Hands Like Secrets, page 24
His friends form a circle around him, holding him back. He’s brought seasoned Tammar Hall red cords with him, I see; he had at least that much sense. A few had been in that tanathe den, though they seem alert enough now.
Rafel’s Cowls, meanwhile, have formed a half-ring facing the Mantles, and Grisen’s Cowls have rallied behind their ras.
Every eye is on Rafel, and to a lesser extent, me.
One Mantle I know from Anjahel training; a skinny, black-haired guy named Andres lays a hand on Yan’s arm.
“We can’t fight this many.”
Yan never takes his eyes off me. “We’re not going back without her.”
Every Cowl visibly tenses. I have the impression that none of them want to fight these Mantles; if they did, they surely would have attacked in earnest by now. But the moment either ras gives the word...
I make myself lock eyes with my friend.
“Yan, this is over your head,” I say carefully.
His dark eyes flicker from my face to Rafel standing behind me, and back to my face again.
“I am not leaving you with these murderers,” he says.
Grisen makes a rude noise.
“Someone please kop this ankarka and be done?”
“You want a go at me, gila?” Yan snarls, raising his hands. “Let’s go, right now!”
Grisen cracks his knuckles and takes a step forward.
“No!” I shout, but then Rafel gets a grip on my hair, which instantly paralyzes my whole body. His fingers tighten, eliciting a squeak from me. He isn’t as rough as Egan had been, but he knows, he knows how I feel about my hair being touched, and he’s doing it anyway.
“Grisen, for our Lady’s sake if not your own,” Rafel says in a weary voice, “do not embarrass yourself by challenging a teenager to a duel. And you, Mantle,” he calls to Yan. “If you value your precious ankarka hide, and hers, you will stay out of this.”
I must make an unconscious noise of protest; he puts his mouth by my ear.
“Trust me,” Rafel whispers. “Remember?”
“Hair,” I whisper back, nearly stuttering in fury.
He mutters something in Zhav, but the hand in my hair loosens, just a little. He then looks imperiously toward Grisen.
“You couldn’t truthsay the location of a moorhog’s hole on a flat plain. If it must be done,” he says, and something like resignation softens his voice, “I’m the one who does it.”
“You’ll not lay another hand on her, you—!” Yan, again.
“I said shut it!” Rafel bares his teeth in Yan’s direction. “First warning of three. Then you are dead.”
“Rafel —?” I start.
He silences me with two warm fingers on my mouth. The touch burns my lips and spreads down my throat like hot metal. My eyes un-focus; dizziness washes over me. If he wasn’t holding me up, I’d have swooned.
Am I imagining the glowing gold ring around his irises? Gods, he’s beautiful.
“You’re loyal to me, aren’t you? If you knew a secret, you wouldn’t tell.” He stares into my eyes, and somehow all the discomfort I usually feel in making eye contact is just...missing.
“Of course not. I’m not a gossip. I don’t tell people things.” The words bubble out of my mouth, through his fingers, out of my control. It is the strangest feeling.
My gaze wavers to just beyond his face, picking out a ulula nest in Steep Gables’ rafters, and abruptly my brain refuses to do anything except count each individual twig. My mouth, meanwhile, rambles on.
“Fien knows everything about everyone on campus. They tell me things, you know? But I don’t talk. The other day—”
“If someone’s life depended on your silence,” Rafel cuts in, “you wouldn’t talk, would you?”
Twenty-three, twenty-four. Did ulula hatch in the summer; would there be eggs? My hazy mind swims in the heat of Rafel’s gold-ringed eyes. Thirty. Thirty-one.
“I can keep a secret,” my mouth says. “I keep plenty of secrets. Sometimes Fien copies my Theory homework. Yan was a charhead and so was my mom. I’ve fallen for a Cowl. Once—”
“Even if you are questioned?” another voice breaks in. It’s whiny, harsh, and I don’t like it at all.
“Shut it, Grisen,” Rafel snaps.
“I’ve been questioned.” My lips are eager for the chance to keep moving. “I lied to the High Priestess herself when she took me in the Temple. I was even kind of scared, but it was okay because the other professors came in, and they gave me the Mantle, and then they—”
“All right, Saeli.”
Rafel’s fingers tap on my lips, and the flow of words just stops. Saeli. Fifty-two, fifty-three.
Wait...I’m Saeli. That’s my name.
Vaguely I know Rafel is doing something inside my mind, but the thought slithers away. Sixty, sixty-one. The nest looks recently used; fresh feathers and leaves line it.
“That’s enough! Let her go right now!”
Another voice. Rafel’s head whips around, and this time his eyes break contact with mine. Some of my wits trickle back; I know the timbre of that new voice.
Yan. Yanka. My friend, but he’s mad at me. He can see what Rafel’s doing to me. What...what is Rafel doing to me?
“He knows who you are,” I hear myself say. Rafel’s eyes refocus sharply on me; they still glow, and the fuzziness comes back.
“Hush, girl!” he hisses.
“He knows I met a Cowl in the Sari. He knows you’re ‘Aeden.’” I hear a flurry of gasps and think maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.
But I can’t fight it, can’t stop the words.
The stupid nest catches my eye again.
“We fought. He figured it out. And I wanted to tell him...to tell him...”
No! My seventh node, the one located at the crown of my head, flares in pain. Not that.
“Tried to explain...couldn’t...could...”
My tongue trips over the two competing forces in my mind. The hot pressure on my throat pushes to talk, talk, talk; but the part of me that is me knows I have a secret I must keep at all costs, and it knows I am on dangerous ground.
Rafel’s eyes on mine grow panicked, and the fuzzy distraction around my mind presses harder. But now that I’ve identified the distraction, I instinctively fight back.
I clamp my teeth shut against the heat in my mouth and push away the haze.
“Rafel,” I gasp. “Rafel, stop it, make me stop.” I wrap my hand around the fingers on my mouth. “Whatever you’re doing to me, stop it.”
Rafel inhales sharply and stumbles back a step. The trance between us snaps. I stagger.
My eyes widen, full consciousness slamming back, and all I can see is the horrified shock on Rafel’s face. For half a second, I am confused. I vaguely remember his questions, and I know I said I wouldn’t betray the Cowls to Aschamon. Keeping our plan a secret had thrown me out of the trance, so that was still safe.
But so...what did I reveal?
“Shayol-curse idiot!” Grisen yells. “Only gifted can throw a truthsay. She is Anjahel!”
Oh.
A chorus of others drowns out his voice, but my gaze focuses on Rafel. His eyes tell me more clearly than words what my being an Anjahel means; I’ve accomplished exactly what Grisen wanted. If he orders his cell to kill me now, there is nothing Rafel can do to stop it.
I don’t think.
I run.
“Here!”
Yan waves from the edge of the lawn. His friends have scattered; back to the hedges, maybe, or have they gone back to Valene’s house? It hardly matters. I have to reach Yanka and get us away from here.
“Do not let this voor escape!” Grisen shrieks.
I stumble across the yard, but a whip of something invisible twines around my ankle and yanks. I slam into the grass, hard enough to knock the air out of me. Yan roars in fury; a confusion of footsteps pounds around my head. There’s a flash of orange, and white, and then voices.
I lie on my stomach, gasping, my muscles refusing to respond.
“That’s far enough, Mantle!” Rafel commands. One of his legs obscures my vision. I scoot away.
“Get up,” he says to me, using his assassin voice. I obey, coughing, clumsy with fear and lack of breath.
“Let her go.” Yan pauses an arm’s length away, body locked into long guard.
Rafel shakes his head slowly.
“You don’t want to fight me.”
I feel a cool tingle on my skin and know that Yan has drawn qi.
“You have no idea how badly I want to fight you right now, gila.” His voice is so thick with hatred, I barely recognize it. “You’re just lucky I’m also patient.”
He makes a sharp gesture off to the side.
Wha —?
A freezing energy weave hits Rafel from behind, knocking us both to the grass. My head smacks against the ground, sending a bolt of pain down my neck and spine. Rafel rolls to avoid crushing me and disappears from my line of sight. Through a haze of pain, I hear another stampede of footsteps and shouting, dominated by Grisen’s whiny shriek and Mauri’s rasp.
Someone grabs me by the armpits and hauls me to my feet. My head spins. The world tilts under me.
“Deren!” Yan shouts. “Get her out of here.” His words cut off in a curse.
Light flashes across the lawn.
My rescuer, a big, blond-headed guy, slips an arm under my knees and picks me up like a child.
Wait! We can’t leave Yan!
I try to make my mouth work but cannot. My vision clears enough for me to see Yan’s friends scattering down the street, followed by a handful of Cowls from the porch. There seem to be more Mantles now than there had been before; have they been hiding somewhere the whole time? Have more arrived?
“Hang on,” Deren peers down at my face. His eyes take on the inward focus of someone about to teleport.
“No,” I murmur. “No, wait—”
But an explosion of color tears the words from my mouth.
Chapter 29
Deren briefly touches down in an unfamiliar sorarc tower before we are ‘porting again; this time, he hits the grass on the other side running, with me still cradled in his arms. The city Temple looms above us. I draw a breath to demand where we are going, but Deren is already ‘porting us a third time.
When we land again, I note in shock that we are back at Aschamon, on the open recreation field between Trian Hall and Acelynn Library. It looks like nearly every Mantle majahel from Valene’s house has assembled here, their bright party clothes contrasting sharply with their worried faces.
“Saeli! Thank the silver god—” Professor Matvey jogs up, followed by others. They form a wide circle around us.
“Put me down!” I yell at Deren.
He complies, looking a little taken aback at my vehemence. He probably imagines he’s saved my life or something. Matvey grabs my hand to steady me.
I seize his shoulder.
“Rafel is out there,” I hiss, “and he wants —!”
“You?” Matvey finishes in a grim voice. “We know. Which is why I am not letting you out of my sight again tonight.”
“Sir, you don’t understand —”
How can I explain that there isn’t just one cell out there, but two, and both are probably out for blood now? That Grisen might be summoning Iuril right this second, for all I know?
And if that happens, Rafel might be the only one who could protect us all?
How can I say any of that without revealing to Aschamon just how deep my betrayal goes?
I frown as another thought occurs to me.
“How...how did we get in here?” I ask, looking around. “The anti-‘port—”
“The High Priestess and Professor Donnevan are at the main campus sorarc right now.” Matvey gestures toward the Temple sorarc tower, several minutes’ walk from here. “Providing anchor points for our Mantles to ‘port in and out.”
“Out?” I echo.
Matvey’s face grows pinched.
“Yan did well in providing us with the Cowls’ location, but I wish he’d had the patience to wait until our ambush was set before taking it upon himself to go after you.”
Even as I watch, Mantles ‘port away from the field in splashes of color. Senior red cords, a few from Nolan Hall. Not all of these had been at the party; some of these red cords and Anjahel wear Aschamon uniforms.
Soon only a handful remain, spread out across the grass.
Ambush, my slow brain repeats. Oh...they probably mean to surround Steep Gables and the nearby areas. My lips compress. They can take Grisen, if the idiot is still there, but I hope Rafel is smart enough to retreat.
I hope Rafel doesn’t think they took me to Valene’s house. If he followed, he’d be ‘porting straight into a trap. My hand creeps to the little silver purse at my side, but I’d tied Fien’s shawl around my waist.
There’s no way I can warn him without someone noticing.
“Where is Fien?” I wonder aloud, realizing I don’t see them.
“Inside Ingrid, with the other teal cords.” My Theory professor pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Though I pray we will not need them tonight.”
I take a breath. Conflicting loyalties aside, Matvey needs to know what they’re up against.
“You might, Professor,” I say. “Because there are two cells in Aschera now, and Rafel and the other ras are sworn enemies. Thanks to Rafel’s kidnappings, the other ras has decided I’m valuable and wants me for himself. That’s why he attacked me at the house.”
Matvey stares at me with wide eyes, clearly taking this all in.
“I’m more of a target now than I’ve ever been.” My fingers want to tangle in my hair; I clench my fist and lower my hand. “To both of them, and I don’t know if—”
I cut off with a gasp as something horrible occurs to me.
“What, Saeli?” Matvey touches one of my shoulders.
“Take my name out of the school ward patterns.” I grab Matvey’s sleeve. “He...he’ll have learned it by now, and he knows my face; he could—”
“Use it to ‘port in,” Matvey finishes, his narrow face going pale. “Especially with Linserae and Donnevan holding gaps in the weaves right now. Good thinking, Anjahel; Rafel’s raiders could use him as an anchor to ‘port in as well. Deren!”
He calls out to the blond boy who’d rescued me, who comes over at a jog. I take even breaths as Matvey explains the situation, and Deren runs for the Temple sorarc tower to tell the HP.
My Professor, of course, is worried about Rafel taking advantage of my name to breach the school. I, on the other hand, am now desperately worried that Grisen, who also knows my name, will do the same.
Grisen possesses none of Rafel’s honor or restraint. He cannot be allowed within these walls.
“We should take me outside the school,” I add once he’s gone. “I’m putting all of Aschamon in danger.”
“Too late,” a horribly familiar voice says, and my heart tries to leap out of my throat.
Matvey inhales sharply as Rafel swishes into view, dropping whatever invisibility weave he’d created to enter our midst undetected. The other Mantles on the lawn, maybe twenty in total, students and teachers alike, cry out as they notice him.
Their initial rush is forestalled with a gesture from Matvey.
I let majahel sight drop over my vision and scan the grass for rashas weaves, but I see nothing. No Mauri, no Grisen, nobody else.
Rafel is alone.
His hood rests on his shoulders, leaving his head bare, which from my studies I remember signifies a Cowl wanting to negotiate instead of fight. He takes in his circle of enemies with eerie calm, his face showing no fear. Unbelievably, arriving hoodless probably saved his life.
One lone Cowl doesn’t look like much of a threat, amongst so many Mantles.
Rafel takes full advantage of their hesitation. He folds his arms behind his back in the universal gesture of majahel truce, though there is nothing of surrender in that icy gaze.
“I do not wish to harm any of you,” he says evenly.
“We know what you want, Kailar,” Matvey retorts. Although his voice is steady, his use of Rafel’s safe name tells me he’s afraid. My professor steps in front of me. “And you cannot have her.”
Rafel’s pale gaze fixes on me with such intensity that several sets of Mantle eyes follow. I press my lips together and meet that gaze, though my skin itches and my heart quails under it.
“Give her to me, and I will spare you all,” he says.
A round of chuckles follows that bold statement, but the order to attack never comes. Matvey is glowering hard enough to scare a mountain striper, but he says nothing. Looking around, I see students shifting stances uneasily, glancing at each other.
Rafel’s calm, proud bearing is frightening them, so much so that I can almost hear what they must be thinking. This is the demon, the killer of generals and whole battalions, the Anjahel slayer.
And here he is, alone and unafraid, in the heart of enemy territory.
Are twenty-to-one odds enough?
And in that moment, I truly believe everything Rafel told me in that restaurant. Because no one, not even the maddest and most power-hungry of Cowls, would risk what he was risking right now for a lie.
Yes, he could lie the beak off a krait, but that should have stopped when Grisen showed up and changed the stakes. If he’d been lying, he would have let Grisen kill me for being an Anjahel, or he would have let Deren carry me away and washed his hands of me.
Instead, he’d come back.
Because the gray majahel were real. The gods did curse the Midplains to destroy them, and they are responsible for this war. Rafel’s raw courage right now means that he really, truly believes he can overthrow the gods and bring peace to Verre.
“Prof Matvey,” I say in a firm voice, “let me go.”
All eyes fall on me. Matvey looks down at me with a frown.
“Saeli, we have him surrounded,” he says quietly. “Don’t let him scare you with his arrogance.”
“I’m the only one he wants, and every second he stays, Aschamon is in danger,” I argue.
Matvey’s jaw clenches.
“You are noble to offer yourself to save others.” He raises his voice; it carries around the circle. “But Aschamon will not relinquish a student to our enemies like a gausbird for slaughter.”
