Powers of the Six (2 page)

The prisoner’s eyes narrowed and blazed brighter.

“No!” Nolan shoved the invading thoughts away, but the man’s power shifted and probed deeper, as if turning the pages of Nolan’s mind like an old book. The prisoner’s power tore through him; shock and revelation flashed across the man’s face.

Nolan staggered, his vision darkening, as the workbag slid from his shoulder and thumped to the ground.

Captain Finnis shook his head. The prisoner’s mental control had left him. He cursed before punching the traitor squarely between the eyes
.

The prisoner’s head jerked back, and he crumpled to his knees. Nolan stared, his mind reeling. The man had
seen
him. Somehow, he knew.

“Guards!” the duke bellowed. He grabbed Nolan’s arm, yanking him from the room.

A rush of clanging swords and footsteps thundered up the stairs. A pair of guards raced past and into the cell. Violent commotion and pain-filled wails erupted from inside.

The duke shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He can bend one’s will. Typically an Empathy Shay can only read a person’s emotions.”

Nolan’s hands shook. The traitor could read far more than emotions.

“Nolan? Are you unwell?” he asked.

Nolan balled his hands into fists to control the trembling, at least a bit. “I’m fine, sir. Just shaken.”

Captain Finnis emerged, breathing heavily while wiping the corner of his mouth with a bloodstained knuckle. “He’ll never use his nightforsaken Empathy power against us again, that’s for certain.”

Duke Ragnall looked nervously to the door. “For Brim’s sake, you didn’t kill him, did you?”

He hesitated. “Certainly not, my lord.”

Laughter and feeble moans echoed from inside.

Captain Finnis flinched. “But even if we did, he’d get what he deserves.”

“He was the king’s general!” Duke Ragnall said. “What would happen if King Alcandor arrived and discovered some commoner had killed him?”

“I’m no commoner, sir. I’m a captain of—”

“You’re a commoner to the king. Unless you’re planning to pull a dormant Shay power out of your backside, you’d best go in there and calm your men.”

The captain paled and bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He returned to the cell, and the clamor hushed to an eerie silence. The rattling of chains followed.

The duke sighed. “Say nothing to anyone, Nolan. Though, with Finnis’s mouth, I doubt this news will stay quiet for long. Question the soldiers and record how they discovered him. And of course, King Alcandor will need to be informed.” He studied Nolan’s face. “Can you remember all that transpired?”

Nolan nodded. How could he forget?

Two years of careful hiding. Two years of controlling himself, day after day. He’d given up his family, his career, any chance at a normal life. He’d pushed everyone away. Two years of loneliness … for nothing? This man could easily give his secret away! After a single, horrible moment, Nolan’s fate now rested in the hands of a traitor.

Chapter Two

NOLAN’S HANDS STILL SHOOK long after he’d returned to his room. He’d packed and unpacked his belongings three times before putting it all away—not that it took long. He had little to call his own: two changes of clothes, his ink bottle, and favorite quill, and a few books he couldn’t live without.

Finally, he sat on the edge of his bed taking deep, focused breaths. Control. He had to gain control. It would do no good to run away—it would only draw attention. He’d worked too hard to lose it now.

To distract himself, he plunged into the work he’d left earlier, doing little to hide perfection in his strokes. He was being careless, but half his attention was focused on the sounds outside his door. Would they come for him? Maybe they’d hurt the traitor too much for him to talk. Or maybe, just maybe, Nolan was wrong. Maybe the traitor
hadn’t
sensed anything.

He concentrated on finishing the documents, but not even that work could calm his mind. Sleep didn’t come. He dug into his towering bookshelf, removing book after dusty book, re-reading every account of the six Shay powers. They all mentioned how Empathy could judge the slightest change of mood before the person realized it. But apart from that, it mentioned nothing about it being able to sense others’ powers.

Leaning back in the chair, he balanced it on two legs and ran a hand over his chin. He had no proof the prisoner knew his secret. Only the king had the ability to sense another Shay. Could the traitor be like the king? No. It was impossible. There was no one like the king.

Dropping the chair to the floor, he slammed the book closed. He crammed it back onto the bookshelf and picked up a small bit of parchment a servant had delivered earlier. The script was in the duke’s nearly illegible scrawl.

Nolan,

Please join me in the dining hall for breakfast.

There is much I need to discuss with you.

Duke Ragnall

He sighed. It was already almost time for breakfast, and he still had no answers. Then the most absurd thought came to him: What if he went to the prisoner and
asked
him what he knew? He dismissed the idea. General Cadogan had nearly turned Nolan into his puppet just hours before.

“Right this way, General Cadogan. The door is just over here. Can I get you anything else while I’m at it, General Cadogan? Some food? Some wine? A sword to run me through?”

Even if Nolan wanted to speak to him, guards watched night and day. He had to find another way. But not now. Duke Ragnall waited.

***

Everything in the duke’s dining hall was gaudy. Portraits in gilded frames displayed over-dressed noblemen with arrogant expressions, and floral tapestries in every imaginable color hung from floor to ceiling on each wall. Every piece of furniture had some sort of lion or bear or other wild beast carved on its surface. The combination was nauseating.

A gigantic chandelier hung over a narrow dining table that stretched the length of the room. Today, the servants had set the table for three.

One place for Duke Ragnall.

One place for Nolan.

And the third …

Nolan groaned. Mikayla, the duke’s young wife, glanced up, and her dark eyes locked on his. He had suspected for some time now that the duke needed spectacles more than he did. The way his wife stared at Nolan, like he was a roasted duck, made her strange obsession clear to everyone but the duke.

She was attractive and exotic. Her black hair shimmered with purple and blue hues. Her flawless, olive complexion outshone any woman’s he’d ever seen. Not a single man, including Nolan, could resist turning his head when she walked by.

Her interest in him was baffling. He didn’t see himself as remarkable, at least not by a woman’s standards. He supposed that, compared to her old and overweight husband and the parade of idiot soldiers who came in, he won by default. Even though the attention flattered him, Nolan would never give in. He valued his life too much.

Duke Ragnall sat a ways from the table; his large stomach wouldn’t allow him to fully pull his chair in. A servant stood next to him, cooling him with a fan of peacock feathers. The duke wiped his scalp and waved for the servant to speed up. Seeing Nolan, he dabbed his bushy mustache and waved him closer. Nolan adjusted the bag on his shoulder and approached them, wanting this meeting to be over already.

“Ah, Nolan! So good of you to come on such short notice.” He motioned, giving him permission to sit.

Nolan placed his bundle within arm’s reach and sat at the empty place setting next to the duke’s wife. He put the napkin in his lap and attempted to appear comfortable, though Mikayla’s gaze followed his every movement.

“Well,” the duke said, “about last night’s incident …”

Nolan tensed, unable to meet his eyes.

“I assume you have already recorded the information?” the duke said.

Nolan relaxed. “Of course, sir.”

“Very good.” Duke Ragnall took a large bite of sausage and chewed vigorously. “Do you have any new business?”

Nolan reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment, pretending to scan the list as he calmed the thrumming in his chest. He took a long breath. He’d probably spent all night worrying for no reason.

“Yesterday, we received a request from a merchant,” Nolan said. “Mr. Bakker is interested in moving his clothing shop from Orange District to Blue District.”

“The baker wants to move?” The duke snorted. “That’s ridiculous.” He picked up a roll and took a generous bite. “The bakery is just fine where it is.”

Nolan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The duke’s wife snickered. Nolan caught her smiling gaze and quickly looked away. “No, my lord. Mr. Bakker is a tailor, not a baker.”

Duke Ragnall paused mid-chew. “What are his reasons?”

“Well, my lord. He states his business has declined since his daughter came into the Shay of Accuracy last year, and the people of Orange District have been avoiding his shop and going elsewhere. He wants to go somewhere ‘where he’ll be appreciated.’”

Duke Ragnall turned his attention to his plate, shooing a meaty hand in Nolan’s direction. “Of course, of course. If he has the means to move, then so be it. He has my permission.”

“Very good, sir.” Nolan rolled the parchment and slid it into his bag. After a brief inspection of the serving platters—which held far too much for only the three of them—Nolan selected a glazed pastry and placed it on his plate.

“I also wanted to speak to you about the upcoming Tournament of Awakening,” Duke Ragnall said. “Our recent encounter with the prisoner will bring the king’s army here sooner than expected. I’ve received word that General Trividar will arrive this afternoon to question him.”

Nolan stopped his fork midway to his mouth.
Kael was coming … today?
His stomach lurched.

Duke Ragnall continued, “Considering our current circumstances, I think it might be best to deliver the summons for the Tournament of Awakening as soon as possible. Perhaps you might make them available by tomorrow at the latest?”

“They’re already done, sir.” Nolan motioned to the bag, grateful he had stayed up to finish them. It would be one less thing for Kael to criticize.

“Why, Nolan, you never cease to amaze me.” The duke turned to his wife. “My dear, isn’t his performance outstanding?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m sure it is.”

Mikayla reached over and brushed her fingers across Nolan’s hand.

Nolan coughed and rose quickly, jarring the table. “If Your Excellency would not object, I’d like to deliver the summons myself.”

Duke Ragnall gawked, his mouth gaped, revealing his last bite of fruit. “
You
want to deliver them?”

He gritted his teeth, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. It wasn’t like he wanted to run around in the horrid heat. And he could barely keep his eyes open. Nolan forced a smile. “The fresh air and exercise will do me good.”

***

A puffy, gray blanket of clouds stretched the expanse of the sky like wads of dirty lamb’s wool. It covered the town of Alton and the forest beyond, and even went to the distant mountains, obstructing the tops of the rocky fortresses from view. The sky appeared as it always did in the thriving city: dark, gloomy, and depressing.

Nolan walked the streets of the Yellow District, where every shop looked as if fading dandelions had sacrificed themselves on their walls.

A painter worked outside the herb shop, his clothes splattered in a prism of colors. The building’s yellow hue peeled except where the man applied a new layer of pale, thick paint.

The man’s rainbow-colored clothes sagged from his humped shoulders. His eyes met Nolan’s, but he quickly averted his gaze, too ashamed to be seen by an employee of the manor.

Guilt gnawed at Nolan’s gut. The only reason he
had a privileged job was because he secretly used his Shay to succeed. He too could’ve become a painter—one of the lowliest jobs in the whole of Adamah. The poor man had no district color to claim as his own.

He turned at the corner. The buildings of the Orange District were always brighter than the others. Nolan passed the primary apothecary, where they made the paints each day. He shook his head. No wonder their district’s colors always appeared the best.

He wasn’t sure why they bothered. They said it honored the different Shay abilities; each color represented one of the six powers—like the Rol’dan cared or felt “honored” by them slapping paint on their walls. Perhaps it was really because they were jealous of the Rol’dan; they claimed a color because they couldn’t have one of their own. Or maybe it was just an excuse to not get along. The color districts always bickered, always presented long and detailed complaints. Lucky Nolan got to record every one
.

He wound between rows of tightly constructed merchant shops, delivering summons for the Tournament of Awakening. Nolan
hated
this time of year. Parents dreamed their young one could become one of the “fortunate” few, one of the Shay Rol’dan. It was also when the city became more annoying than usual. With the tournament only two weeks away, people poured in from all the outlying towns. Law required every fifteen-year-old to take part, so families converged upon the city in noisy and excited droves, making the crowded city even more unbearable.