Scepter Spectre (Chronicles of Valmaron Book 2), page 39
“You were going to die Imogen. But now you’re going to suffer,” Jaron dismissed the Banisher back into the form of the Shodin Star, and re-sheathed it while tapping the Royal Recall Entangle Bangle on his left middle-finger repeatedly. “I want you out of Valmaron. I will let you walk away, but only if you spare my kingdom. But if even a single Shodin citizen dies, humanity will redefine cruelty after what I do to you.”
“Now you’re speaking a language I respect,” Imogen grinned. “Alright, I agree.”
The massive ball of the Bane above instantly shrunk itself to the size of a pea before vanishing in a puff of purple. The speed at which she could manifest it was so fast that even Jaron found it terrifying.
“Imogen Kane!” a voice shouted from the ramp of the Vinculum.
It was Troy Maximillian. The Duke made his way down with the hurried pitter patter of his heeled shoes, coming over to stand next to Imogen.
“Darling!” he said with a wide-armed gesture. “I thought we agreed this would be a last resort?”
Imogen didn’t even look at him. “Your king and I were having a difference of opinion, we’ve since come to an understanding.”
“Delightful!” Troy ignored Jaron’s presence completely. “Ahem, as for that bountiful supply of energy you so generously displayed, the Bastion is now ready to receive it…if you would oblige.”
Imogen rolled her eyes and then stuck a finger to point at the space in front of Troy. What she manifested resembled black Shodinite, having compressed all of the Bane into a space the size of a thimble. Troy reached into his breast-coat and withdraw a flat square of Valmari steel no larger than a coin, clearly Scripted, and held it underneath the orb. A pyramid of Absolute Containment sealed the thing on every side except the bottom.
“Excellent,” Troy then looked over at Jaron. “Now that the threat of imminent destruction has passed, it’s time to wrap up loose ends, am I right?”
A shimmering, straight dagger suddenly protruded from Troy’s sleeve—he stabbed Imogen right under her ribcage, just beneath her heart. She didn’t even scream, she just winced and crumpled to the ground as Troy pulled his bloody blade out of her. She touched her wound, and then looked in shock at the sight of her own blood, scowling at Troy before falling over and dropping the scepter—still alive but weakened.
A wounded Imogen and an exposed Troy all in one place; convenient. Jaron took a step forward with a forming smirk, but then Troy suddenly held up an Entangle Bangle adorned hand and vanished from sight.
Sephaeus immediately appeared on the scene in full armor, standing right over Imogen. “I came as soon as I got the signal—I assume she is the problem.”
“And Troy. They were accomplices,” Jaron approached the Sentinel Commander while a group of Valmari formed outside the entrance to the Vinculum. “I want him found and arrested, and all his assets seized.”
One after the other, groups of Sentinels began appearing on the scene and immediately took up positions well outside of the radius. Sephaeus put his hand on Jaron’s bleeding shoulder, firmly, but not entirely indelicate. Jaron winced, but couldn’t move his arm.
“Looks like she got you,” said Sephaeus, who pulled a silver vial from the side of his armored waist-belt. “Have some.”
Jaron took the vial and popped the top off with his thumb. Essence of Aether: an attempt to make Abuse Juice but thus far was only good for reinvigorating a body, not outright healing it. He drank the clear liquid, which was basically water, and then poured the rest on his wound. That would be enough until he could get to Zoe—or Ketra.
“Was she really that powerful, or were you holding back?” Sephaeus questioned.
“She was the real thing,” Jaron admitted. “But I waited too long to give it my all…it’s been a while.”
“Help me…” Imogen breathed weakly.
An immense anger filled Jaron’s heart, who drew the Slicer from its scabbard. Every Sentinel, including Sephaeus produced weapons the moment the king’s weapon was drawn. Jaron stalked over to Imogen, whose breaths were short and shallow, and then pointed his weapon at her face.
“You would dare ask me for mercy after what you’ve done?” he snarled.
“Walk away Your Majesty,” said Sephaeus. “I will handle this.”
A single tear fell from Imogen’s eye. “Please…”
“I promised she would suffer Sephaeus,” Jaron lowered the Slicer. “And she will.”
Jaron closed his eyes and brought himself fully into the present moment, beyond emotion and thought. He breathed deeply, connecting with what it is he truly wanted. Errant thoughts would occasionally intrude. Some said to kill her, others said to torture her. No, none of these solutions suited what his spirit was truly calling for. His anger subsided just enough to give a clear picture, and then he knew what he wanted to do. He felt the Soul Codex awaken in him the moment he did.
“Imogen Kane,” Jaron spoke with words forming of their own accord. “I sentence you to life without power—I have taken yours.”
A cool breeze passed over them, and then what remained of the purple glow within the scepter faded entirely. Jaron tucked the Slicer back into his scabbard, and all of the Sentinels put their swords away in response.
“She’s been cut off from the Bane,” Jaron said to Sephaeus. “As Shodus wills it.”
Sephaeus nodded curtly and then pointed at one of his underlings. “Get this woman to the infirmary.”
The Sentinel nodded to two others next to him, all three came to remove any rings they could find before she was taken away.
“Send for Ketra,” Jaron spoke wearily.
“Ketra?” Sephaeus snapped his fingers and pointed to two more Sentinels before making a series of hand signals Jaron wasn’t familiar with—their manual commands differed greatly from those the Tolians employed. “Why her?”
“She has healing powers, and Zoe is busy with Revaris,” Jaron replied.
Sephaeus simply nodded before announcing to remaining Sentinels present, “Troy Maximillian is now a fugitive of the crown. Carry out your search immediately.”
“I need you to do something else Sephaeus,” Jaron took a look around at the damage that had been done to their surroundings. The Valmari had since gone back into the Vinculum, and the nearby townspeople were slowly making their way to their vandalized buildings. “I want those caves under our full control by nightfall, but they are not to get close to whatever corruption Devari found.”
“And if those people resist?” Sephaeus inquired. “How should my men proceed?”
Jaron turned to Sephaeus and met his eyes, sweeping his hair back with a sigh. “With prejudice.”
The Sentinel Commander held the look silently for a moment, and then nodded as he turned to leave. “As you command.”
“One last thing,” Jaron called after him. “Bring me the man staying at the inn, I need to talk to Bigsby.”
Chapter 51 - Jaron
Jaron waited outside of a private infirmary in the Vinculum which was now kept under guard by Tolian blademen in addition to Casters and Sentinels. The infirmary itself was a series of spherical pods connected to a central corridor. The entire level had been cleared so that only Imogen would be on this level. If she so much as breathed incorrectly, a multitude of methods would be used to swiftly end her life on sight. Although she could no longer attune to crystals, Jaron decided not to underestimate her a second time.
Surely the entire kingdom would be unsettled by what had just transpired, particularly when a giant orb of destruction appeared over it only to vanish as quickly as it came. Jaron searched every corner of his mind for answers, linking everything he knew with what he saw. For Imogen to summon the Bane using crystals was incontrovertible evidence that it was in fact, a form of Casting. But that also meant there had to be crystals somewhere in those ruins.
The door opened, Ketra emerged with visible surprise that Jaron was still there waiting there for her. She healed him the moment she’d been summoned to save Imogen. Ketra stopped in the threshold briefly, before stepping out completely as the door was shut behind her.
“You surprise me, Your Majesty,” Ketra spoke with a bow of her head.
“Is she healed?” Jaron questioned.
“The dagger was made from quicksilver,” a look of mild ire appeared on Ketra’s face. “She was poisoned, but death no longer circles her.”
“Then it was good enough,” Jaron turned toward the hallway leading out of the emergency wing. “Walk with me, if you would.”
Ketra nodded and went with him. Jaron stole a glance at her as they walked past door after door. Although he remained focused on the task at hand, a tiny sliver of his brain took notice of the newly tailored clothing Ava had commissioned for her—the woman looked good. A simple beige blouse and lilac leggings with flat black boots, as if she needed to be any taller. He shook his head—now wasn’t the time to admire her.
“May I ask you something?” she broke the silence.
“Go ahead,” Jaron affirmed.
“Why not kill her?”
Jaron stopped walking, Ketra did too.
“Her son holds the strongest vendetta,” he sighed deeply. “Now that I’ve taken what she values the most, I leave her fate to him.”
“That sounds like a Tolian sentiment,” Ketra chided.
“It is a Tolian sentiment,” Jaron retorted. “What would you do?”
“Slit her throat and let her watch the sheets soak with her own blood,” Ketra replied flatly.
Jaron threw his head back and laughed loud enough to startle a Medicmaid walking by, shaking his head as he resumed his stroll. “If Revaris doesn’t kill her, she’s all yours.”
Ketra was not amused. “Why are you still talking to me?”
Jaron tilted his head and frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I gave you my report, and with Troy missing I’m not of much use to you.”
“Let’s be clear about something—” Jaron stopped walking again with a singular stomp of his boot. “Firstly: I choose to make conversation because we are human beings, and not transactors. And second? I did have a task in mind, but perhaps it would be better to release you from service instead.”
Ketra held up a hand and shook her head slowly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’m a reminder of things you’d rather forget.”
Jaron relaxed a little, and relinquished his momentary impatience in favor of understanding. “You are not Ash. I’ve made peace with that.”
“Maybe I haven’t…”
“Meaning what?” Jaron probed.
Ketra averted her eyes. “It’s not important.”
“Yes it is,” Jaron asserted. “Finish your thought.”
She put her hands on her immense hips and cocked them to the side. “You are entitled to many things—you’ve had many things, but my mind is not among them, Your Majesty.”
This felt too familiar. Jaron held a glare with Ketra, who did not falter in her stance or expression. “You’re right. Why am I talking to you? You’re completely insufferable when we aren’t having s—”
Damn it.
Ketra’s eyes widened. She quickly straightened her posture and leaned over him a bit, almost threateningly. “Go on Your Grace, say it.”
“No,” Jaron refused, knowing full well Ketra already understood where he was going with it.
“This was a bad idea,” She leaned away and took a step back.
“I agree.”
“It’s finished then?”
“Are you asking or stating?’
“Asking.”
“Then no. I need you to draw Troy out, using Imogen as bait.”
“I see…” Ketra looked back down the hall from whence they came. “You want me to Mimic her.”
Jaron nodded. “In public, where every Valmari can see. It will get back to him, and he will surely panic if he believes she is now in league with me.”
“That actually sounds…fun,” The faintest smirk appeared on Ketra’s face. “When do we begin?”
“You’re going to need her old clothes,” Jaron pointed out.
It took only a moment for Ketra to return to the room to retrieve Imogen’s black gown, having already checked for clandestine Scripts of which none were found. They’d even taken the time to wash most of the blood out of the fabric. When Ketra came back, the gown folded in her hand, she stopped in front of Jaron with an expectant face.
That face then began to drop down to Jaron’s eye level as her height decreased. Her skin lost its color, blackness bled into her blonde hair, and her bones moved until the face looking at Jaron was no longer Ketra’s, but Imogen’s. He felt a bit repulsed at the process, but restrained the urge to scowl at the transformation. Ketra looked down at how excessively roomy her proper clothes had become, and then cocked her head sideways with the faintest frown.
Jaron realized she was waiting for him to turn around, which he did. He heard the frumpy plopping of clothes on the floor, followed by the sound of skin slipping into something a bit tighter. When it stopped, Jaron felt two taps on his left shoulder.
There she was: Ketra in full costume as Imogen, with nary a difference between her and the real thing.
“Are we simply going for a walk, or shall I put on a bit of a show?” asked Ketra-Imogen.
“Do your best,” Jaron replied. “We’re going outside.”
Jaron reached for the Slicer, which prompted Ketra-Imogen to take a cautious step back as he drew it fully and cut the air in front of him. What opened was a portal directly to the lobby of the Valmari Vinculum, where countless denizens stopped to peer at the phenomenon manifesting before them.
“That’s one way to get their attention…” Ketra-Imogen remarked, before stepping closer to hook her arm with Jaron’s.
“What are you doing?” Jaron looked her up and down skeptically.
Ketra’s usual disposition benefited her here, because the degree of apathetic irritation she expressed was perfectly in line with what he’d seen from the Matriarch thus far. “Appealing to Troy’s sense of jealousy and paranoia.”
Jaron had to grant her that one, and went through the portal along with his accomplice. The Valmari gathering around it jumped back when their king emerged with who they believed was the Duke’s wife. Their curious looks immediately contorted into puzzlement and wonder, but nothing resembling outright shock. While seemingly convinced, the majority of passerbys continued on as if nothing was amiss.
“They’ve certainly noticed,” Jaron spoke discreetly.
“You need more than that; you need insult to injury,” Ketra-Imogen inhaled deeply, and then turned to face Jaron. “Kiss me.”
Jaron turned his face toward her with a visceral, nearly undefinable sense of discomfort. His answer was forceful, but discreet. “What?”
“There’s a man to your left who hasn’t stopped watching us,” Ketra-Imogen remained in character. “Make it brief, but do it before he leaves.”
Jaron was going to do it, but Ketra-Imogen was quicker. Her hand swept up, pulled his face toward her, then she kissed him. Jaron Spellcraft was kissing Imogen Kane. On the lips. That elicited a series of gasps from around the lobby. The pucker noise from their lips parting was unbearably loud, an experience he never wanted to repeat with anyone even resembling the Matriarch.
“Your Majesty?” said noble from the back of the group, the same man Ketra-Imogen indicated: Count Moren. He stepped forward with bewilderment aimed at Ketra-Imogen, keeping his eyes below hers. “Shouldn’t the Duke be informed that his wife has…recovered?”
“I stopped being his wife the moment he stabbed me,” Ketra-Imogen spoke in a scathing tone.
Count Moren looked flustered as several members of the group departed. “Surely this must be a misunderstanding.”
“And what business is it of yours, Count Moren?” Jaron narrowed his eyes. “And where is this ‘Bastion’ I’ve heard about?”
The man held his hands up in an awkward shrug. “Forgive any offense Your Majesty, I was merely expressing concern at an incident that affects us all. As for your second question, I don’t know if I have any information worth giving.”
“You may not have information, but I do,” Ketra-Imogen spoke testily. “His Majesty will be receiving my testimony, along with my hand. Now, leave.”
Count Moren turned red, shifted his eyes to each of them, and sidestepped away like he had somewhere to be quite urgently.
“Well done Ketra,” said Jaron as he wiped his mouth. “Let’s get to the residence. Bigsby is waiting.”
One Entangle Bangle later, and they both vanished from the Vinculum and appeared in the portal room of the royal residence. Ketra was quick to return to her original form, which made Imogen’s gown into a pencil-dress that was much too tight.
“I need to change,” Ketra looked down with subdued disgust. “Where do you want me? To meet you—that is.”
Jaron wanted her in something modest sooner than later, because that was much too distracting. “In the conclave. Ask any Sentinel and they will bring you.”
Ketra nodded and began to turn—when a tearing sound heralded the arrival of an overstretched sleeve. Her misfortune, trivial as it was, managed to cut through the cascade of concern Jaron was harboring for both Devari and Valmaron itself. Just long enough so that a single chuckle escaped Jaron’s nose. He wanted to taunt her—king’s prerogative—but decided that her walk of shame would be its own reward.
“Wretched weavers…” she cursed under her breath before exchanging a final look with Jaron, and then walked away stiffly in a vain attempt to prevent the series of ripping sounds that accompanied each step.
***
“I did not witness that woman’s power with my own eyes, but commanding crystals at such distances wasn’t a Script,” Bigsby noted. “I’d need to test the other two guests.”
Jaron sat at the head of a long oval table. Every one of his wives were present, along with Sephaeus and Ketra. Revaris and Hazel had also been invited, though they sat more closely huddled than the others.
