Leaves of Flame (31 page)

Thaedoren made to protest, but Aeren halted him with a raised hand. “Let me finish.

“This by itself would make me uneasy, but there is something else. Lotaern and Shaeveran have been working on a blade that will kill the sukrael and the Wraiths, a weapon that will give its wielder an advantage over them. Shaeveran thought he had finally created such a blade and revealed the knife to Lotaern. The Chosen did not react as he expected, so Shaeveran kept the knife himself. However, since then, Lotaern has managed to gain possession of it.”

He told Thaedoren of the trek to the sarenavriell in the White Wastes, of the discovery of the Well and the Wraith and sukrael that waited for them there. He told him of the Flame’s betrayal during the attack, and the subsequent theft of the knife by Vaeren and the others.

“I assume the knife has already been returned to Lotaern, although as far as I know he does not realize that it
does not work as Shaeveran had hoped. Siobhaen knows this, but the rest of the Flame departed before the Wraith recovered and vanished. Shaeveran felt that the revelation of whatever has happened in the east was more important than retrieving the knife, and so he, Eraeth, and Siobhaen have gone to the dwarren to see what they know of the awakening of the Lifeblood there. He sent me here to forewarn you of Lotaern and the renewed threat from the Wraiths and sukrael. He doesn’t know what that threat is specifically, but the Wraiths have begun to act again.”

“Have they found a way around the Seasonal Trees? Will they be able to attack Alvritshai lands?” Thaedoren had straightened in his seat as Aeren spoke. But only when Aeren began speaking of the Wraiths and sukrael; he didn’t appear concerned over Lotaern’s theft of the knife.

“Shaeveran checked with the Winter Tree before coming to Artillien with the Order of the Flame and said that the protection from the Trees was still in effect. I don’t think we are under any immediate threat of attack.”

“But an attack could come?”

“He doesn’t see how. But the Wraith that attacked us in the White Wastes was clear: the Wraith’s armies are already moving.”

“What ‘armies?’ Did he mean the sukrael?”

Aeren shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither does Shaeveran. But he believes that it is more than simply the sukrael. He says that the dwarren have been warning us all for decades that there are more creatures involved in what they call the Turning than the sukrael.”

Thaedoren fell silent, his face pinched in thought. After a moment, he stood and began pacing along the length of the table, head bowed.

He halted at the far end of the room, his gaze locked on one of Reanne’s cedar wall hangings. “What does Shaeveran expect us to do about the Wraiths and this army?”

A flash of nausea and irritation passed through Aeren, making him grateful that Thaedoren was not watching. Thaedoren appeared to have dismissed Lotaern entirely. “He’s left that for us to decide. But I do not feel that we have enough information to make any decisions. We need to know what he discovers from the dwarren first, and what he finds to the east.”

“But if what the Wraith said is true, we may not have time to wait.”

“The Winter Tree will protect us.” He swallowed back the bitterness in this throat and tried one more time, watching Thaedoren carefully. “Lotaern is a more immediate threat, one that we can deal with now. We should concern ourselves with him.”

Thaedoren turned to face him, not bothering to hide his own irritation. “And what do you propose to do about him? Sending the Order of the Flame out to the temples is within his rights as Chosen of the Order. You cannot confront him over that.”

Despair slid into Aeren’s chest. “His action has made many of the lords uneasy,” he said. “I think that fact, coupled with the knife he stole from Shaeveran, may be enough to bring the Evant against him.”

Thaedoren looked doubtful. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I will meet with each of the Lords of the Evant individually, explain to them about the knife and the Order’s betrayal of Shaeveran at the sarenavriell, see how they react.

“And then I will confront Lotaern in the Hall of the Evant.”

It was his only option now. He couldn’t count on Thaedoren’s support any longer, not unequivocally. The Tamaell’s bonding with Reanne, with House Licaeta, would change everything.

He would have to warn Moiran. He wasn’t certain she’d believe him.

Thaedoren remained standing after Lord Aeren and his escort had departed, staring out into the corridor even though they had long since moved beyond sight.

One of his own escort shifted toward him in concern. “Tamaell?”

He raised a hand to cut him off. “Give me a moment, Naraen. I need to think.”

The White Phalanx guard took a step back but did not withdraw.

Thaedoren bowed his head. What Aeren had said regarding Lotaern was disturbing, but he thought the lord’s concern was misplaced and doubted his attempts to sway the lords would work. Lotaern had always been a thorn in their sides, from the moment Thaedoren’s father had given his tacit permission for the Chosen of the Order to maintain the Order of the Flame. Lotaern had taken that as implicit approval to expand the group, even before Fedorem’s death at the Escarpment.

But what Thaedoren had done had sealed the Flame’s position in the Order. He’d acknowledged the need for the Flame on the battlefield, had used them. After that, there had been no chance of demanding that the unit be disbanded. For better or worse, the Order of the Flame had become a permanent addition to the Order of Aielan, subject to the orders of the Chosen.

And Thaedoren had not regretted that decision. In the years that followed, with the resurgence of the sukrael under the direction of the Wraiths, the Order of the Flame had been invaluable. None of the other House Phalanx, nor the White Phalanx, had a hope of standing up to the sukrael.
Only the powers wielded by the Flame had been able to keep the sukrael at bay, and even then.…

He shuddered at the memories. Those first forty years of his rule as Tamaell had been devastating, the sukrael’s attacks on the southern and eastern borders vicious and maddening in their randomness. There had been no method to their destruction, no way to prepare or to plan a defense. All of his training within the Phalanx and his years of service as caitan along the border fighting the dwarren with his brother had been useless. Their only effective tactic, the only useful strategy, had come from the Order of the Flame.

From Lotaern.

The fact that the Chosen now had a weapon that could be used against the sukrael and the Wraiths, no matter how he had come into possession of that weapon, could only make the Flame more effective.

And with word that the armies of the Wraiths were in motion, they would need the Flame—­and Lotaern—­even more. He would not relive those years of frustration fighting a force that attacked from the shadows and withdrew before the defenses could be rallied and the powers of the Flame brought to bear. Too many Alvritshai had been lost.

Naraen stirred and Thaedoren glanced up to find Reanne standing in the doorway, a startled look on her face, a large tallow candle wrapped in cloth clutched in her hands.

“Oh, I thought the meeting had ended,” she said. “I can return later.” But she did not move.

Thaedoren stood and smiled. “No need, Reanne. The meeting has ended. I was simply thinking.”

She hesitated, the almond-­colored eyes he loved flaring with concern, then entered, moving toward one of the side tables. “You look troubled,” she said, as she unwrapped the candle and began adjusting the arrangement there. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

Thaedoren shifted to her side, but did not touch her,
aware of Naraen at the door. “Lord Aeren was expressing concern over the Chosen.”

Reanne grimaced. “Again? I do not understand his hatred of the Chosen. He was an acolyte once, was he not? How can he turn his back on everything he was taught then?”

“He hasn’t. But he has to think of the needs of his House now as well.”

“He can do both. Look at my brother, Orraen. He runs Licaeta and remains faithful to Aielan.”

“Aeren
is
faithful to Aielan.”

“If he were faithful,” Reanne said, an edge to her voice, “he would support the Chosen in all that he does. Lotaern has done nothing but aid the lords in their defense against the sukrael.” She fussed with the candle and the cedar boughs, then sighed, head bowed. “But I know he is family.” She faced him with a wry smile. “Besides, the enmity between Aeren and Lotaern is not enough to trouble you this much, not when it is so old and worn. What other news did Lord Aeren bring?”

Thaedoren hesitated, but only because his bonding with Reanne was so new. They were still feeling each other out, even after a full winter together here in Caercaern, and the two years of courting that had come before that. But he wanted what his mother and Aeren shared, knew that they consulted each other on everything, including what occurred in the Evant.

“He brought me a warning from Shaeveran about the Wraiths.”

Reanne stilled. “What warning?” Fear tinged her voice.

“That they are moving. They’ve been manipulating the sarenavriell again. He didn’t have anything more substantial to tell us than that. Shaeveran has gone to investigate.”

“And the Winter Tree?”

“It still protects us.”

Reanne relaxed slightly. She turned back to the candle, fussed with the placement of the greenery again. “It makes Aeren’s disrespect of Lotaern even more suspicious, though. If the Wraiths are acting again, shouldn’t he be supporting the Chosen? We may need Lotaern. We may need the Flame, as we did before the protection of the Winter Tree.”

Thaedoren quelled a shudder at the reminder. But Reanne was right. The Alvritshai might need the Order and the Flame sometime soon, depending on what Shaeveran found. He needed to find out what Lotaern intended, regarding the knife and the news of the Wraiths’ movements. As Tamaell, he needed to protect the Alvritshai lands first and foremost. Perhaps it was time to deal with the tensions between Lotaern and Aeren once and for all. And time to prepare for whatever the Wraiths had planned for them next. He knew that Lotaern sought power, but that power might be better curbed by the Evant and the other lords if they saw Lotaern as a rival, as Aeren did.

“Naraen,” he said, glancing toward the guardsman even as he straightened. “Have word sent to the Chosen of the Order of Aielan that I wish to speak with him.”

“Immediately, Tamaell.”

“And summon my brother. Tell him the White Fox is needed once again in Caercaern.”

Lotaern stood beneath the massive branches of the Winter Tree, sunlight filtering down through the silvered leaves in dappled patches all around him. Stone paths converged here, meeting at a low circular table inscribed with quotes from the Scripts before winding away to other parts of the garden. Halfway between the entrance and the bole of the great tree, secluded and isolated by the city and the Sanctuary by the massive stone wall, it was one of Lotaern’s favorite places for contemplation.

And a simple place for a meeting away from prying eyes.

He moved to the edge of the heavy stone table, his gaze glancing at the inscriptions without reading them. One hand drifted toward the package in the left pocket of his robes, its weight more than physical, but he caught the motion and forced his hands to clasp before him. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes and murmured a soft chant, quieting his heart and the nervous trembling of his arms.

The prayer did little to still his troubled conscience.

“It belongs with the Order,” he muttered to himself. “He had no right to claim it for himself.”

“Talking to yourself, Chosen? Is that not one of the signs of corruption according to Aielan?”

Lotaern’s heart juddered in his chest at the familiar voice and he grimaced. He did not open his eyes and turn until it had calmed and he’d smoothed the lines of his face.

“Some of the most revered acolytes within the Order over the ages talked to themselves,” he said to the cloaked and hooded lord who stood at his back. “Even Cortaemall was said to rage within his own chambers.”

“So it is said.” Lord Orraen hesitated, then added, “What is it you wish to speak of?”