Kastali Dun

Verath listened to the subtle inhale and exhale of Desaree's breath, curled up beside him, her back against his front, nestled into the curves of his body. One arm was beneath her head, the other draped over her waist, holding her to him. He didn't sleep much, but he'd quickly grown fond of their nights together, the calm her presence brought him. Truth be told, he pretended he slept more than he did, if only as an excuse to be near her. His years of loneliness had caught up with him, driving him to form an attachment he knew was dangerous. It would only end in heartbreak. At his age, he knew better, but so did the moth when it flew directly at the flame.

He had not worked up the nerve to claim her entirely...not yet. Nor should he. His mind stumbled over that fact—fighting it. A time would come when he could no longer resist. How could he deny her? How could he hold her, but hold back? And when he did give in, what then? Would he treat her cheaply? He could not make her his wife. He could not be honorable in such a way. Not unless honor meant abstaining entirely. Even then....

A sense of guilt clawed at him, spreading through his gut. His mind flashed back to Kendra and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push her face away. She's gone, he argued. You had your chance, and another will never come. She's gone...The reminder was a difficult one. Kendra was similar to Desaree in looks and appearance. He only ever laid eyes on her once, but that single glimpse was burned into his mind forever. Ironically, he'd sought a woman similar, perhaps a reminder, if only to torture himself with a shadow of what could have been. The same brown eyes. The same velvety chocolate hair. He cursed under his breath, pushing these thoughts away.

An abrupt knock sounded at the door. "Two hours before dawn," came the call. That damned guard! He'd flay the man next he saw him, if these ridiculous wake-up calls didn't stop. But Desaree insisted on waking up early, even in Claire's absence. He could hear her voice even now. "There's an apartment to keep clean. I want everything spotless when she returns."

Desaree stirred against him, igniting a fire in his abdomen. "Is it time?" she murmured, the words sleepy. He liked her like this, unguarded, at ease, comfortable in his arms.

He smiled, nuzzling his nose against the back of her neck. "Not if you don't wish. Sleep a little longer. It's good for you."

"Mmm." She pushed herself deeper against him, into his arms.

He held back a growl of sexual frustration, scooting his hips away so that she wouldn't feel his hardness against her back. "Besides," he added, "didn't you clean Claire's apartment yesterday? And the day before? How much cleaning does it need?"

"Mmm-hmm." Her eyelids were still closed.

"Good. Then go back to sleep."

At this, she stretched, catlike as she scooted away from him. "I function better on a schedule. You know that." She moved onto her elbows to look up at him, holding his gaze. "Good morning," she whispered, offering him a shy smile. She leaned forward and gave him a chaste peck on his nose and got out of bed.

He turned on his side to watch her, propping his head on his palm. "Any special plans today?"

She paused. "No. Not really. Madame Rosanne is going to drop off Claire's ball gown. I need to inspect it. Find some accessories for it. Otherwise, it should be a quiet day." She glanced at him. "What of you? How did things go in the city yesterday? You said you had business there?"

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Yes, all went well. Nothing serious."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something from me?"

He tutted, flopping over onto his back, placing his hands behind his head to look at the ceiling. The bed dipped. Desaree's face loomed over him in question. "I'm not," he answered. "Everything went according to plan."

"What plan? And I was referring to the 'nothing serious' part." Her eyes narrowed. "This is about Caterina, isn't it? You are always open with me about everything else, except when it comes to her. It doesn't hurt me to talk about her, you know. I'm not a fragile little bird."

He wanted to argue. To him, every human was fragile. "I...I know." He sighed and took hold of her arm, pulling her down against his chest before she could protest. "Lay with me a minute."

"Only if you tell me what's going on." She craned her neck to better study him.

"Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you." He paused. "I caught Collier yesterday."

"What?! The poison maker? The one who—"

"Yes. That one."

"Oh.... Well? What...what did he say? Did you question him? About my mother? Verath! Tell me!"

"I did—question him that is. He admitted to it. Your mother and your father too." He closed his eyes. This was not how he had pictured telling her.

"What?!" Her voice was a hiss. She freed herself from him and jumped from the bed to loom over it. "And you're...you're only telling me now?"

"Desaree, please." He sat up, rubbing his temples. "I..." He had no good excuse. Though he had wanted information from both Collier and Caterina before presenting it to her. But mostly, he was afraid to see her hurt over the matter.

"You should have told me. I...I don't scold you often, if ever. But you know that I have a right to know everything pertaining to this trial."

He exhaled. "You're right. I'm sorry. Come. Sit. I'll tell you about it." She did as requested, and he told her of everything that had transpired the day before, of how they'd caught Collier, and how he resorted to a truth serum to get answers.

"So, you'll question Caterina today?"

"Aye. After the midday meal."

"Can I...should I come?"

He frowned. "I'm not sure that is a good idea." There was a pause. "Unless you truly wish to be there. But I would advise against it."

She remained quiet for a few moments. "I suppose I would rather not see her. Not until...until the trial. When I must."

He pulled her close, covering her mouth with his. The kiss deepened into something that spoke of his reassurance. All would be fine, he would make sure of it.

There was a time when she protested his kisses, calling them improper and inappropriate. Now she gave in to him entirely, sighing into his arms. Opening wide for him. As his tongue roved over hers, a fire stoked in his chest. He pulled away before the flames grew too fierce. "Off with you then—to your duties. I have things of my own to manage."

Her cheeks were flushed. A result of his effect on her. He nearly growled in pleasure seeing it. The power he held.

She stumbled away to fix up her appearance, patting her hair back into place. He rose from the bed, strapped his Sverak in place, donned his doublet over his tunic, and offered her a chaste kiss on her cheek before departing.

The guards across the hall stood watch at Claire's door. No one in the keep was any wiser to her disappearance. That was as he'd hoped. He nodded in passing.

A number of tedious tasks awaited him before visiting Mage Targa's apartments. There was the matter of taking King Talon's place in court, which he rued. And the correspondences he conducted in his absence, all of which required completion that morning. It would be yet another long day.

When the midday meal came around, he chose to take it in his chambers, desperate for a few moments alone. Then he met with Imeir and together they walked to Mage Targa's. When they were shown in to his apartment, he found Caterina sitting with her hands folded in her lap, an untouched cup of tea beside her, a blank expression upon her face. Good, she was anxious.

"Good afternoon, Lady Caterina," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "Thank you for meeting me." Peace was a delicate thing. Caterina was a favorite among the noble women of the court. He could not simply throw her out. He needed to be strategic about it. Talon would not thank him if he caused an uproar.

But if he could prove her guilt, which he technically already had, the public would disown her. If not, she would spread her lies and Desaree would be forced to live them. He needed to give her a reason to be afraid—something to catch her off guard. He knew exactly what that something would be.

"Good afternoon, Lord Verath." Caterina's manner of speech was stiff.

"I hope to make this short," he said, taking a seat across from her with Imeir. "I would like to hear your side of the story."

"Story?" She tilted her head, feigning ignorance.

"Yes. How you came to inherit the title of lady. Your father inherited Lady Kendall's title, property, and wealth. How did it come about?"

"Really, Lord Verath! How do you think? How are titles ever passed on? By death, obviously."

"Yes. Yes, of course." He waved an impatient hand. "But I'm sure there's a story. Why don't you enlighten me?" On the sofa beside him, Imeir shifted. Targa chose not to sit. He lurked beside the sofa where Caterina sat, without offering them a drink or refreshment of any kind.

Caterina sighed, playing her part well. "Well..." She paused. "My father told me when I was younger that he had fallen in love with a woman. That he was to marry her and I was to have a sister. I was overjoyed. I always wanted a sister—a family." She glanced at Targa before continuing. "When my father married Lady Kendall, we moved into her home and became the family I always wanted. I had a sister at last." Her smile was unconvincing. "Then...then Lady Kendall, my...my mother...she got sick. A fever. It was so sudden...so fast. Everything had been perfect. Then it wasn't. It happened overnight. The fever shocked us. It took her in her sleep. We...we didn't know what to think, what to do. There had been no time to call the healers—no time for anything." Her eyes glistened and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

What a great actress! Tears and all. He held back a snort.

"Convincing, isn't she?" Imeir's sarcastic remark rang in his mind.

"Yes, convincing indeed," he agreed.

He did his best to look sympathetic. "That sounds rather tragic, my lady. I can imagine what a shock it was." He paused. "The poison that was used to bring her fever about. Fire fever I believe it is called? Or kivilnari in the old language of magic?"

Caterina's eyes widened a measure before she recovered. "Fire-fire fever, my lord? You mean to tell me she was poisoned? But...why? Why would someone do such a thing? She was so...kind."

Mage Targa stepped forward. "Are you insinuating what I think you are, Lord Verath?" He pinned Verath with his dark gaze.

"Oh, I am. Caterina procured this poison from Collier and used it on Lady Kendall."

Caterina sucked in a deep breath. "Upon my word, Lord Verath! I...I never!" Her eyes were wide, no doubt in fear rather than feigned ignorance.

"Excuse me," Targa hissed, voice turning cold. "I was under the impression that this was a questioning session, not an accusation session."

Perhaps Targa needed questioning too.

"You're right," he conceded. "My apologies, Lady Caterina. Accusations will come during the trial." He exhaled. "Well, since I've had your story, how about I tell you Collier's? Squirrelly as that man is, he offered me all sorts of acorns, some he'd even tucked away for many seasons."

The color drained from Caterina's face. She was not expecting this—that he had caught Collier and questioned him. She probably hoped the poison maker would never be found.

Smiling, he launched into Collier's tale. He made sure to mention that the information was provided under the pretense of a particular potent concoction of sanidi. Truth serum. This way, Caterina could not make excuses. He told them about the deal struck between Collier and Kane, and the deal struck between Kane and Stefan Rosen. "What I found most fascinating," he said, arriving at the story's end, "is that Kane gifted you with magic in exchange for your meddling." She sucked in a sharp breath, frozen under his intense gaze. "So it would seem, Lady Caterina, that your story isn't genuine, and neither is your ability for magic."

"What...what are you implying?" she whispered, the sound of her words hoarse. "That I have no magic?"

"Oh, you have magic, no doubt about that. What I'm saying is that your magic came from Kane. With the information we have, King Talon will be hard pressed to keep someone around who possesses magic from the very sorcerer trying to destroy our kingdom."

"But..." She abruptly stood. "No. That cannot be. My magic is mine. It came to me the way magic comes to all those who possess it." She looked down at Targa who had now taken a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. His face was unreadable. Was this as much of a shock to him as it was to Caterina?

And now the moment of victory. "Your magic came to you, Lady Caterina, because Kane gave it to you. It did not flow in your blood as it ought."

"No." She shook her head. "I...I refuse to believe it." She backed away from the sofa, wringing her hands.

"Gods above, woman! Magic manifests at a young age. Look at your classmates. They're all younger than you by several years. Take Lady Saffra, for example. She was eight when her magic appeared. You can't possibly believe in the coincidence of yours showing right after you poisoned Lady Kendall."

"I'm just...a late bloomer. That's all. A late bloomer." This time, genuine tears pooled in her eyes. All sneering pretenses were forgotten.

A heavy shock indeed.

He and Imeir stood. "Well, believe what you wish. We have enough proof from Collier to put you in the dungeons for life, perhaps even send you to an early grave. I think it best if you don't try anything before your trial. When the king returns, he will see fit to do with you as he pleases."

The trial was a few weeks away yet. Doubtful she would bother to do anything, except perhaps spread lies. Win other nobles to her cause. But the information he had against her was formidable.

"Please!" she hissed. "The king...he can't...he can't hurt me, can he?" She looked at Targa who had remained silent through all of this. "He can't, right?" she asked again. Targa swallowed but said nothing.

"Well, that's all I needed. I'll leave the two of you to bicker between yourselves." Satisfied, he took his leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Gods!" Imeir chuckled. "That was easier than I expected."

"I'll say. She took it as quite a shock—her source of magic."

"Indeed." Imeir paused. "But one thing intrigues me. If you had everything you needed from Collier, why question her to begin with?"

He fell quiet. "Because she ruined Desaree's life. I wanted to take something she held dear and rip it away from her the way she ripped Desaree's mother away. I would wager magic is the one thing—the only thing—she's felt sure about. Magic allowed her to feel special—entitled. Now she can truly see herself for what she is. A fraud."

They strolled through the east wing. A runner appeared, sprinting over. "Lord...Lord Verath!" He was out of breath. "This...is for you. Just came. High priority. Already paid for. From Brezen."

He frowned, eyeing the runner. "Brezen? High priority? That wasn't cheap. Let's have it here." He grabbed the letter and the runner dashed away, adjusting his leather satchel as he went.

"From Brezen?" Imeir's eyebrows drew together. "What could it be?"

Verath thought of Jovari, Koldis, and Claire. But Brezen was too far north. There was no possible way....

He broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. His eyes darted over the contents. "Gods above!" he swore. His heart raced. "There has...there has been an attack. I...I don't believe it. Fort Squall?" He read over the contents twice in disbelief. And then waves of grief slammed into him.

"An attack?" Imeir's voice sounded far away. "You...you're sure? But how? When? Who?"

"I think I need to sit down." He walked into a nearby courtyard and sat down on the bench. It overlooked the bay below. He handed the letter to Imeir and put his head in his hands to think. How long had it been since Claire's departure? Six days?

"It's from Koldis," Imeir said, "dated two days past. But how could a letter from Brezen get here so quickly?"

"A Drengr flew it partway and dropped it at the closest runner station. Gods! How could this have happened?! And with King Talon away in the forest. What a disaster!"

Imeir fell quiet, reading the contents. "Wild dragons? But how did the fort miss them? They would have seen them coming."

"Keep reading." His head remained in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. He took deep breaths. It was all he could do to keep the agonizing sadness, the fatal blow of realization, at bay. So many deaths. Fort Squall was too far away to have felt them, but now that the knowledge was there, the pain was too.

He'd sent Koldis and Jovari with Claire to eliminate the Vodar. They were due to return as soon as tomorrow, assuming his calculations were correct. Yet, the letter had come from Koldis in Brezen. He could not say how Koldis had come to be there, nor what had happened in the meantime. All he knew was that Reyr was in Fort Squall. His death was not reported in the letter. "I would have known," he whispered, more to himself. "I would have known if he was killed. Just as Talon knew when Cyrus died." They were brothers, joined by blood oath.

Imeir swore. "The fort was taken. Its people forced to retreat across the inlet. There is no mention of Reyr. You don't think..."

His head snapped up. He looked at Imeir. "No. Reyr is still alive. I don't know why he isn't mentioned. But you saw the words. Byron has taken over temporary leadership. You know what that means, right? It means Lord Davi is dead." A cry escaped his chest. Reyr's twin brother. Instinct took over. He grabbed the letter from Imeir and stuffed it into his pocket, breathing hard. His crimson scales itched to break free of his skin.

Imeir had the same painful look on his face. "We must give the signal, Verath." As if they had any other choice. "We must sound the call."

He nodded, swallowing hard. Sadness radiated outward from his mind, flowing through his veins in waves, like the aftershock of a quake. He couldn't hold back. His voice ripped from his lips as his scales broke free of his skin. His body swelled. He jumped from the ground, vaulting into the sky.

Beside him, Imeir's bronze form took shape. A sorrowful keen, long and low, erupted from his jaws. It was drawn out, like the pain he felt. They cried and cried as they circled in the sky. Below, the call was heard and answered. Every Drengr in the vicinity intercepted the death call. They had no choice but to answer. It didn't matter what they were doing. The call was stronger than anything, and they were subjected to its summons. Kane had struck again. 

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