Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (41 page)

His choice had been made for him. He was committed now to finding a way to destroy the demons while sparing their human slaves. The enormous relief he felt told him it was the right course.

Where was she going? He had to stay back far enough she wouldn’t notice him, but she was moving so fast he had to hurry to avoid losing sight of her. He darted from sign to sign. She looked back just as he was about to venture out of shelter. He froze until she once again fixed her gaze forward, then rushed to make up the ground he’d lost.

Dear Mother, she didn’t trust him. She must have decided he would choose the Purifiers over her and was going to the palace to warn Elkan and Josiah herself.

He hung back as she spoke to the guard at the city wall. The man admitted her and she vanished as the heavy gate crashed shut. It was all he could do to restrain himself for a few minutes. Finally he could wait no longer.

The guard eyed him suspiciously. “What business do you have in the Dualist Quarter at this time of night?”

He was about to draw himself up and intimidate the man with Keeper authority when a better idea struck him. Instead, he looked furtively around and kept his voice soft. “The woman who just came through here. You know her?”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Of course. Lady Nirel, one of the foreigners. She comes this way most days. You’d better think twice about accosting her; she’s under the Matriarch’s protection.” He loosened his sword in its sheath with a seemingly casual motion.

“I’m her betrothed,” Vigorre hastened to reassure him. “Well, not formally her betrothed yet. Keeper Vigorre Rothen, Keeper Emirre Rothen’s son.”

The guard seemed only slightly less suspicious. “So what are you doing out here? Wasn’t that your carriage that went through a little while back?”

“Yes. Nirel insisted I let her out and told me to go home. It seemed strange, so I slipped out of the carriage to follow her.”

The guard gave a coarse laugh. “She’s running around on you already? Get out while you’ve got the chance, son, and thank the Mother you found out before she trapped you into a lifetime of misery.”

Vigorre clenched his fists, aching to make the man pay for slandering Nirel. But he forced himself to nod conspiratorially. “Exactly. I have to see where she goes so I have proof.”

The man shook his head, but he was already swinging the gate open. “It’s not worth your time, son. You already know she’s playing you false.”

“She might have a legitimate errand.” Vigorre slipped through the narrow crack, and the guard eased the gate closed behind him. The clang as it caught was far quieter than the previous one, but it still rang in Vigorre’s ears.

The man rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.” As Vigorre set off down the main road through the Quarter, he cleared his throat. “Son, she went that way.” He pointed down a cross street. “I’ve seen her take that route before.”

Vigorre halted, confused, and looked the way the man indicated. Far down the street he caught a glimpse of a slim dark figure. He retained just enough presence of mind to stay in character. He swore under his breath, then pulled a coin from his purse and tossed it to the guard. “Thanks for your trouble, friend. Keep this quiet, will you?”

“Keep what quiet?” the man asked with a knowing grin.

Vigorre raced down the side street, managing to make up a little ground before Nirel turned onto another road. She led him through a maze of twisty narrow lanes. He had to draw closer than he liked, but she must have stopped worrying about being followed, because she kept her face forward, focused on whatever goal she rushed toward so urgently.

Without warning she turned and ducked into a doorway. The door clicked shut behind her. Vigorre halted, panting to catch his breath. This was crazy. What purpose could have brought Nirel here, deep in the heart of the Dualist Quarter? She seemed perfectly familiar with the place, though Vigorre was thoroughly lost. He’d never been here before in his life.

Wait. That wasn’t true. His heart went cold as he studied the doorway and realized he recognized the faded symbol painted over the lintel. This was the place they’d traced Tharan to that morning. Behind that door was the shrine where the Dualist Elder Davon had ordered the assassin to kill whoever he must to prevent a wizard from coming to Tevenar.

Had Nirel taken it into her head to confront the Elder herself? Why? Did she fear he might order attacks on the wizards she’d decided for some reason to protect? Vigorre’s head swam. If only he could open a window and watch what was happening inside the building.

He dared to go right up to the door and press his ear against the wood, but he could hear nothing. The only window was covered by tightly closed shutters. No sound penetrated them.

Vigorre backed across the street, staring all the time at the nondescript building. He was positive it was the one Kevessa had traced Tharan to. He clearly remembered peering into the window that hovered over her hand, noting the location so he could inform Keeper Yoran, thinking about how Nirel would react when she saw—

Vigorre put his back against the wall behind him and slid down with a hard thump. His heart thundered against his ribs. He couldn’t catch his breath.

Nirel hadn’t seen the shrine through Kevessa’s window. He and Kevessa had watched Tharan on the trip out to the village. After they’d picked Nirel up, Kevessa hadn’t opened a window again. Nirel had argued that further observation of Elder Davon might be against the Law, which made Nina refuse to cooperate. He’d thought she was protecting his secret.

Now he realized she’d been protecting her own.

Nirel was in there speaking with Elder Davon. There were no raised voices to indicate an angry confrontation. She had walked here with swift, certain steps, never pausing to consider the route. The guard at the gate had said she’d come this way before.

The conclusion was obvious, but it was several long minutes before Vigorre could entertain it. Nirel, in league with the Dualists? Impossible.

But… there had been that Dualist woman injured in the fire. Vigorre had been too busy bandaging burns to pay much attention, but he’d heard Nirel’s voice raised as she confronted the wizards. She’d demanded that they respect the woman’s beliefs and refrain from healing her, even if she would die without the Mother’s power.

And there was the way her father treated her, almost as if she was his property, expecting absolute obedience. Dualists were notorious for controlling their women that way. When she wasn’t wearing Tevenaran breeches, she favored dresses far more modest than was fashionable, though not quite as high-necked and drab as the iconic Dualist garb.

He’d had to give her a detailed description of what to expect at his ordination ceremony, because she’d never attended a Restday service before. He’d assumed it was because of her isolated upbringing in Tevenar, but she’d been in Ramunna for months before he invited her. She hadn’t wanted to practice the litany responses aloud, but had asked for a written copy to study. She’d been nearly as tense as he had that morning. Maybe her reaction had been due to more than just the discomfort of taking part in an unfamiliar ceremony. Maybe she’d felt the way he would have in a Dualist shrine, raising his voice in blasphemous praise to the Lord of Justice.

The more he thought about it, the more little mysteries made sense. Ozor hadn’t sent her to the wizards. Elder Davon had, to spy on them for the Dualists the way Vigorre did for the Purifiers. The Dualists wanted something. They’d sent Tharan to Tevenar to prevent a wizard from coming to Ramunna. When he’d failed, they must have formulated a new scheme, and Nirel was part of it.

Vigorre jerked his head up and stared at the door of the shrine. They were using her. And through her, they were using him. How much of what Nirel had told him was true, and how much was designed to manipulate him into doing what the Dualists wanted? Had she been honest with him about anything? Or was everything, including her affection for him, an elaborate act?

His face burned. His love for her, the way his body reacted when they touched, the surge of desire every time they kissed that had him counting the days until they could be wed—was it all based on a lie? He would have sworn she felt the same way. But then he would have sworn she’d never been in a Dualist shrine, and he was obviously wrong about that.

She felt something, though. He had to believe that. Some things couldn’t be faked. There had been undeniable sparks between them from the moment they’d first met.

Hot shame transmuted to cold fear. Their meeting at that ball had been no accident, he realized. She’d sought him out. She’d gotten him alone, and before she’d had any real reason to trust him she’d confessed a dangerous secret. Had it been the truth, that her Dualist masters sought to use to their advantage? Or had it been just another lie?

Nirel’s word was the only real proof he had that the wizards’ familiars were demons. Everything else boiled down to hunches, feelings, extrapolations. And an old scrap of paper, as Kevessa had called the Purifiers’ secret document. What credence would he have given Keeper Yoran’s claims if he’d never heard Nirel’s story? Would he have believed Kevessa when she swore Nina had faked the blazing red eyes that had convinced so many she was a demon?

Would he have doubted for a moment that it was truly the Mother who’d spoken to him?

…you’ve been lied to by those you trust, in such a way that it’s become difficult for you to discern truth from falsehood…Think of what you’ve seen my power do, Vigorre. With your own eyes, not what others have told you. You’ve watched it heal, and help, and show truth…

He groaned and clutched his head. He had. For a whole week he’d watched the wizards pour out power unstintingly, unselfishly, gloriously. Only his love for Nirel and his conviction that she’d witnessed the truth behind the facade had kept him from joyfully embracing that power.

Instead, he’d agreed to help destroy its source. Right now he was supposed to be leading the wizards and familiars to their doom. What if—

Vigorre jumped to his feet. He had to know the truth. He strode across the street and ripped the door of the shrine open.

Inside, it was dark. Faint lamplight seeped between curtains at the end of a narrow hall. He stormed down it and tore the curtains aside. In the circular space he’d seen through a window that morning, Nirel and Elder Davon knelt side by side, conversing in low, intent voices.

Nirel looked up, and her face went through a swift gamut of emotions—shock, horror, fear, panic. She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting frantically from side to side. “Vigorre. I—I—What are you doing here? You’re going to ruin everything! I—I couldn’t tell you, but I’ve been secretly infiltrating the F—I mean, the Dualists, so I could trick them into… into…” She faltered under his cold stare.

Elder Davon rose and put a calm hand on her shoulder. “Peace, daughter. I fear it’s useless to deceive Keeper Vigorre any longer.”

Vigorre clenched his fists and fought the urge to slam one into the man’s serene face. “You’re right. I want to hear the truth, all of it, right now. Or I’ll call the Matriarch’s guards and have you both arrested.” He took a threatening step forward. “When she learns how you sent an assassin to keep the wizards out of Ramunna you’ll be lucky if you face the dungeon and not the gallows. I wonder what other crimes a window would reveal?” He shifted his glower to Nirel. “It’s illegal for Dualists to live outside the Quarter. And to lie about who they are.”

She lifted her chin and met his eyes defiantly. “I’m one of the Faithful. I serve the Lord of Justice. Turn me over to the Matriarch if you want. I don’t care.”

The words hit him like a blow. He’d known, but part of him had still hoped he was wrong. But her voice rang with truth. The way she stood with her shoulders back and spine proudly straight told him he was seeing the real Nirel for the first time.

Elder Davon cleared his throat. “There’s no need to call in the authorities. I think we might be able to reach an understanding, if you’re willing to listen to what we have to say. Would you like to adjourn to the outer chamber and sit down for a discussion? I expect the Lord’s shrine isn’t a comfortable place for a servant of the Lady.”

Vigorre shuddered. The vivid patterns woven into the curtains were playing tricks on his eyes, seeming to jump around with nausea-inducing randomness. He longed to rip them down and summon the Matriarch’s men to destroy the foul place. But he needed the information only the Dualist leader could give. Whether he’d believe what Davon told him remained to be seen. He nodded curtly.

Davon ushered him out of the shrine and into an adjoining room with as much dignity as if he were an invited guest. He lit a lamp by the door as Vigorre dropped into one of the hard wooden chairs around a rectangular table. Davon seated himself across the table and gestured for Nirel to take the chair at his side.

“I must ask your forgiveness,” Davon said, regarding Vigorre steadily. Vigorre felt as if the man was assessing him, judging his character, evaluating how he was likely to react. He suppressed a sneer. How dare the heretic presume to pass judgement on one of the Mother’s servants? “It was necessary to conceal certain facts from you in order to accomplish goals vital to the well-being of the Faithful. But now the time has come to bring you into our confidence. The Faithful and the Purifiers share a number of objectives. I’ve long thought you would be the ideal person to negotiate a truce between us. There’s much to gain if we cooperate.”

Vigorre blinked. “What?” He shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh. “Cooperate? What could the Purifiers and the Dualists possibly have in common? You hate us, and we hate you.”

“I can’t speak for the Purifiers, but I assure you the Faithful feel no hatred toward those who oppress us. Only a desire to go about our worship of the Lord of Justice unhindered. Listen, and I will enumerate the ways in which our interests are aligned.”

“I don’t care. I’m not interested in negotiating with you. All I need to know is—”

Davon spoke over him, ticking off the points on long, gaunt fingers. “One. The Purifiers want to expel the Faithful from Ramunna as they have from Marvanna. The Faithful here would like nothing better than to leave a country that oppresses us with restrictive laws, discriminates against us in matters of taxation and trade rules, takes away our children on the slightest pretense, abuses us at will, and shows us in a myriad of other ways that we are unwelcome. All we need is a place to relocate, and we will depart.