Unlocking Void (Book 3) (7 page)

Chapter 7

Ryker slipped the long gray coat over his arms and tested the shoulders as he buttoned it. His servant, a young girl he dressed in a green gown, had finally learned his measurements. Even the belt cinched appropriately. It had taken a sound backhand to the face for her to get it right. The imprint of his signet ring left an impression on her forehead and was turning green.

Pike knocked on the door and pushed it open, wearing a smart blue coat and yellow vest. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” Ryker nodded and seized Void, beginning to lay the shift. Pike stepped closer, frowning at the servant girl and put a hand on her forehead. She flinched, but he pulled the hand away lifting the bruise. “I wish y’ would ne do that.”

“I like them looking their bes’.”

Ryker gripped his shoulder and fueled the shift pattern, sending them across the colorless landscape. It took several minutes to travel across Anatoly, under the Dahrry Sea, past Arconia and into Shalaban. They made for the capital city of Irukanji in which the Emperor resided.

Shalaban was an arid country that bordered the Klemnon Desert in the east and the Dahrry Sea on the west. Their architecture never changed, nor did it deteriorate. Irukanji was made of ten thousand ziggurats pointing skyward, all the same orange color of the earth. Cinibar’s history was steeped in Shalaban roots as could be seen in their architecture, but where Shalaban’s structures were famous for eternal straight lines and symmetry, Cinibar adopted spirals in their structures.

Straight lines spoke of control, of intelligence, and science. Shalabane charted the stars before Anatoly was even thought of, and while their culture was considered odd, they were a disciplined people. A patriarchal society, women were seen more as objects than people; however, Mages of both sex were highly revered. Men took two wives and female Mages were allowed two husbands. The Emperor knew his power lay in the Mages, so he inflated them, gave them positions of power, and doted on their whims.

Ryker severed the pattern and dropped them outside the Emperor’s Square, a massive palace with a hundred ziggurats. This structure was the only one painted, and it gleamed in white. They used a whitewash of boiled limestone, and legend said they used so many trees to fuel the fires, they devastated the forests and created the Klemnon Desert. The wash soaked so deep, it never needed to be retouched, seeping to the inside walls.

Guards with curved blades rushed at Ryker and Pike, but Pike raised his hand and put a shield around them. The guards bounced off it. Once they realized they dealt with Mages, they parted a path and escorted them inside. Pike spoke basic Shalabane and was able to give simple orders. The guards nodded their heads, bobbing at the waist as they walked.

‘Pigeons,’
Ryker thought.

The halls were beautiful, studded with thousands of colored glass baubles, and the ceilings were tiled with mosaics. Shalabane were colorful people, wearing bright, loose-flowing shirts, tunics, and belled trousers. The guards in yellow guided them to the doors of a throne room.

It had been many years since Ryker traveled to the Square, but Ages had changed it little. Pillows covered the sides and corners of the room, and in them lay those most dear to the Emperor: Mages and their consorts. Shalabane Mages wore the color of their Element in ribbons around their foreheads or necks. Some were so proud, they dyed every garment to match. The Shalabane were olive-skinned, dark haired with bold noses, and a penchant for being short and bowlegged. Regardless, they were a source to be tapped.

In the center of the room sat a man swathed in purple and blue silk. A swirling white crown stretched two feet atop his head. The Emperor was older with wrinkled cheeks, but there was no gray in his hair. At his feet sat two women in orange silks, the color of a concubine.

“I am Arch Mage Ryker Slade, wielder of Spirit ac Void, ac I wager a man of your distinction speaks my tongue,” Ryker said boldly. Pike translated for the room. “This is Arch Mage Pike Bronwen, Earth, Spirit, ac Void wielder.”

The Emperor leaned forward. “Written words speak of Arch Mages and say they wested Ages past.” The Shalabane did not have a word for death, rather calling it ‘westing’ like the sun that died in the west and was reborn each day.

“Is it not proof enough that I control Void?”

“I do not know this Void.”

“No one does. It was lost t’ the Ages. Watch,” Ryker said, seizing Void and turning his hair and eyes white. In the blink of an eye he zipped around the room and stood right before the Emperor. “Which of these women do y’ ne love?” he asked, and the Emperor paused before gesturing to his right. Ryker reached out to take her hand and snapped his fingers, cutting her brain in half and killing her instantly. Her body fell to the ground, but Ryker held her smoky gray-blue spirit from slipping into the spirit world. The girl did not even know she was dead as she stared up at him.

The Mages in the room jumped to their feet to watch as he pulled the specter to her feet. She was not a Mage, so he could not manipulate an Element, but he did show his control over her, sinking her into the ground to her waist, changing her transparency, giving her solidity, and softness as he stuck a hand though her chest. Finally he let her hand go, and she vanished slipping into the spirit world.

“I listen, Arch Mage,” the Emperor said.

“I have a problem in Jaden,” Ryker began. “The new Head Mage is a powerful Class Ten controlling four Elements. He rules a prosperous kingdom. I want his kingdom, ac I guarantee y’ want him. With his ability he could bring y’ anything y’ desired.” Ryker pulled a slender box from his coat and revealed two silver bands. “Y’ know of my Castrofax?”

The Mages jumped before Pike could translate.
That
word was universal.

“I have the third piece. I want y’ t’ put the remaining two on him. Land your ships off Anatoly, ac the Head Mage will come to y’.”

“How are you certain?”

“Because his betrothed is Queen of Anatoly,” Ryker shut the box. “Ac I will affix the third piece t’ him. Land your ships ac lay waste t’ her country. Once the Head Mage falls, y’ can take Anatoly City. Ally yourself with me, ac I will see y’ richly rewarded.”

The Emperor nodded thoughtfully. “What ask you of me?”

“Your Mages ac your soldiers. Keep some here t’ defend your city ac send the rest t’ Anatoly quickly.” Ryker reached into a pocket and pulled out a stylized earring with two barbs, large enough to reach top to lobe. “This is the control piece. Give it t’ your most trusted Mage, ac let him lead y’ t’ a new rule.” Ryker set the box on the throne’s armrest.

The Emperor looked down at it for a moment. “This is…a very precious gift. Give me time to consider your offer.”

Gabriel woke with a new nightmare clinging to the vestiges of his conscious. Cold murder kept him awake far into the night, and even after three days he had made no decision. He could not select a child, or an elderly person, and the best solution he could devise was to pick someone in the infirmary, but there wasn’t anyone on the verge of death. He could not swoop in on a backwoods town and pluck someone who would not know him, nor travel across the ocean to perform the same act. He had no right, nor could he bring himself to accept it as an option.

He refrained from telling the Council of his findings, but Mikelle eventually worked it out of him. She had several victims to suggest. In the meanwhile, they continued to work through patterns. Now that he had the solution, he needed to make sure the sacrifice was not in vain. When he needed a pause from reading, he laid patterns of Void with strings of Spirit without fueling them, if only to understand their dynamics.

Unfortunately, there was precious little about patterns. Most books repeated the same information detailed a thousand years before. He had three patterns he considered useful, and mercifully the shift-pattern was one of them. That would be one of the most useful patterns in any Element.

Mikelle scratched away in her book; his silent guardian. The night before, she walked in to find him asleep at his desk, a book on organs open before him with detailed drawings of kidneys. He was adamant about trying to heal her, it just might take longer than he intended.

In the anteroom he could hear Lael and Shayleen discussing fire compared to glowing orbs, and it sounded like the Arconian was besting him.

Mage Lace entered a moment later, clad in a bulky dress of sky blue, her blonde hair in its usual tail. The look on her face said she wanted to be alone.

Gabriel closed his book and cleared his throat to get Mikelle’s attention. His eyes pointed to the door. Mikelle respectfully kicked back her chair and left them, closing the door behind her.

Lace immediately burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed, and rose to his feet.

She threw out a petite hand and motioned him to sit, a kerchief over her face as she regained her composure.

“I—” she gasped out. “I did not intend on telling you. I hoped I would not have to—but I can bear it no longer.”

Gabriel knew in an instant. Her illness, her fatigue and pale skin. She was deathly ill, and she wept because it was something he could not heal.

“Gabriel, I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 8

Gabriel felt the world slow as it crashed down around him. “Oh my stars,” he whispered, his head fell into his open hands. He tried so hard to hide it, lie and bluff his way out of questioning glances, but now there was proof of his act.
‘If there was proof of one, what of the others?’

Lace dissolved into a new set of tears.

“I am so sorry,” he breathed, not sure what to do or say. He finally stood and rounded the desk, wrapping her up into his arms as she sobbed into his shirt. He wanted to weep too. Lace was his only form of transportation, one of precious few who could lay the strong enough Air pattern to complete a sidestep. He could not keep her in the castle for fear someone would puzzle out the father.

“It was not your fault,” she sniffed out. “We had no choice.”

He closed his eyes, remembering that awful night. He thought Nolen had wrought all the havoc he could fathom, but the Prince’s imagination went far deeper.

She eventually broke away from him, drying her eyes. “What will you do with me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut. “You can’t stay here,” he finally said.

“I know,” she whispered. “I can devise a reason to return home.”

“I am so sorry to be this selfish to you.”

“I was going to suggest it if you did not. You need to tell Robyn.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Now, before you convince yourself otherwise.”

“Or I could not tell her at all.”

She gave him a stern look. He knew she would never be able to return to Anatoly or Jaden if he did not confess. “Go now.”

He gritted his teeth and marched out into the anteroom. Lael and Shayleen were still in heated debate, and Mikelle leaned against one wall, thumbing through a box. “I am going to Anatoly City for a while,” Gabriel announced. “I will return before nightfall.”

“Is everything well?” Shayleen asked, looking passed him in search of Lace.

“Exceptionally,” he muttered and returned to his study to buckle his cloak on. Lace already had the Air pattern laid, and he quickly finished his four pieces and pressed them together. Soon they appeared outside Robyn’s anteroom. The guards at the door let them in. “Wait here,” he instructed, lowering her into a couch. “This will take precious little time.”

The knock Robyn’s study door usually announced anyone but Gabriel, so Robyn was all the more surprised when he entered. The expression on his face reminded her of the day she found him with his wrist slit in his washroom, giving up on life. She instantly instructed her guard to leave them, and rounded the desk with a concerned look and took his hand.

He led her to a chair and sat her down. Folding his arms, he took a defensive stance if ever she saw one. He chewed his lip as he stared at the floor.

“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly meeting her eyes. “I should have told you months ago, but I couldn’t, and I still can’t bear to. I lied to you, Robyn.” He took a deep, shaky breath and shut his eyes. “When you asked if I laid with the Arconians, I did.”

Years of practice had taught her to be controlled, and months of ruling honed her technique, but it all fell away as she breathed “What?” and the tears rose. “You couldn’t have.”

“I did.”

“How many times.”

“I didn’t count.”

“Then how many women.”

“Nine.”

“
Nine
?” she shrieked, the tears finally escaping. “But why?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course you did,” she said a little more harshly than she intended.

He narrowed his gaze. “I really didn’t.”

She put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. Her mind raced with a hundred questions, and some she did not want answers to, but they all came to one conclusion. “You cannot be mine.”

“Not fully. Not anymore.”

She wiped the tears as anger replaced grief. “I cannot believe you did not have a choice, and I cannot fathom why you proceeded. I cannot understand why you lied about it, and I don’t believe your audacity in coming here to tell me.”

His hurt face turned to surprise. “What?”

“You dare come to me a sullied man and declare betrothal.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said evenly.

“You dare lie to me!”

“I had hoped you would—”

“I should be the one person you trust above all others! I know you better than anyone! I should have been the person you confided in, but you drive me away with every seldom visit! I hardly know you!”

“Don’t yell at me!”

Her hand flew up to slap him, two months of anger and frustration behind it. She didn’t know what she was doing until the sound echoed in her ears. His head snapped to the side, eyes closed, and his face grimaced with such a pain that she immediately regretted it. How many times had Nolen struck him? She reached out a hand to touch his cheek, but he grabbed her wrist violently.

“Don’t hit me—don’t
ever
hit me!” He flung her hand to the side.

She staggered back. “Go—go and do not return.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep living with the thundercloud you’ve become. I have a kingdom to run, and I cannot keep thinking how I will offend you next. We need to go our separate ways.”

His anger abated a fraction. “For how long? Until you are ready to accept what was done to me—what I did—or until you feel better about
yourself
?”

She pointed to the door. “Leave. Get out of my palace. You are no longer welcome here.”

His lips parted for a moment, and anger overtook his face. She had seen him angry before, but never like this. It truly frightened her. For a moment she had forgotten he was incredibly powerful, that he could tear her palace apart, and she worried for her safety and the safety of her people. Whatever fright her face held was enough to make him take a step back and march out with his cloak billowing behind him. He slammed the door, so hard it bounced off its latch and sprung back open.

She did not know whether to weep or scream or rush after him. She fell back in her chair and stared at the place he once stood.

Gabriel appeared in the anteroom in Jaden, blinded with rage. He was hardly sure he succeeded with the sidestep. Lace gripped his arm with both hands, whispering encouragement he could not hear, but her tone slowly rose in volume and panic. His fists balled so tightly they shook his entire body. Other worried voices mingled around him, but he could not hear them.

Robyn crushed him with her rejection. The one time he truly needed her, she was not there. That was the only time he needed her in many weeks. He should need her always. He was the one to blame; as if he could heap any more blame on himself.

Someone put their hands on his shoulders, and he saw a fine-tailored red coat before him and another person gripped his forearm. Lace’s tone escalated to outright panic, but he was too blinded to focus on her words. Someone came running from his right drawn by Lace’s cries.

He did not know if he hated Robyn or himself more, and all he could remember was
‘it was my fault, it was my fault, it was my fault.’
Nights, horrible nights and days with the Arconians filled his vision and made him tremble with anger. Someone shook him. Of all the women he hated most, Axa came to the forefront of his mind, and he sucked in a breath, remembering the desperate feeling of suffocating.

“Gabriel, it is going to be well,” the person gripping his forearm said gently.

He slipped from his reverie and took in the scene in a moment. Lael gripped his shoulders, holding him steady. Lace wept and tugged on his arm while Mikelle stood behind them with a hand over her mouth, and on his forearm was Axa.

Blinded with rage, he took a quick step back, breaking from their grip and snapped Spirit into his hand, pointing a finger at Axa’s head and fueling the pattern. It all happened in a second, but it took less time to realize what he’d done.

Shayleen, not Axa, stood with wide eyes boring into his, and for a moment her knees held her up. Gabriel sucked in a breath and reached for her as she fell back, her gaze tracing a straight line up the wall and to the ceiling. Lael reached her first. Her glassy eyes remained opened and dead.

Lace screamed, stepping away from him. Tears sprung from Mikelle’s eyes, but she was nodding. Lael took Shayleen to the floor and slowly looked up at Gabriel.

Gabriel took a step back, and the world suddenly lost all color. The dark tones in the floor and walls became white while the pale tints in books and candles turned black and gray. He looked behind him and saw that he stood halfway in a rip between worlds, as if someone had torn a hole in a tapestry. He took another step back and the rip vanished.

Void kept one world in the spirit world and one in reality. He looked around the afterimage of the room, and he saw diaphanous images hovering just outside his vision. Spirits.

“Stars above, he has done it,” Lael whispered.

A new Element raged within his chest, something threatening to break him in two. He reached for it and black strings shot from his chest to his hands, smoking slightly and blowing in an unseen wind.

He had to get out of there. He laid the pattern he knew best, the shift, and shot himself out of the castle.

The world moved around him in rapid black and white images, threatening to make him sick up. The mountains were white, capped with black, and he careened up them without direction. The pattern was easy to steer, and he did not care where he went.

He finally cut the pattern and dropped himself on a mountain summit. The wind was bitterly cold that cut at his face, and the air was thin. He released Void, an action as instinctive as if he used it his whole life, and with Void went his strength. He collapsed to his knees and felt the weight of the past minutes crush him into the snow. In one last act of survival, he clenched his fists, threw back his head, and screamed.