saying, refusing to believe it. “I know what you serve. You are darkness and blasphemy. You have betrayed the emperor and brought destruction down on the city. You’ll pay for it.”

Sien spread out his arms, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Why not now? Take vengeance for all those who have died tonight, and strike me down. It will teach you much.”

Caelan’s hand tightened on the hilt. Thoughts of the guardsmen, courtiers, women, and servants who had died needlessly tonight boiled through his mind, igniting his rage anew. He knew Sien was mocking him now, egging him on as though to test the limits of his temper. With all his heart he craved the satisfaction of killing the priest, but he stayed his hand. He would not do it, if only because the priest asked for it.

“Oh, come,” Sien said in false disappointment. “Do not hesitate. You are a champion in the arena. You have killed more men than you can count. Death walks at your shoulder. You call him friend. Are you not his best reaper?”

“No,” Caelan whispered, but his mouth quivered as he spoke.

“You take life so efficiently,” Sien said. “It is your talent. Tell me, in your culture what is a taker called?”

Caelan stared at him, skewered with guilt exactly as Sien intended. Loathing against both Sien and himself burned in his throat.

“Take my life,” Sien taunted him, “and learn. So much awaits you. Besides, do you not crave vengeance against your enemies? And I have conspired with them, have I not?”

“Why aren’t you with Tirhin right now?” Caelan asked around the lump choking his throat. “Why aren’t you out there, enjoying your triumph? The empire is destroyed—”

“Oh, not by half,” Sien said impatiently. “The head has been severed from the body, but neither are dead yet. They could easily be rejoined. Especially since the emperor is preparing to take the secret ways to safety at this moment. And the empress lies here at our feet, very close to joining her sovereign lord.” Anger flashed in Sien’s yellow eyes. “My work is far from finished.”

Caelan felt his entrails drawing into a cold knot. Drawing on his courage, he forced himself to go on facing the priest with defiance and contempt. “If you are so busy,” he said, “why don’t you run to Tirhin and help him?”

Sien laughed. “Can you really be so naive, so stupid as to think I want the prince to assume the throne?”

Caelan frowned at this monster in human guise. This was the man who had persuaded Tirhin to trust the Madruns and to ally his cause with theirs. This was the man who had abandoned his prince to the attack of the shyrieas that night on the mountainside. This was the man who had counseled Emperor Kostimon for years, yet tonight had turned on him in betrayal.

“You want the complete destruction of everything,” Caelan said slowly. “You want everything pulled down. You are working against everyone in the imperial family.”

A smile spread across Sien’s face. “Perhaps I have given you a small piece of myself in our joining,” he said in approval. “Your perception has improved.”

“It isn’t hard to fit the pieces together,” Caelan said angrily.

“No, it isn’t. Especially when I make it easy for you.”

A soft moan from the empress kept Caelan from retorting. He turned and knelt beside her as she stirred.

Moaning again, she lifted one hand to her brow and opened her eyes. She seemed lost and confused for a moment; then comprehension flooded her gaze and her eyes filled with tears.

She sat up, choking, and Caelan wished he could gather her tightly in his arms and hold her.

But she was the empress, and he was no one with the right to offer her such comfort.

“You are safe, Majesty,” Caelan said quickly, putting reassurance in his voice. As he spoke, he glanced up at Sien standing apart from them in the gloom, and hoped he told the truth. “We are beneath the temple.”

She glanced at Caelan fearfully and brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “The shadow—”

“It is gone,” Caelan reassured her.

She groped for the embroidered pouch that hung around her neck, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white. “Did you destroy the creature?”

He had a sudden fear that she might reveal to Sien the magical jewel she carried. “The shadow is gone,” Caelan said firmly.

Her eyes met his, and she seemed to see the warning in his gaze. Frowning, she looked away and swallowed. Her shoulders were trembling, and she drew up her knees, trying weakly to stand up. “It will return.”

“Not down here, Majesty,” Sien said with an unctuous bow.

At the sound of his voice, she gasped and stiffened. Caelan put a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

Sien stepped closer to them. “Nor can the Madruns break through our safeguards for a short time yet. Your guardsman has spoken the truth when he said you are safe. Are you ready to join the emperor?”

Elandra ignored the priest and looked at Caelan. “Assist me to my feet,” she said.

Although her voice was sharp and imperious, he could see how frightened she really was. In silence, he obeyed her and steadied her when she swayed. Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin regally, looking every inch an empress. Only her pallor and her tight grip on Caelan’s fingers betrayed her.

“Lord Sien,” she said unsteadily, “are you saying my husband is nearby?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Is he—is he alive or dead?”

Sien’s eyes widened. “Why, alive. Your Majesty need not fear.”

A reverberating crash from overhead made all of them look up.

Caelan’s throat tightened, and he reached for the hilt of his dagger. “The Madruns have broken through. Go on. Majesty. I will try to hold them as long as possible—”

“You fool!” Sien said sharply before Elandra could respond. “There are sufficient safeguards in their path that will hold the barbarians better than even you can. Let us go forward, however. The emperor cannot wait much longer.”

As he spoke, he gestured at the shadowy corridor stretching ahead of them. Caelan moved to take the lead, all his senses alert, his dagger in his hand. He had the edgy, uneasy feeling that they were walking into a trap. Sien could not be trusted, whether he helped them or not. The priest was far more dangerous than he appeared, and his dark powers made him formidable. As Caelan strode along with Elandra and the priest following, he glanced often at the dagger in his hand. Could mere steel, even if thrown swift and true, destroy this minion of the shadow god? Caelan had the feeling that at any moment he might have to find out. Sweating, he tried to stay calm and ready for anything.

“Stop,” Sien said.

Caelan obeyed so quickly Elandra nearly bumped into him from behind. He stepped aside with a murmured apology to her. Inclining her head, she flashed her eyes to his, then looked away.

Caelan faced the priest. “What now?” he asked suspiciously.

Sien smiled, his yellow eyes glittering. He gestured. “Open the door.”

Caelan had seen no door, but now as he spun around in surprise, a carved wooden barrier blocked the corridor where none had been before. Astonished and more wary than ever, Caelan stared at it. He could not tell if it was real or imagined. He dared not touch it to find out.

“Open it,” Sien said softly. “The emperor is just on the other side in the cavern.”

Elandra’s face lit up. “He’s been waiting for me?”

“Yes,” Sien said. “Twice his officers have had to dissuade him from going back to search for your Majesty. His distress has been great. But naturally he could not be allowed to jeopardize himself. If the enemy manages to break through my special defenses within the temple and get this far, it is possible they will be able to follow him even through the secret ways.”

“I must join Kostimon,” Elandra said. New strength filled her voice. She stood tall and queenly, her grace and confidence returned.

Caelan gazed at her, glad she so readily believed the priest’s smooth lies. He met Sien’s gaze, and the truth flickered between them for just an instant. In the initial confusion of tonight’s attack, Caelan had seen the emperor refuse to send guardsmen to rescue Elandra, claiming he could not afford to split his meager forces unnecessarily. Caelan knew the emperor had not waited for her, had thought only of his own safety, had abandoned her with his concubines and his staff. It was better she did not know. Caelan himself would not give her such hurt for the world.

Gathering up her skirts, Elandra stepped right up to the door and stopped there. She glanced at Caelan over her shoulder. “Open it.”

He hesitated just long enough to bring a frown to her eyes; then he stepped forward to obey. It was hinged to swing toward them.

Cautiously, not trusting what might perhaps really await them on the other side, Caelan gestured for the empress to stand back.

She did so, and he reached for the latch.

Before his fingers actually touched it, however, it opened itself. The door swung inward on its own.

Caelan flinched back from it, then crouched with his dagger ready.

Past the doorway stood a spacious cavern filled with men and milling horses. The area hummed with frenzied activity. On the opposite side of the cavern, the emperor’s banner hung limply from a staff, and the guardsmen themselves were men Caelan recognized as loyal. Relief swelled in his throat.

He stood aside to let Elandra precede him.

On the threshold, however, she seemed to bump into something unseen.

Gasping, she recoiled and backed away quickly.

Cursing himself, Caelan reached her side immediately. “Is your Majesty hurt?” he demanded.

She shook her head. Her eyes were still wide with fear. “What in Gault’s name is it?” she whispered, clutching her jewel bag.

Caelan returned to the doorway. When he reached out, his hand struck an invisible barrier that was as firm as a stone wall. It was neither cold nor hot to his touch. It was simply impassable.

Gazing through it in mounting frustration, he could see the guardsmen saddling horses and loading provisions, but he could not step through to join them.

No one in the cavern glanced his way. Caelan decided they could not see him. The thought stirred fresh worry inside him. Were the guardsmen really out there, or was this all an illusion?

He turned around to face Sien. Inside him, rage and resignation were building. He’d known all along the priest was going to pull some trickery. Now it had to be dealt with.

“Careful, warrior,” Sien said softly. “Do not make a mistake you will regret.”

Caelan bared his teeth as he brandished his dagger. “Did you not ask me to strike you down just a few minutes ago? Your memory is short, priest.”

“On the contrary,” Sien replied, “my memory is excellent. I recall asking you what price you would pay for the lady’s recovery.”

Elandra’s head whipped around sharply. “What?”

Caelan felt a slow rage heating inside him, molten in his loins, burning hotter and hotter in his chest, rising through his neck, his cheeks, his eyes. He glared at the priest, in no mood for games.

“You didn’t cure her,” he said hoarsely.

Sien smiled with pity, and Caelan suddenly understood that the priest meant Elandra’s return to the side of the emperor. It was a cold drenching of comprehension that left him standing there stricken and silent.

“No,” Elandra said softly, horror in her voice. She looked from one man to the other. “No.”

Caelan ignored her. His gaze was only for the priest, whose eyes were now rapacious and gleaming. Sien licked his lips, and something in the air smelled burned.

“Dark magic!” Elandra cried in warning. She stumbled against Caelan, perhaps to push him to safety or perhaps to grip him for reassurance.

He swept her aside with his free arm and moved toward Sien slowly on the balls of his feet. In his temple his pulse throbbed with the desire to kill this bald old viper, but he kept his emotions in check. He must use his wits here, not his brawn. Physical attack was not the answer; if Sien used magic to defend himself, Caelan knew he would not stand much chance against the priest.

“I ask again,” Sien said. “What price will you pay?”

“What price do you ask?” Caelan countered.

“No!” Elandra said. “Caelan, I forbid this. Do not bargain with this traitor.”

Caelan frowned, wishing she would be quiet. She was distracting him. He narrowed his gaze on the priest, wondering how he could make the man drop the spell on the doorway. “You wanted answers from me, and you took those. What is your price now?”

Sien laughed, a horrible gloating sound. “If I could give you a way to go back and save the life of your father, would you take it?”

Caelan froze in revulsion. His fingers clenched knuckle-white on his dagger. Don’t listen, a voice in the back of his head warned him.

“If I could give you a way to go back and change your decisions?” Sien continued, his voice insinuating and soft. “What is the child’s name? Lea? Do you want to know exactly how she died in the forest?”

Caelan shut his eyes. “Be quiet.”

“But if I let you go back to save her, would you go?”

The never-healed wound broke open afresh, welling raw hurt. Caelan clenched his eyes shut harder, and tears stung against his eyelids. If only he had stayed with her. If only he had remembered his responsibility was to protect her. If only he hadn’t thought he could make a difference at the hold.

“I was just a boy,” he whispered aloud. “I did my best.”

“You made a mistake,” Sien said. “Undo it. Go back and save your sister. Forget this woman who stands here. Think of Lea. She loved you so much, Caelan. She trusted you. And you promised to return for her. Why not keep that promise now? I can send you back to her.”

Caelan shivered. Inside, he felt as though he were breaking in half. It hurt, and it would always hurt. To be able to undo his mistakes. To be able to change the course of his life ... but such longing was only a belief in falsehood. Change was not possible.

“It is possible,” Sien whispered. “Trust me.”

Caelan forced open his eyes. Tears spilled hot down his cheeks, and he turned his back on the priest. Inside, he struggled away from temptation and tried to harden himself against the priest’s lies. He understood what Sien wanted now. Sien wanted him to abandon Elandra in these corridors, to leave her able to see her husband and his soldiers yet barred from reaching them until the Madruns eventually found her.

He could save Elandra, or he could believe this lying priest possessed the ability to manipulate the past enough for Lea to be saved.

Caelan clenched his free hand at his side until his powerful body trembled. Either way, the price was too high. How could he make such a choice?

“Caelan.” Elandra whispered his name.

He turned his head toward her. The way she stood before him would be forever etched in his memory. Her ivory skin, the flawless beauty of her face, the burnished glints of candlelight in her auburn hair. Caelan felt emotions stir and awaken in him, a force fiery and hard to control. It was as though he were suddenly dipped in heat, his ears on fire and roaring, his eyes burning in their sockets, his breath seared in his lungs. He stood suspended in the spell of her luminous eyes, helpless in his new knowledge of himself and her.

Her eyes glistened as she gazed back at him with understanding and compassion. A tear brimmed over and fell down her cheek. Still meeting his gaze, she shook her head. “Don’t—”

“Caelan.”

A different voice uttered his name this time. The sound of it gave him a profound shock. His gaze snapped away from Elandra, and he saw Lea kneeling on the ground less than two strides away.

The child crouched there, hugging herself beneath her scarlet cloak and shivering violently. Her golden curls straggled from the edge of her hood, as bright and pretty as ever, but her face was pinched and gray; her lips were bloodless with cold. Dark smudges lay under her eyes, which were dull with suffering. She was starving to death, freezing to death. He could feel the icy blast of wind off the glacier. Its force was brutal, merciless.

Lea whimpered. Shivering so hard her teeth chattered, she knelt there for what seemed like an eternity, while he watched helplessly, his grief like a stone in his chest. Finally she struggled to her feet and walked on, bent nearly double against the howling wind.

Caelan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could smell the crisp scent of the pines. He could smell the sickly sweet scent of the child’s skin, and knew it signified starvation. How long had she been walking in the snowy woods? Her boots were ragged and worn through. She staggered in a zigzag pattern, floundering in the deep snow, and fell.

“Caelan!” she cried, lifting her face to the heavens. “Help me!”

Her plea tore his heart. With a wordless moan, Caelan ran to her and reached out.

The vision of Lea vanished as though she had never been there. Anguished, he dropped to his knees and wept for her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“What good are apologies?” Sien asked from behind him. “You and I can walk around time and go back to that fateful day in the snowy forests of Trau, when you abandoned the only person you loved. Save her, Caelan. You seem to have a strong urge to save people, like an overgrown dog. You could save the empress by turning on me and striking me down. My spell on the doorway would end, and she could go through. But why not save the one person who really mattered to you? Why not save the one person who needed you ? Who depended on you? Lea. A pretty name. A pretty, precious child. Lea.”

Caelan gulped, his throat working. “Don’t say her name.”

“Lea.”

He jumped to his feet and whirled on the priest with insane fury, striking the man with his fist and sending Sien reeling against the wall. “Don’t say her name!”

The invisible barrier across the doorway suddenly shimmered into a tangible rainbow of color, like a bubbled pane of mouth-blown glass. The guardsmen on the other side blurred and nearly faded from sight.

Dabbing at the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, Sien nodded. “Anger is a good step. Take another. Embrace the rage, Caelan.”

Caelan glared at him through a murderous haze, the dagger pulsing as though alive in his fist. He felt the tug at his emotions, felt the seduction calling to him from Sien. The need for completion, for sevaisin, stirred within him. It would be so easy to surrender to it, so easy ...

He severed, going deep into the coldness as though he plunged himself into a glacial lake. This time he did not care if he severed so far he could never return. All he wanted was an end to the hurting, an end to the memories, an end to the guilty attempts to serve others in atonement. He would put himself where Sien could never reach him.

A wall of ice appeared before him. He saw how it separated him from the priest. Through its transparent sides he could see the priest gesturing, could see Sien’s lips moving. But he heard no more insidious urgings, no more vile persuasions. He felt no more temptations. He could not see Elandra at all. There was only the void and the compelling coldness that made him brittle, calm, and unapproachable.

In the very great distance, far, far beyond the wall of ice, he saw a column of icy mist that eventually transformed itself into the vague figure of a man.

The figure beckoned to him.

Caelan recognized Beva, and his heart grew even colder. He did not want his father’s approval. He had not come into this place to earn that.

Turning his back on both his father and the priest, Caelan set his face into a bitter wind and trudged away. He would go deep into the void, never to return. He would vanish. He would cease to exist. He would escape all responsibility forever.

But before him stretched the threads of life, a shining network of iridescent strands stretching into the sky and vanishing out of sight in the gray clouds. Frowning, Caelan stopped and looked back.

He saw Sien’s silhouette against the icy mist, a dark shadow standing near the entrance to a cavern. One of Sien’s hands was outstretched. From each of his fingers stretched multiple threads, and the black strands were woven across the mouth of the cavern.

Caelan hesitated only a moment, knowing that severance was his last true secret kept from the priest. If he used it, Sien would seek him out again to wrest the gift from him or turn it into something evil.

But there was no other way. He could not vanish into the void. Escape was not possible, for even here in severance he carried himself with him. All his guilt and feelings journeyed with him, as though in a basket he could not drop on the wayside.

Gathering his strength, Caelan advanced on Sien. He severed the threads of the spell. Fire exploded in the mouth of the cavern, sending him reeling back; then reality snapped around him, and he found himself stumbling into the corridor wall. Gasping, he pressed his hands to the wall and struggled to regain his equilibrium.

To his right, Elandra stood staring at him with her hands pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were huge with fear and something he could not identify.

Sien was huddled down, swearing to himself and clutching his hand. The skin was charred black, as though he had stuck it into a fire.

Regaining his wits, Caelan strode to the doorway and stepped through it. He paused there and glanced back at Elandra.

He reached out to her. “Come. Quickly.”

She hesitated, still staring at him as though he was a monster, but she came. Slowly at first, then running the last few steps. She clutched his hand, and he pulled her through the doorway.

The cavern rang with noise as men hurried about their tasks. There were fewer soldiers than Caelan had hoped to see. Too few, in fact, but at that moment he didn’t care.

Relieved, he smiled down at Elandra. The fear vanished from her eyes, and she smiled back. Then her smile faded, and she looked troubled again. She squeezed his hand. “Your sister—Lea—what Lord Sien said about her—”

“He was lying,” Caelan said, forcing his voice to be light. “Think no more about it.”

She searched his eyes. “Are you sure? I—”

“The empress!” someone shouted. “Look! It’s her Majesty. She’s alive!”

Elandra broke off what she’d been about to say and dropped Caelan’s hand. She frowned, looking flustered.

He bowed to her. “Go to your husband, Majesty. Let him know you are safely delivered.”

Several expressions flitted across her face. Finally she smiled again. “Thank you,” she said with heartfelt sincerity. “I shall never forget all you have done for me.”

Then she was gone, hurrying into the confusion only to be met by Sergeant Baiter, who saluted her with a beaming smile and led her toward the emperor’s banner.

Caelan watched her for a moment, filled with the bittersweet satisfaction of knowing this time he had done the right thing. He had not failed his true responsibilities.

“Caelan E’non.”

Startled, he turned and warily faced Sien. The priest stood on the other side of the doorway, gazing out at him.

Still nursing his burned hand, Sien looked wide-eyed and astonished. “You vanished,” he said. He reached out his hand, then drew it back without touching Caelan. “For an instant, as I was talking to you, you simply ceased to exist. Where did you go? How did you break the power of Beloth to stop the spell?”

Caelan stared hard at him without any emotion at all. “You have already taken all the answers you will ever get from me.”

Anger replaced the astonishment in Sien’s leathery face. “Impertinent fool! You are trampling on that which you do not understand. You—”

“She is out of your hands,” Caelan broke in. “Whatever meddling you wrought with Kostimon’s mind to make him forget her has ceased to work. She is back where she belongs, despite your plots, shadows, invaders, and spells.”

Fury twisted Sien’s face. He lifted his burned hand as though to hurl magic at Caelan. “Yo—”

Caelan sprang at him and gripped his injured hand, squeezing it with all his strength.

A strangled scream of agony burst from Sien. He crumpled at Caelan’s feet without resistance.

Caelan released him and stood glaring down at the man without any mercy. “Save your spells for the Madruns,” he said harshly. “Conceal this entrance once again, so that when they come at last to this cavern, they will never find it. Nor will they find the secret ways. Nor will they follow where Kostimon goes.”

Breathing hard, his eyes still slitted with pain, Sien glared up at him. “You dare order me?”

“I dare,” Caelan said coldly. “I could have taken your life as easily as I took away the spell. Remember that you called me a taker. Remember that you taunted me for enjoying what I do. Now consider our new bargain. You will conceal this cavern so that when the savages come, they will look but never see what lies here. Do it, or I swear I will destroy you.”

Hatred filled Sien’s face. “You cannot!” he boasted hoarsely. “Not while I serve the darkness.”

“Can you find the darkness now?” Caelan mocked him. “Can you feel it strong and powerful within you as it was a few moments before? While its connection to you is withered and damaged, you are merely a man. Nothing more.”

Sien’s scowl deepened. Finally, resentfully, he nodded. “Very well, I shall do as you say. I have enough strength left to cast the spell that you request. But this is not the last of us, Traulander. When I am once again fully rejoined with my master, I shall hunt you down. No matter how far you journey, I will find you. Remember that I have a piece of you. It will lead me to you, anywhere on this earth, or beyond it.”

Caelan listened to his threat without fear. He thought of that future encounter and knew he would welcome it. Right now, as much as he would like to finish Sien once and for all, he knew it was not the time. They needed Sien and his despicable dark magic to fool the Madruns searching for them.

Meeting Sien’s gaze, Caelan held it a long while, until the priest’s gaze dropped first. Color suffused Sien’s cheeks, and he started to say something else, but Caelan was finished with the man. It was time to seek out the emperor, time to rejoin his fellow guardsmen, time to resume his duty.

There was, after all, an empire to rebuild.

Turning his back on the defeated priest, Caelan walked away.