Stained Glass Monsters

Chapter Twenty-Two

A tap at the door set Rennyn to hastily wiping her face, and she looked back as it opened to reveal Kendall and Sukata carrying a plate, pitcher and glass. They didn’t say anything, just put the meal on the desk and left, one with her chin set mule-stubborn and the other with eyes wide with dismay and determination.

Rennyn stared at the door as it closed, then managed a shaky smile. "You made some good friends, Seb."

The idea of eating repelled her, but she forced down a few bites, and drank half a glass of sweet barley water. It did help, but when she pushed herself to open the first of the books Seb had collected for her, the pages were a blur, meaningless.

She’d known this day was coming, had known she would take the brunt of it. When she’d found herself having to work closely with the Kellian earlier than planned, she’d tried to armour herself against them, to maintain a distance so it wouldn’t hurt quite so much when they looked at her as they had today. And then refused to look at her.

She doubted they would try and kill her or Seb. They were a resilient and practical and very proud people, but not unjust. They would recover from the initial shock, and prepare themselves for the horror of Solace’s control. Rennyn would do everything she could to ensure it wasn’t permanent. Then – well, she was sure they would treat her with every courtesy, and try not to flinch too obviously whenever she spoke.

The best move would be to leave Tyrland afterwards. It made sense, was the kinder option for everyone involved. There was the property in Kole, and the holdings and investments there. Tyrland was her home, but it would not be comfortable staying to play nightmare of the Kellian.

She wished Faille had been closer, so she could have better seen his reaction. He had not spoken, had not turned away, had not moved at all. But she knew he would loathe the thought of being subject to the Montjuste-Surcleres. She kept hearing his voice, asking her about trust.

Even in their horror they had not withdrawn their trust – they believed she would stop Solace where they could not. And since she wouldn’t be able to do that sitting around paralysed by things she couldn’t change, Rennyn put aside the day’s losses and moved on to future battles, focusing on reading through the marked places of the books. There was little time left, and she was increasingly worried about interference from her Wicked Uncle. Using creatures of this world as cat’s-paws completely bypassed the strongest of their defences.

"My Lady."

Not quite able to suppress a start, Rennyn turned to discover Faille standing in the doorway. It was fortunate she hadn’t eaten more, because her stomach turned to a knot at the sight of him: as correct as ever, but his eyes so dark.

"What has been decided?" she asked, managing to control the concern in her voice.

"The Council debates a call for execution. It will not stand, but it delays the announcement of the more likely decision."

"Imprisonment?" she guessed.

He nodded. "We are confined to barracks tonight, and likely the dungeons tomorrow. They will need to be reinforced."

Not strong enough to hold Kellian. Probably, they would have to chain them. All of them, even Sukata.

"I would like to test the limits of your control," he said.

Rennyn blinked. But he meant it, was waiting for her to give him an order, braced for the ordeal. He actually expected her to do it.

"There are no limits to my control," she said. "I’m not going to torture you to prove a thing I already know."

"Can you control our thoughts? Our feelings?" The vertical lines on either side of his mouth deepened, but then he said: "I wish to experience this so that I know its scope, so that my people can prepare for it. I do not doubt that it is as you describe."

"A fear faced?"

He nodded, the jerkiness of the motion betraying how true her words were. "It may not be as complete as Queen Solace’s, but it will give me a basis for comparison."

"Sit down."

Such a commonplace phrase to produce such distress. His eyes did no more than widen as he moved to sit tidily on the bed, but the set of his shoulders after was that of a man who had taken a crippling blow.

"Stay there."

She turned back to her book because she was angry, and saw no reason to make him deal with that. After their walk in the forest she’d promised herself that she would never give Faille an order. Broken already.

It also seemed important to hide that she was glad. Grateful for forbearance. That he could set aside the mountainous bar she had revealed to come and speak with her without open revulsion, to deal with the issue rather than despise her for her inheritance. That he was even able to look at her.

And it was impossible, of course, to concentrate on anything with him sitting behind her being incredibly upset. She tidied the desk, allowing him a lengthy opportunity to take his basis for comparison, then turned and said, "Enough."

He half-rose, but sat back down again, eyes hooded. "I could as well be telling someone else’s body to move."

"In a way, you are," she said, not avoiding harsh truths since he wanted to confront this. "As to controlling feelings: no. The spell isn’t structured for it. The original Kellian were Solace’s fingers. Literally. She used part of one of her fingers in the casting, as that was the symbolism she desired. Fingers do not have emotions: they are an extension of one’s self. She wanted guards who would never betray her, no more than a hand would betray a wrist. Thoughts – that’s more difficult to define, but though I expect I could cause you to behave as if the sky was green, I doubt I could make you believe it."

He took a long breath, weighing this. "How will Solace’s control differ from yours?"

"I can give verbal commands which control your actions. Tiandel left extensive observations of his experiences with the original Ten – the only thing which allowed me to risk speaking to any of you at all, to know that only a direct, intentional order must be obeyed. Solace – Solace is a part of the spell which makes you Kellian which has been absent." She watched his long, dagger-tipped fingers curl in his lap. "When Solace left this world, the original Kellian had memories of what they had experienced, but little impulse to act. Your human ancestry isn’t likely to make any great difference: your mind will probably not be destroyed, but at the very least she will suppress your will. You may be aware while this is happening, but your body will not be your own. I don’t know how it will…damage you."

"We might become as the Ten once were?"

"Possibly. If she has control of you for an extended period of time. A kind of death."

"Preferable, I should think." He was recovering, the harshness fading from his face as he rapidly turned over options. "And there is no shield, no way to block her access to us?"

"Nothing viable. You can’t even go into the Eferum, if that was feasible for sixty people, since she will exist in both worlds."

Faille went still, eyes narrowing. "Sarana has been in the Eferum."

"I know."

Another blow. He closed his eyes, but opened them again immediately, thinking it over. "Could Solace erase memory?"

"That I don’t know. Perhaps. Or she could be under a command not to reveal her experience. I don’t think it would be possible for Solace to have…withheld herself from Captain Illuma, or that Captain Illuma would have been unaware of her presence. It is possible that Solace was simply out of range – the physics of the Eferum are not something I can fully predict. In any case, I would already be dead if she’d been under orders to kill me."

Before he could respond there was a dull vibration and the bed shuddered. Faille stood up in a blur, but it wasn’t an attack.

"The latest expansion," Rennyn said, slipping past him. The corner of the bed was caught in the field of effect from the focus she’d set near the far wall. Faille lifted it out with one hand, setting it at an angle, then stood looking down at the focus.

"Which of you can command us?" he asked, his voice very thin. She couldn’t tell if he was keeping back anger or deepening dismay, only that he was very upset and very near.

"The current head of the family. Within this world." She wished she still owned the arrogance of her early teens, when she’d believed herself capable of anything, but the more she’d learned of magic, the more she understood what she could never do. "I’m sorry," she said, touching his shoulder. "I don’t know any way to make this different. I would change it if I could."

"I know that," he said. Then he glanced down to where her hand remained resting against him.

Rennyn felt muscle tense, and her face grew hot as Faille gave her a very searching look. She was astonished at herself, but suddenly and fiercely determined to not step away or drop her gaze, though it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. It was the wrong time. He was so distressed, and she knew very well she could be totally misreading that small exchange in the wood, and this was something she should not do, but she just couldn’t stand that she might never see him again. She felt like she’d staked herself out in the sun, and if his surprise turned to anger or disgust, a new-found part of her would shrivel completely. But the worst time was the only time, this moment between lies and the end.

Faille lifted one hand, catching strands of hair up until he curled his fingers around the nape of her neck, still searching her eyes for reaction. The flood of relief and uncertainty made her heart thump so painfully she thought for an instant she might faint, and she tightened her hand on the heavy cloth of his uniform, wondering what her face looked like and if it was possible for her heart to race so fast it stumbled.

Whatever her expression, he found his answer. And kissed her. Not tentatively. Not lightly. This was certainly the worst night of his life and his response was one of a man at an emotional extreme, faster and more violent than she could have anticipated.

As she caught her breath and tried to respond, his other hand swept down to the small of her back, pressing her against him, and then she was against the door, gasping as she was lifted up so she was closer to his height, bare skin tingling as her shirt came free. There was no space left between them.

She was fumbling distractedly at the heavy undercoat he wore when he finally broke free of her mouth, long enough to cast a dissatisfied glance at Seb’s bed. Rejecting it, he picked her up. The door was a minor obstruction, then out into the hall, a right turn to the stair where she’d once seen him sitting, and up to the next level of the barracks. Another door, a dark room and then one made vivid by moonlight. Rennyn had no idea if anyone had seen them: he’d kissed her the entire way.

But he paused when they reached his bed, and set her carefully on her feet again. The window was wide and unshuttered and the high, full moon set him burning: eyes white disks, hair cold flame, fingers tipped with diamond. He was watching her face, and though it was nearly impossible for her to make out his expression, she thought he was stepping back from the urgency of his first response, giving her a chance to change her mind.

She was vaguely aware of fear. Partly of doing anything which would make him stop, of embarrassing herself. A little of a thing she’d never done. But most of all of hurting him more. She hadn’t expected any of the Kellian to want anything to do with her, after she’d told them the truth. Faille, most of all, she’d expected to hate her. She’d been trying to come to terms with that ever since she’d realised that she’d started to more than trust him, and still could not quite believe that he had come to talk with her once he knew that the Kellian could not leave behind their origins. Reaching out had been an impulse, and perhaps she wouldn’t have done it if she’d thought the implications through. This threw aside common caution, and in its way was the most selfish thing she’d ever done.

She brushed a finger along the vertical line to the right of his mouth, barely visible against opalescent flesh. She was close enough to feel the heat of him through her shirt, and the quiver which ran the length of his body when she touched him. She should never have come near him.

Rennyn lay watching Faille dress. The first time she’d seen him wearing anything other than a variation of his uniform, he was buttoning a charcoal grey shirt above loose leggings. Preparing himself for the dungeons. He looked thinner without the layers of uniform, ropey muscle stretched over a long frame, lean and spare.

She felt so greedy, and painfully protective. Possessive. Ironic given how very much she didn’t want to consider herself anyone’s owner, how much she objected to the idea of inheriting people. A different kind of possession, she supposed. They hadn’t spoken at all, not since she’d touched him. She hadn’t dared, didn’t want to complicate the night with any possibility of commanding him, though she was sure more than a few would suggest or suspect exactly that. It had also seemed more natural, letting actions speak for them, pushing aside the shock of the day’s revelations. He’d been so hungry for her, the totality of his response overwhelming.

He noticed she was awake and crossed to sit on the side of the bed. Rennyn looked up at him, wondering what she could possibly say, and in the pause he reached down and traced the tip of a lock of her hair coiling on the sheet. There was a black band about his wrist, and she recognised her hair ribbon, the ends neatly tucked under tightly wound loops. That made her want to cry, but she settled for gripping his hand, the calluses of a swordsman hard against her skin.

"I don’t know your first name."

"Illidian."

She smiled at the absurdity of herself who had never asked, and he curled his fingers through hers, then bent and kissed her. Saying goodbye. He didn’t need to tell her anything else, not what it would mean if she didn’t succeed, not what he hoped they might do after. They couldn’t speak of that yet, so he just kissed her. And left.

For a long time Rennyn stayed where she was, keeping her thoughts on the previous night instead of the future. Eventually she rose, found her clothes neatly folded on a chair, and wandered around exploring. Three rooms, the bedroom very sparse and clear, but the other two devoted to books. Philosophy, history, science, memoirs, travel journals, plays, poetry, fictions. An extensive selection of the better works on magic, and a larger one focusing on Eferum-Get. The books covered every wall except one, which held more than twenty swords, all different lengths and edges. A small shelf by a window seat wasn’t ordered by subject, but instead held a disparate collection of books, covers worn from frequent handling. It was like seeing inside his mind.

None of them was anything she had read, not one. She only knew magic and the mission of her family. It was the whole of her life. What would it be like, after? She’d never dared to make real plans, and her mind recoiled from dreaming of what she and Illidian Faille might do together. The chance that she would be killed was too large. The chance that he would be wasn’t much lower. Even if they survived, her inheritance would always stand between them.

And that only if he forgave her for the things she hadn’t yet told him.