Rising Storm, page 99
For a moment Avail allowed herself to feel the smallest twinge of relief as she peeked cautiously around her meager shelter – surely now that the drop Phenomena had witnessed killing her in his vision was dead she was safe? – but the sensation was short lived; turning slowly Glares took notice of her cowering behind the cracked marble surface and his eerie crimson eyes blazed anew, his expression deranged. He moved with new purpose through the roiling magma, his ceremonial fangs glinting ruby in the light of a thousand raging fires, his face alive with hatred and vengeance –
Avail scrambled backward but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the frightful devilish creature that was all that remained of the man who not long ago had given purpose to her wretched existence. She could only gaze up at him, her delicate shoulders quaking and her violet eyes petrified, as he stalked right up to where she lay sprawled and seized the front of her gown with his left hand, hauling her off the ground and into the air until Avail was suspended helplessly almost nose-to-nose before him.
"Prince," she managed to gasp out, for her sobs were now so great that she almost couldn't speak in her hysteria. "It's me. The Acceptance."
The crackling of flames, coupled with the soft sound of Glares primal growls, filled her ears. There was no hint of recognition in the depths of his crimson eyes, and Avail thought she could see the shadow of her own swiftly-approaching death concealed deep within those hellish fires.
"Prince, please," she begged him, clutching at his arm with her desperately-swiping fingertips, hoping somehow she might stay the death stroke with some meager show of strength. "I have served you loyally… I am wholeheartedly devoted to you, and to the High Prince. Can you not recall?"
Still Glares said nothing. She feared she had already lost him to the hatred that so obviously consumed him, but she threw caution to the winds.
"Glares, it's Avail," she sobbed, her face damp with tears, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't do this. You know me. You know that I would do anything for you – even allow you to take my life, if I thought it might please you. Will that bring you back from this dark place that has ensnared you? When my blood stains your hands, will you return to yourself?" And when the Fourth Prince snapped his dreadful fangs just millimeters from her face and lifted his magma-encased arm she nodded in acceptance, saying, "Then let it be so, dear prince."
Another groping hand seized the back of her gown and all but tore her from Glares grasp, and that was how Avail found herself cradled in the arms of High Prince Tolerant; she stared up into Glares cruel, unforgiving red eyes and her body wracked with sobs, so much so that Tolerant tightened his arms around her until the warmth of his body sank into her skin and she quieted. The High Prince faced his son sadly, and Avail couldn't be sure but she thought she saw regret swimming within the ancient monarch's platinum eyes.
"Come back to me, my son," he crooned, in the voice a father might use to soothe his bawling child. "It is all done, and the threat has passed. Are you so lost in the clutches of the dark creature that sleeps within you that you will murder our precious Acceptance, who has given you nothing but limitless devotion since the moment she entered into my service?"
Something about the High Prince's voice seemed to reach the single shred of humanity that remained alive in Glares mind and he hesitated, growling softly; it seemed to Avail that perhaps his eyes were not as bright red as they had been a moment before. Glares cocked his head minutely to the side, assessing the High Prince's face, searching, remembering.
"That's it," Tolerant encouraged. "Come back."
A sob ripped itself involuntarily from Veil's lips and Glares eyes flitted to her face as though struck dumb by the sound; though she was more frightened of him than of anyone else she had ever met Avail held his gaze and did not allow herself to look away. And then without warning recognition sparked electric in the Fourth Prince's eyes and the crimson fires within his face dulled; he blinked once, mystified, confused, and abruptly they were the calculating silver eyes of the man she had once knew. Glares lifted his hand as though reaching out for her, his expression brimming with self-loathing, some ill-formed apology on the tip of his tongue –
"You did well," said Tolerant, the words saturated with praise, and the moment Glares tore his eyes away from Veil's to regard the High Prince she felt unconsciousness rising up to wash over her.
Avail let it take her gladly, half wishing she would never wake again.
"What is the High Prince's official statement regarding all that has transpired tonight?" asked First Prince Secants, and when his voice came out pinched with strain Sole leaned right over the back of her fiancé's chair and worked her fingers deftly into the bunched muscles in his shoulders, her eyes downcast with sympathy.
Lamar was slouched low in a chair that was not his own at the far end of the council table with his feet stacked rather uncharacteristically upon the granite surface, arms crossed, head down. His eyes were tracing the great fissures in the table that Phenomena had caused just weeks ago, marveling at the passage of time – it seemed impossible that such a recent event could feel as though it had occurred entire lifetimes ago. When he spoke his voice was soft, his expression one of brooding. "Only that the threat has been neutralized. At present, he will say no more on the subject."
"And our brothers?" Secants pressed, hardly satiated by such a vague response.
"The seven youngest are all in the Most High's immediate care – the shadows that bind them have mostly unraveled, and they are dependent now upon our sovereign's diligence to help them recover. Rivaled and Clangorous are doing what they can to aid him, but there is little support they can offer. Both were caught in the initial blast but were safeguarded by Limb's globe of darkness; Rivaled drew his strength from the Acceptance's staff, but depleted nearly all of his power just to revive Clangorous – who then, as you know, placed himself at great risk to help Limit and me escape."
There was an uncertain pause as Secants considered all the information presented. "And Glares?"
"He is the reason that the High Prince survived this ordeal at all," Lamar told his eldest brother tersely, though for the life of him he couldn't explain just why he was feeling so suddenly hostile.
Secants was gaining momentum now, his brow furrowed with suspicion, and Lamar couldn't say that he blamed him – there were several things that didn't quite add up. "It is rumored that the Acceptance was doing battle with the drop when the blaze was set. How did she manage to escape with her life?"
"The Most High has told me that Glares returned to the ballroom at great personal risk to recover her, and both of them are resting now. Neither of them were badly wounded in the fire – Avail sustained several serious injuries when she faced the drop, but they have been attended to. It is said she will make a full recovery."
"And what started the fire?" The skepticism in the First Prince's voice was easy to hear; Lamar had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
"I cannot say," said the Determinist Prime irritably, "and the Most High can only speculate at this point. He blames the drop, but the details are unknown."
Sole wisely took up a more empathetic line of questioning on her fiancé's behalf, sensing that Lamar was reaching the end of his patience with his oldest brother's rather blunt inquiries. "How is Phenomena? Have you spoken with him? I understand that he was instrumental in saving many lives today."
Lamar uncrossed his arms and set the tip of his right index finger into the jagged groove of one of the fissures in the granite table, running the digit slowly the length of the fracture, lost in thought. For the longest time both the mountebank and the First Prince were certain he would not answer at all, but he spoke up in the end. "I have spoken with him twice, though only briefly – the severity of his mental fatigue currently makes him incapable of long term conversation, and he struggles to answer even the simplest of questions. The first time we spoke he exhibited signs of recognition, but he confessed to being unfamiliar with me." The Third Prince broke off for a moment, his throat tight and the backs of his eyes strangely hot, and swallowed hard in an attempt to compose himself. "The High Prince ordered that we allow him to be isolated for a few hours, and so I spoke with him a second time not long ago – during that meeting he was able to identify me and answer several basic questions, but the more finite details still elude him. He is sleeping now."
"Are you saying… that…?" Sole opened and closed her mouth several times more, but her voice had failed her and in the end she was unable to voice her fears aloud. Lamar closed his eyes, his finger still absentmindedly tracing the path of the crack in the table, no longer able to meet her gaze.
"Nothing is certain," he admitted softly, "but in my opinion he overexerted his own mental capacities – in short, he asked more of his mind than he was physically able to provide. I believe the strain has permanently and adversely affected his brain, but only time will tell to just what extent. At this point it is his memory that suffers most, but perhaps he will recover in time."
"The Night Mother watch over him," Secants prayed quietly, looking crestfallen, and still standing diligently behind him Sole dissolved into silent tears. Lamar said nothing but allowed her to grieve quietly, privately wishing that he could do the same without sacrificing his dignity or opening himself to ridicule. "It saddens me to hear of it, but I have feared as much since his return from the excavation of Castle Tether. I know I am not the only one who believes that his transformation was… flawed."
Abruptly Lamar was desperate to be alone with his thoughts and he bolted out of his chair as though it had burned him; Secants and Sole looked on confusedly, at a loss for words, and he took advantage of their momentary speechlessness and formulated an excuse to leave them. "I must return to the High Prince," he blurted out, "and offer my assistance. There is much to be done… Excuse me."
Lamar didn't return to the infirmary, but locked himself away in his private quarters to sort out his thoughts. The idea of enduring anyone's company, of continuing to pretend that he was unaffected by all that had transpired, was simply too much for him to bear.
Limit Telltale was skulking in the alcove to the left of the infirmary when Headhunter let himself out. The shadow sorcerer allowed his eyes to linger upon the drop for half a second, and then he was shoving past him and striding purposefully down the hallway.
Having expected as much Limit hurried along in his wake, matching him stride for stride with only a little difficulty – a drop with no Nether ancestry, Limit was the shortest member of the Shadow Council excluding their two female members. "The Princes are faring much better?"
"The High Prince would be more than happy to answer your inquiries, I am sure," Headhunter spat back icily without so much as a second glance in the dross's direction. "I have business to attend to."
"What business?" Limit inquired with a scoff, his tone making it clear that he doubted the senescent had anything better to do than come up with clever ways to evade his questions. "All council business has been temporarily suspended – the Most High has prioritize the health of his sons, and understandably so. Indeed, you seem to find yourself far better off than most – despite the fact that you were nearer to death's door than any of the others, from all that I have heard. How can it be that you have managed to recover so quickly?"
"I do not owe you any answers," said Headhunter flatly, and throwing open the great double doors he brushed past the gate guards flanking the entrance to the Palace Most High and descended the wide stone staircase toward The Circle. "And why should I, when you so easily forsake my companionship for your own self-preservation?"
Limit opened his mouth to respond with a cutting, sarcastic remark, but seemed to think better of it at the last instant and wisely swallowed his ill-advised comment. He sensed that the time to deal in jests with his present company was long past, and that he had little choice but to offer up some measure of sincerity or risk losing his only real ally in an increasingly hostile environment. They were nearing the southernmost curve of The Circle now – including Villa Cambric, Headhunter's abode and the place where Limit had been resting his own head for the last two fortnights – and swallowing a certain measure of his pride Limit threw caution to the winds and seized Headhunter by the elbow.
"I had no fear for your life, since you were in the doppelgängers care," he admitted, "and knowing that there was nothing I could do to aid you I thought it best to flee. All our lives were at stake, and not just your own, if you recall."
Headhunter ripped his arm out of Limb's grasp and shadow-walked out of the street in an effort to lose him; Limit sighed and followed along in his wake, keeping pace with him easily in the Realm of Shadow. When they materialized they were standing in the senescence's private quarters, and Headhunter was looking positively irate now. "Do not insult my intelligence by presuming to remind me of the dire nature of the situation we just faced! Do not pretend that you trust so much to the doppelgängers abilities, when just days ago you were searching for ways to undermine him! And do not play yourself off as the innocent here, when I know for a fact that you urged the High Prince's sons to leave me to my fate!"
Limit sighed and ran a hand down his face, scrambling for words. Truth be told, he had hoped this admission would never reach Headhunter's ears – he supposed he had underestimated just how much Lamar and Clangorous both detested him. Well, he reasoned, there was nothing he could do about them now – salvaging the arrangement he had with Headhunter was a priority now. "I did say as much," he confessed, "and I cannot say that I am proud of it – they say you cannot truly measure the worth of a man until he is placed in a crisis, and I cannot say I care much for my own personal worth this day."
"Perhaps you did not hear me before when I told you I had business to attend to," Headhunter reminded in an icy tone, and Limit cocked his head to one side.
"You are conducting business in your private chambers?" the drop clarified, skeptical.
"My business is no concern of yours," the senescent insisted, and his tone of voice suggested that they were at an impasse.
Limit weaved his way through the room and sank down into the high-backed desk chair, letting his head fall into his waiting hands; Headhunter watched his every move with slitter eyes, untrusting but still somehow intrigued. When the drop looked back up after many long minutes of silent contemplation, his expression was bleak. "You deserve far better treatment than what I have offered you these long weeks," he admitted in a self-deprecating tone. "It is true that the High Prince ordered you to attend me while I work to achieve my ultimate goal, but you have given me so much more than simply your loyal service – you have given me your companionship, which I do not hold as dear as I should. Were it not for you, I would be utterly alone in this place – and such dedication should not go unrewarded." He heaved a sigh, looking at once stressed yet resigned, and finished, "So let me reward you."
"That won't be necessary," Headhunter said dryly, crossing his arms.
Limit sat up a little straighter and fixed the senescent with an eerily serious gaze. "Let me reward you with the truth, Headhunter."
"I am not interested in your warped, twisted version of the so-called truth," said Headhunter crossly, but he spoke a little too quickly and his eyes had sparked with interest; it might take some convincing, but Limit knew he would win.
"Yes you are." The drop-shade laughed long and loud at his unlikely companion's stubbornness – there was nothing more comical than a man who failed to see the humor in anything, and Headhunter could always be trusted to be that man. "I am no fool. I know that your sovereign is not in the least bit concerned with my personal well being – he and I entered into a business transaction, nothing more. He fulfilled his end of our bargain right away, just as I requested, and now he is eager for me to return the favor. He didn't assign you to my service to ensure that I adjusted with grace and poise to the life of a shade – he did it so that he could keep tabs on me." Noting Headhunter's swiftly-souring expression, Limit hurried to explain his reasoning. "Not that I blame him, of course! He has been far more accommodating than I could ever have imagined, and I have nothing but gratitude for him. You have been suffering through my jests and my revelry and my conniving nature all this time without complaint, and all because you are hoping to hear something of use to report to your master. So allow me to give you something to report."
Headhunter stood there, his teeth bared in an awful grimace and his hands clenched into slightly-trembling fists at his sides, and said nothing. Limit settled back in the chair and clasped his hands upon the desk in front of him, shifting from moderately bemused to businesslike in the blink of an eye.
"I will take your lack of protest as a sign that I should continue," Limit observed shrewdly. "Know that all I tell you from this point forward I have not yet shared with a single soul."
The intrigue was simply too strong for Headhunter, who had spent centuries being privy to all of the Most High's most delicate matters and had found himself suffering perpetual disavow in the wake of his forbidden liaison with Avail Earthen. He sat on the corner of his bed, privately wishing he had his familiar drafts in his hand and feeling somewhat lost without it, and surveyed the drop with obvious disdain. "I will hear what you have to say, but you should know that it will reach the High Prince's ears if I feel such a thing is necessary."
"Fair enough." Limit propped his elbows upon the smooth wooden surface of the desk and steeples his fingers together, his expression perfectly unreadable. "Over the last several tenders I have been sowing discord among you. I have been deliberately pitting you against one another in order to achieve my own personal ends. This has absolutely nothing to do with the High Prince's agenda, though I can assure you that nothing I do opposes his mandate in any way."
