Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (39 page)

I complete my walk to the Great Hall in a reverie of outrage and unexpected insight. But my temper steadies as we enter the building where I’m to be tried. From the vast, soaring spaces and stained glass to the tiled mosaics rising up the wall and the calligraphy scrolling around the high domes, the grand entry is breathtaking. At the center of the entry, a great water clock tells time, a work of genius to measure out the minutes and hours of the day, its marriage of beauty and function a thing of wonder.

The entryway opens into a great open space where the chant of a holy man reciting a prayer resounds. We bypass the prayer space, walking through a side door into a long hallway, and proceeding to a door halfway down.

Across from the door waits my mother. The shock of seeing her drains the last of my temper, leaving me numb. She wears jade-hued mage’s robes, a lovely, shifting green that remains completely unadorned. Beneath them, the pale cream edge of her kimono throws the color into greater relief. Her neck is long and curved, her hair upswept so that her profile is elegance itself. She watches us approach without expression, but I can tell the moment she recognizes me: the slight hardening of her jaw, the crystalline stillness in which she stands.

She knows who I am. Five years’ separation, the time it took me to grow from child to woman, protected me at our last meeting. But my features still reflect both her and the man who was my father, and word would have traveled very fast after my capture. It was her name-spell I used at the last.

As we turn to enter the doorway, Hotaru Brokensword lowers her gaze, dropping her chin slightly, to all appearances a respectful, meek woman. I doubt any of my escort recognize it for what I do — a greeting, and perhaps also a farewell. I look away because I cannot return her courtesy without arousing interest, and because I don’t yet know what to make of it. Nor am I sure I want to return it.

The Council’s meeting room is meant to intimidate as much as the Great Hall is meant to inspire awe and wonder. The ceiling here is high but nothing like the entryway, the walls covered in another mosaic so complex that my eyes merely gloss over it. What intimidates are the two great curved tables, set facing each other upon a low platform, like the two crescents of an impossible moon curved toward each other. Between their far tips, a third table sits, just large enough to accommodate the first mage while lending him the prestige of pride of place.

The bottom tips of the crescent tables are spaced farther apart, allowing the Council an easy view of the rest of the room. My guards escort me past a set of brocade-cushioned benches to a seat placed at the very bottom of the tables, facing the first mage’s place of honor. As I walk, I catch sight of Jabir standing quietly to the side, rheumy eyes giving nothing away. Stonefall, who should have long since fled, has taken a seat on one of the benches, his eyes on the Council tables. I recognize the two mages who were on the patrol I joined, the stocky mage glaring. On the other side are Osman Bey and the two lycans who escorted me to Stormwind’s cell. Kemal watches me through narrowed eyes, radiating fury. Osman Bey, on the other hand, keeps his gaze trained on the front of the room, giving no indication that he’s noticed my entry. Talon is conspicuously absent.

My chair sports wooden armrests and a cushioned back and seat. I ease myself down, careful not to jar my elbow against the armrest. A few of the Council members stand about behind their tables conversing.

I don’t have long to wait. Within a few minutes, a rustle of robes heralds the arrival of the remaining members of the Council. I stare straight ahead as they walk up the aisle behind me.

The first two mages pass me without a glance, caught up in a quiet discussion. The one mage I do not recognize, but the other I would know anywhere: Blackflame.

Today, he wears ceremonial robes, black as the night with gold embroidery rimming the front and the ends of his sleeves, complimenting the bright yellow of his hair. As he walks, the robes sway about him so perfectly I wonder if he’s charmed them.

He is beautiful and powerful and considers me nothing more than a nuisance, and a convenient excuse for taking over the Council. It would almost be worth releasing the fire I carry in my bones at him in a second sunbolt, even if it destroyed me. Just as well the room is no doubt warded against every form of aggressive magic imaginable, and such an attack would never reach him. I’m glad not to have the choice.

He takes his seat at the center table and motions to a mage who sits far to my right, papers spread before him. A scribe, I think. A small metal stand sculpted to look like a bird in flight sits before him, a silver bell hanging from its beak. The mage taps the bell once with an ornate hammer. As the silvery note fills the air, I feel a faint brush of magic against my cheeks. I strain my senses, trying to discern what the spell has accomplished, but I can’t be sure. It might be that the doors are sealed, or that the room itself is sealed against any type of spying, magical or physical. It feels as though we are, somehow, floating free, untethered to the rest of the world.

Blackflame leans back in his chair, fixing his icy blue eyes on me. The other mages have already seated themselves and likewise turn their gaze to me. I look back silently, waiting. When he finally speaks, though, Blackflame addresses the Council. “It is our duty today to question the prisoner before us in hopes of understanding exactly how Mage Stormwind escaped, and to learn any details that may allow us to recapture her. We must also decide on the future of this … wild Promise, as it were.”

Promise? Interesting how I was a rogue mage when I healed Stonefall, and now I am nothing more than a half-trained talent to be done away with.

Blackflame gestures toward me. “I suggest we proceed with a truth spell and begin our questioning, as discussed yesterday, unless there are any objections.”

Most of the mages shake their heads. None of them speak. My heart thunders in my chest, my fingertips tingling with fear. If I weren’t sitting, I might have stumbled from this sudden weakness. It’s all going to come out now. Everything. Every secret I have, spilled before Blackflame….

A smile flickers at the edges of my lips as I stare up at him. Not quite a year ago, the Degaths petitioned the Council to remove Blackflame. Their request was denied. There was no proof, only allegations, and neither party would submit to a truth spell. Blackflame has his secrets too, and I hold several of them. I grin at him, a feral, hungry smile, as three of the mages who escorted me step forward to form a triangle around me, one to either side of me and the third behind my chair. Blackflame may finish me today, but I can bring him down a step or two before that.

One of the arch mages to my left rises, skirting the table and stopping directly in front of me. He makes the fourth point, transforming the triangle into a diamond with me at its center. My smile fades when I raise my gaze to his. He is tall and slim, skin slightly bronzed, with dark hair falling past his shoulders. His starry black eyes could swallow you whole and leave you wandering the dark landscape of your soul for an eternity.

I go still, forcing myself not to look away. He isn’t human, or any other kind of humanlike creature I’ve met. Possibly he’s one of the so-called
Pari
, or Fae, who live far to the west. If so, he probably doesn’t even need the other mages that surround me to feed his spell.

“I am Arch Mage Nightblade.” He speaks carefully, as if trying to fix his name in my memory and calm me at the same time. Perhaps he is. His voice holds the velvet darkness of summer nights, the deep-throated beauty of an impossible songbird. It is a hellish thing to hear, knowing what he’s about to do to me.

My hands, curled together in my lap, clutch each other in a death grip. Nightblade. It can’t mean anything as simple as a dagger made of darkness — Fae mages prefer names that are more puzzles than anything. Whatever he can do must be a great deal worse than a shadow blade.

“The spell will not harm you in its casting. If you attempt to refuse to answer, or lie, you will experience pain.” He says the word delicately. “It is best to comply with the spell. Do you understand?”

I nod. I focus on the stiffness of my fingers to keep me grounded, the thin slices of pain that are my nails pressing into my skin. Now would be a good time to discover a secret weapon I never knew I had. Something subtle enough to escape the notice of eleven arch mages, and strong enough to overcome a truth spell.

Something like a bond with a breather.

Val,
I call out, closing my eyes as the mages begin their casting. He makes no answer. How long will it take for him to notice? I take a shaky breath as the hum of power builds around me, flowing through the mages to the arch mage before me.
Val, please! I need you here now!

Nightblade touches my forehead, drawing a sigil there that holds such potency I cannot even breathe, my lungs frozen, my heart stuttering.

VALERIUS!

The sigil sinks into me, glittering in my bloodstream and shining in the darkness behind my eyelids. A flash of light that holds no heat, that is in fact bitterly cold, blinds me
.
Then the frigid brightness wraps around my bones, melds itself to the inside of my head.

“It is done,” Nightblade says quietly. There’s the faint rustle of robes as the mages around me retire to their seats.

Val,
I think, one final, hopeless time.

I’m not doing it right, don’t have any idea what I’m doing. Perhaps the seal on the room won’t even let him in.

“Very well,” Blackflame says, voice pleasant and utterly unperturbed.

I keep my eyes closed partly to spite him, and partly to give myself a moment longer, however futile evasion may be now.

“What is your name, girl?”

I open my eyes, aware of a slow pressure building in my ears, a tingling that has nothing to do with fear dancing over my skin.

Val—

Yes. What is this?
His voice is terse, abrupt, and possibly the most wonderful thing I have ever heard. The pressure in my ears expands to my throat, wraps itself my lungs.

A trial. I can’t tell them my name. Please, can you—

“Your name,” Blackflame reiterates, no longer amused.

The tingling becomes needles of ice, shooting through my skin to pierce my bones, my organs.

I take a gasping breath, and can keep silent no longer. “Hi—”

My voice breaks off mid-name, and there is that same, strange sense of internal displacement, of being sent stumbling sideways while my body stays in place. Faintly, I can hear myself coughing, but mostly I am aware of the sudden cessation of pain. And then my voice says, “Hibachi.”

Blackflame, all the arch mages, stare at me.

Fire-bowl?
What kind of name is that?

Your new family name,
Val returns, sounding slightly strained.
You have to admit, it’s rather fitting.

“That is your full name?” Blackflame asks. “You would do well to answer our questions to the fullest extent possible.”

Val tilts my head up, so that we look down my nose at the First Mage of the High Council. “Kiki Hibachi. But you may call me by the mage name I earned a year ago: Sunbolt.”

A ripple of surprise washes through the room. A few of the mages lean toward each other, muttering questions, and at least three glance uncertainly at Blackflame.

You’re how old and the best you can do is Kiki Fire-bowl?
I ask Val as we watch the Council’s reaction.
Is Kiki even a real name?

His answer is slow in coming, as if he has to first gather himself.
I’m sure it is somewhere. I didn’t exactly have time to plan it
.

I can’t fault him there.
Thank you for coming
, I say belatedly.

My pleasure.

No doubt he can hear the laughter in my thoughts as I ask,
Can you stay?

I’ll try. We should stick as close to the truth as possible now.

Agreed.
I don’t want to trip over a lie and clue the Council in to the fact that I’ve escaped their truth spell.

Blackflame clears his throat, drawing the mages’ attention back to him.

They will ask about your sunbolt,
Val says.
I hope you wanted that.

To tell the Council what Blackflame did? Absolutely.

I can sense his amusement as he answers,
I thought so.

Blackflame fixes me with his pale gaze. “Our focus today is to understand your actions over the last week in freeing Brigit Stormwind, and what you know of where she has gone.”

Well?
Val prompts.

I have no idea where she is,
I respond truthfully.

Val repeats my words aloud. The mage to Blackflame’s right leans forward, eyes narrowing. She is short and stocky, with the olive complexion and dark hair of the north-central Kingdoms. Her hair is cut short and styled so that it stands up in little spikes all around her head. It’s a style that suits her bearing. “Surely you have some idea? A guess?”

“It was too dangerous,” Val says, echoing the words I give him. The sound of my voice is slightly strained as he goes on. “I knew I might get caught.”

The mages confer with each other, voices murmuring, and then Blackflame waves them quiet. “You must have had an initial plan. Where were you going when you were caught? And where was Mistress Stormwind at that time?”

“I was going to the roof,” we explain. “And Stormwind was right behind me. Since I was caught and she was not, I can only assume she eventually got out.”

The spiky-haired mage gapes at me. “She was
what?
”

“Behind me. She stayed in the cell until I went in to fetch her.”

The whole of the Council stares at me.

Congratulations
, Val murmurs.
I don’t think too many people have managed to utterly confound the High Council of Mages before.

Thanks.

In the silence that has spread after my words, Arch Mage Nightblade drums his fingers against the wooden table in a staccato drumroll. “You mean that she hid from sight within the cell until you opened the door and allowed her to pass through the wards there.”