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Authors: Angela Highland
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required for the sacrifice—and then to haul the cell door closed upon the Anreulag’s screams.
* * *
Arlitham Abbey , Kilmerry Province , Jomhas 24 ,
AC 1876
On the day Kestar Vaarsen betrayed his Order’s training and let not one, not two, but three elven mages and their human accomplice escape his custody, the gods gave him no sign of their favor or disfavor. No lightning fell from the heavens to sear him, and the earth remained dormant beneath his feet. An abbey full of priests and priestesses who should have arrested him and Celoren on the spot had instead given them refuge, in the name of the blood he shared with the ancient woman who’d been hidden away in their walls for longer than Kestar himself had been alive. His amulet doubtless had something to say on the matter, but he still wore it tucked away in a suede pouch beneath his shirt, where its light was safely muffled from view.
“You’re quiet. Are you all right, Kes?” Celoren said as the two of them slipped back into the abbey through the postern gate. Then he promptly grimaced at himself. “Foolish question, sorry. Of course you’re not all right. Not that I’m complaining.” He blew out a breath, shoved a hand through his hair. “I mean, about you. You do know that, don’t you?”
They’d made it to the inner door of the gate leading into the storeroom. There, Kestar paused and studied his partner. Cel’s stance was easy, but his eyes held consternation, and Kestar winced in turn. He meant it in jest, but even so, the expression came out more skewed than he’d wanted. “You’d convince me better if you didn’t look at me like that. I’m...not all right. Not yet. I don’t know what I’ve become, Cel.”
“You look like the same Kestar to me. No, I’m serious. I don’t care what blood you’ve got—”
“You should.”
“Says who? The Church that wanted us to arrest that girl who just saved your life? The duke who was hoarding her power for his own? The priest who nearly killed us all?”
“The Anreulag,” Kestar said, cutting the other Hawk short. For the first time since the abbey had nearly been destroyed, he dared speak of it. Yet even here, in relative privacy and secrecy, he couldn’t quite speak above a whisper. “ She should have killed us.”
Cel reflexively starred himself. “She didn’t. Surely She knew somehow? Knew what Enverly was doing, that he was profaning the Calling?”
“I can’t imagine She didn’t.” Kestar leaned against the doorjamb behind him and pressed the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to banish the memory of scalding brightness. “But even if She rejected him, She should still have killed us. She almost killed the assassin. She should have killed me. If I can’t be a Hawk anymore, what does She want me to be instead, if She’s left me alive?”
“Well, whatever you’re going to wind up being, we’ll find out together.” At Kestar’s startled look, Celoren smirked. “You did take note of my aiding and abetting, right? They’d drum me out of the Order in disgrace at this point anyway, so I might as well save them the trouble and stick with you, where I belong.”
He should be protesting, Kestar thought. Pointing out that Celoren’s blood was purely human, that he shouldn’t risk the reputation of the Valleford name, or any number of other objections that needed to be raised. Yet that simple show of support made his throat threaten to close.
If the gods saw fit to let his partner stay at his side, maybe he wasn’t entirely doomed.
“Thank you, my friend,” Kestar said simply. “I need to figure out what to do next. It’ll help to have you with me.”
Cel grinned, but his gaze was somber. “We should leave as soon as we can. The abbot’s got enough trouble with Enverly to look after. We may blow their cover if we stay much longer.”
All of which was true, and now that Faanshi and her companions had safely fled, Kestar knew it’d be wisest for him and
* * *
Arlitham Abbey , Kilmerry Province , Jomhas 24 ,
AC 1876
On the day Kestar Vaarsen betrayed his Order’s training and let not one, not two, but three elven mages and their human accomplice escape his custody, the gods gave him no sign of their favor or disfavor. No lightning fell from the heavens to sear him, and the earth remained dormant beneath his feet. An abbey full of priests and priestesses who should have arrested him and Celoren on the spot had instead given them refuge, in the name of the blood he shared with the ancient woman who’d been hidden away in their walls for longer than Kestar himself had been alive. His amulet doubtless had something to say on the matter, but he still wore it tucked away in a suede pouch beneath his shirt, where its light was safely muffled from view.
“You’re quiet. Are you all right, Kes?” Celoren said as the two of them slipped back into the abbey through the postern gate. Then he promptly grimaced at himself. “Foolish question, sorry. Of course you’re not all right. Not that I’m complaining.” He blew out a breath, shoved a hand through his hair. “I mean, about you. You do know that, don’t you?”
They’d made it to the inner door of the gate leading into the storeroom. There, Kestar paused and studied his partner. Cel’s stance was easy, but his eyes held consternation, and Kestar winced in turn. He meant it in jest, but even so, the expression came out more skewed than he’d wanted. “You’d convince me better if you didn’t look at me like that. I’m...not all right. Not yet. I don’t know what I’ve become, Cel.”
“You look like the same Kestar to me. No, I’m serious. I don’t care what blood you’ve got—”
“You should.”
“Says who? The Church that wanted us to arrest that girl who just saved your life? The duke who was hoarding her power for his own? The priest who nearly killed us all?”
“The Anreulag,” Kestar said, cutting the other Hawk short. For the first time since the abbey had nearly been destroyed, he dared speak of it. Yet even here, in relative privacy and secrecy, he couldn’t quite speak above a whisper. “ She should have killed us.”
Cel reflexively starred himself. “She didn’t. Surely She knew somehow? Knew what Enverly was doing, that he was profaning the Calling?”
“I can’t imagine She didn’t.” Kestar leaned against the doorjamb behind him and pressed the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to banish the memory of scalding brightness. “But even if She rejected him, She should still have killed us. She almost killed the assassin. She should have killed me. If I can’t be a Hawk anymore, what does She want me to be instead, if She’s left me alive?”
“Well, whatever you’re going to wind up being, we’ll find out together.” At Kestar’s startled look, Celoren smirked. “You did take note of my aiding and abetting, right? They’d drum me out of the Order in disgrace at this point anyway, so I might as well save them the trouble and stick with you, where I belong.”
He should be protesting, Kestar thought. Pointing out that Celoren’s blood was purely human, that he shouldn’t risk the reputation of the Valleford name, or any number of other objections that needed to be raised. Yet that simple show of support made his throat threaten to close.
If the gods saw fit to let his partner stay at his side, maybe he wasn’t entirely doomed.
“Thank you, my friend,” Kestar said simply. “I need to figure out what to do next. It’ll help to have you with me.”
Cel grinned, but his gaze was somber. “We should leave as soon as we can. The abbot’s got enough trouble with Enverly to look after. We may blow their cover if we stay much longer.”
All of which was true, and now that Faanshi and her companions had safely fled, Kestar knew it’d be wisest for him and
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