Exile (16 page)

“You need to get back, Caplin. You’re prolonged absence might cause alarm.”
And I need time to think
.

His shoulders sank and he averted his gaze, understanding the dismissal for what it was and unable to argue against her reasoning. Standing, he turned toward the door, but made no move in that direction.

She took his hand and squeezed it once more. “I’m so deeply sorry for all that has been lost this day,” she murmured.

“As am I.” He returned the grip for a moment before releasing her hand and seeing himself out.

When he was gone, she curled into a ball on the chair, wrapping herself around the empty ache that seemed always to reside at her core. Could Yiloch be behind this? Could he really rain this misery down on her so callously?

She longed for the release of tears or anger, but neither came. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rocked in the chair, staring at the wall. After a time, bright mocking sunlight sprayed across the room and she made herself rise.

Dressing in a sedate dark blue dress, the deep color of mourning, she braided three braids in her hair in acknowledgement of the deceased and left the apartment. With no real destination in mind, her feet took her to the academy administration building. Serivar’s office door was closed when she arrived and a quick sweep of power told her the office was empty. Walking in, she closed the door behind her, sat in the headmaster’s chair behind the big desk, and waited.

She didn’t extended her ability to alert her to anyone’s approach. Sorrow made the effort seem too much. As such, when the door opened, she was somewhat surprised to see Edan enter. He stopped in the doorway, surprised by her presence as well, perhaps more so because she was sitting in the headmaster’s chair. She lowered her gaze. He wasn’t the one she was waiting for, so she didn’t exert the energy required to acknowledge him.

After a moment, the door clicked shut. Though she couldn’t read his emotions, his step was soft and tentative when he walked around the desk. He stood alongside the chair, the awkwardness of uncertainty apparent in his hesitation and the shifting of his feet.

“Indigo?” He murmured her name, his tone gentle, wanting to comfort.

She closed her eyes, biting the inside of her lip against the sudden swell of anguish and despair that soft query unleashed. Fingers brushed her cheek, the touch feather light, moving a strand of hair from her face.

Yiloch.

She whispered his name in her mind, remembering, yearning for a different touch and a different time. Encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t chased him away yet, Edan crouched next to the chair and took her hand. Opening her eyes, she met his searching gaze, hating him because he wasn’t the man she wanted to see, appreciating him for the concern that lent age and sincerity to his features.

“You’ve already heard. Lord… Prince Caplin spoke to you?” He ventured, cautious with his words.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“It’s horrible,” he murmured.

“I don’t understand. I thought we knew there was a threat. How did…” Frustrated and confused, she fell silent, pleading with her eyes for him to make sense of things for her.

“We were led astray. Like hounds on a false scent. We failed.” Some emotion flashed in his eyes for an instant.

Was it anger, perhaps, or disappointment? Either way, it was comforting to have someone there who understood her sense of failure. He looked tired too. Living with Serivar, who had probably been one of the first people called to the palace, he must have been woken very early by the dismal news.

“I can’t believe Lord Ferin and the others would be part of such a thing. It doesn’t make sense.”

Edan lowered his gaze. “I know. I can hardly fathom the thought, but the evidence is compelling.”

She pulled back her hand and stood fast enough to knock the chair back into one of the bookcases. Some of the heavier volumes rocked a bit, then stood firm.

It was the same thing she had heard from Caplin. Edan, at least, had worked with the three adepts. Did he not see how out of character this was? Then again, deception was the art of the assassin. Conflicting thoughts and emotions warred inside, destroying her composure, pounding away at her self-control. Turning away from Edan before she gave in to the urge to lash out, she stalked to the back of the office and stood staring at the wall where the hidden doorway to the training room was. Not sure what she meant to do next, she began picking at her fingernails.

“Why would Emperor Yiloch do such a thing?” She struggled to keep her voice steady and remember the secrets she was keeping. She heard Edan approach and felt the warmth of his body when he moved up close behind her.

“He has many reasons to hate King Jerrin. His father and Jerrin are why the Lyran slave trade has endured. Besides, when he doesn’t like a thing, he hasn’t shown himself to be the type to stand by idly and let it go on. I believe you saw firsthand what he did to his own father.”

She winced at the memory of cold satisfaction on Yiloch’s blood-spattered face after he had cut his father’s head off. She shook her head, trying to clear away the image. “No. It doesn’t feel right. He would never be so…”
careless
, she thought, realizing she was dangerously close to revealing more of her relationship with Yiloch than was wise, especially in these precarious circumstances. Hanging her head to hide the tear that had broken free, she took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to rein in her emotions.

His hand rested on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Indigo. I wish I could make this less painful.”

She turned to him and stepped close the way Caplin had with her only a short time earlier, letting Edan take her in his embrace. For once, there was no inclination to pull away. Right now, she wanted someone to hold her, anyone who was willing to do so, and he fit that requirement better than most. Tears fell, but she couldn’t let go and weep uncontrollably as she wanted to. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to show that much weakness in his arms, despite the gentleness of his embrace.

When she felt more in control, she extracted herself and accepted the linen he offered to dry her tears.

“I apologize.” She handed it back to him rumpled and damp.

“I’m not repelled by your tears,” he replied with a charming smile.

She managed to return a smile that she discarded quickly, feeling the expression was somehow insulting to the dead.

“If you’re waiting for Serivar, he said he wasn’t likely to make it in today.”

Indigo nodded. “I suppose I should have expected as much.”

“You don’t seem up for practicing anything.”

“No. I’m afraid you’re right.” She wrung her hands, struggling against the fresh growing misery that his embrace had eased for a brief time.

“Do you want company?”

She met his eyes, considering the momentary respite his comfort had given her. Something about him gave her pause still, perhaps those secrets Galyn said he was keeping. Even now, she was so willing to trust Galyn, a Lyran woman being held on suspicion of regicide, and not Edan. Given the monster her late fiancé turned out to be, perhaps it was her own ability to judge character that should be in question. Sometime she should really give him a chance, but not today. Today, she didn’t have the emotional fortitude to work past her reservations.

“Thank you, Edan, but I…” Her words trailed off in swelling of guilt.

“But you need some time alone.” Disappointment forced his gaze away, though, after a moment’s visible struggle, he found a smile for her. “I understand. Please feel free to call upon me if I can do anything for you.”

“I will.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As the day wore on, Indigo holed up in her residence, alternately pacing and sitting to stare out the window. The sunny day beckoned, urging her to take a walk in the fresh air to clear her mind, but the risk of having to speak to someone kept her inside. For every bit of evidence and every plausible reason she could come up with why Yiloch might have ordered the assassinations, she could come up with at least as many reasons he would not have. The most compelling wasn’t an argument of morals or humanity, simply an issue of planning. If he were behind the assassinations, the execution was much too brash. He could come across as impulsive and arrogant, but he was no fool. If someone else were behind it, however, the execution was almost brilliant.

Another party would have known how to prey upon racial prejudices between the two countries and take advantage of the unrest caused by new rule in Lyra. Then there were the rumors of the former Lyran emperor’s madness. How easy it would be to suggest that his son was similarly afflicted, especially if they reminded people of the slaughter that had won Yiloch his hated title of The Blood Prince.

The problem was that the other party would have also needed to know about the Lyran adepts in temporary residence at the academy. Not only know about their presence, but also have intimate understanding of their specific skills. Knowledge of their presence was intentionally restricted and the training agreement prohibited talk of their ascard skills outside of a select group. Those things only added weight to the argument that the Lyran adepts were at least involved.

She glowered at the fading light outside the window. What she wanted was some news. So much had to be happening outside of these walls and she yearned to know what. If only they would let her speak to Ferin. He would explain their side. Then again, she would be inclined to believe him because doing so would benefit the man she loved, so perhaps she lacked the impartiality necessary.

Were they holding the adepts in the palace barracks? She stretched her ability, searching for Ferin, but found nothing. Either he was out of her reach or being kept in a location guarded against such probing.

As the light faded more, she paused in a round of pacing and stood biting her lip. With an absent thought, she lit a candle. The light vanished seconds later and she looked over to see a pile of melted wax on the table. A little too much power exerted in her frustration. She lit a few candles in the wall sconces, paying more attention this time so as not to burn them out so quickly.

There were other possibilities, not that they were a great deal more appealing than that of the Lyran adepts being behind it all. Someone very close to the Caithin king, someone who had inside information about the Lyran adepts, could have played part in the assassinations, helping stage them to frame the visitors. At best, that meant an information leak. At worst, there was an active participant in the murders hidden among them. That possibility cast suspicion in uncomfortable places, but it merited consideration.

A knock made her jump. Her renewed pacing had taken her almost to the door, the handle within reach, as though she’d been expecting someone to arrive just then. A brief brush of ascard confirmed Caplin. His dark, tumultuous mood had worn him down to a state of weary resignation. The feel of it sent a chill through her even as she wondered why he had come back here. Reluctant, she cracked the door, met the darkness in his eyes, and opened it to let him in. He took a few steps into the room and she noticed a deepening of his frown as his gaze swept over her Lyran styled décor, something he had commented on in the past with some amusement. He didn’t look so amused now.

When she shut the door and turned to face him, she came up against a wall of steely determination. A wall constructed to put distance between them. “You’re needed, Indigo. They were able to draw memories from Adept Kade regarding his part in the assassinations.”

She stared at him, some distant part of her aware of a crushing sensation in her chest. A vast gulf had opened between them in the course of a day and she couldn’t hear him properly across it. His words echoed faintly in her head, as though he screamed them from the bottom of a great canyon.

“I’m sure you understand. This means Emperor Yiloch and the others are now confirmed suspects in the assassination of King Jerrin and his family.”

She shook her head, feeling a surge in Caplin’s anger as she did so. Yiloch was too cunning and far too self-interested to risk everything over such a reckless move. She couldn’t believe he was behind this.

“What am I needed for?” She asked, wary now of a certain volatility in Caplin’s current state of mind. He directed his anger at her now, a stabbing, aggressive presence searching for someplace to lay blame.

“Lord Serivar is sailing within the hour for Lyra. He carries a royal missive requiring Emperor Yiloch to stand trial in defense of himself and his adepts. Lord Serivar—”

“That’s absurd. Yiloch will never agree to that.”

Caplin’s eyes narrowed. He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Lord Serivar is waiting below in my carriage. It’s been decided that you will accompany him.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Emperor Yiloch knows you,” Caplin stated.

“He knows you as well,” she countered. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to see Yiloch again. She did, more than almost anything, but not like this.

“He trusts you,” Caplin argued. “He will be more inclined to be reasonable if you’re the one to present the missive. Regardless, it’s been decided that the new heir to the throne can’t be put at risk.”

She hesitated. There was something in his emotions, a trace of guilt that fed the distance between them. He was lying to her, or at least holding something back. “You’re not telling me something, Caplin. What is it? We’ve been friends for years. You know you can talk to me.”

He shook his head, a small, abrupt movement, but the anguish that surged through him was enormous. “Not this time, Indigo. Not right now. Please. If you will not do this for me as your prince, do it for me as a friend.” He was pleading now, begging with his voice and eyes, the previous anger drowning under an uprising of guilt and sorrow.

“I don’t understand, Caplin. This is a futile gesture. He won’t leave Lyra when it is still in need of so much healing and Myac is still unaccounted for. At best, he might send someone in his stead.” She twisted the ring on her finger, yearning to deny him, but finding it hard to turn him away when his need was so strong. “Please don’t involve me in this. You know my heart.”