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“That is no longer a concern of mine. I’ve decided that there will be no more helping Sitia with their difficulties. You’re staying in Ixia and dealing with Ixian problems. If Sitia has a revolt and the victors attack us, then we will defend ourselves at that time. My army is quite capable, and it will give all those young hotheads something to do. As of now, you no longer have the freedom to assign agents and go off on missions as you see fit. You must clear everything with me first. Understand?”
The Commander’s words sliced into Valek as if he’d been stabbed with a knife. In all their years together and throughout all their fights, Commander Ambrose had never spoken to Valek in that tone. Had Owen manipulated him four years ago when the magician bargained for his life, promising the Commander Curare in exchange? It depended on when Leif had woven the null shields for him.
Unable to remain sitting, Valek stood. “I understand that you no longer trust me.”
“You need to earn my trust again. I need to know that when I give an order, you will follow it without question.”
Fear coiled around Valek’s chest. The Commander had never wished for him to be a mindless soldier. “Questioning your orders has been the heart of our relationship. The ability to discuss issues and determine the best way to handle them has been beneficial. It’s why I’m one of your advisers. You’ll ruin—”
In a heartbeat, the Commander shot to his feet and advanced on him. Valek remained in place, even when Commander Ambrose drew his knife and pressed the tip to Valek’s chest. Fury radiated in every one of the Commander’s clenched muscles. Valek had pushed too far.
“You’ve forgotten your place, Valek. You’re mine. Live or die, I decide.”
The Commander cut his shirt open, then traced the twenty-four-year-old C-shaped scar on Valek’s chest with the knife. Burning pain seared his skin as the razor-sharp tip sliced through his flesh with ease, but Valek refused to utter a sound.
“Do you remember what you pledged to me in that alley long ago?” he asked Valek.
“My loyalty.”
“Correct. See that you don’t break my trust again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Valek stared straight ahead. “Your orders regarding Owen Moon, sir?”
“You are to leave him and his companions alone. No more investigating. No more interference in his affairs. Owen is my guest and is staying in the guest quarters. He works for me and will continue to do so until I say otherwise. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Fear pierced Valek’s anger and humiliation. He had to warn Yelena.
“Good. Anything else?”
“Who hired Onora to kill you, sir?”
“It’s under investigation.”
Meaning, Onora hadn’t been able to learn the client’s name from Hedda. Which explained why she killed the teacher. “Your orders regarding Onora?”
“No change. She’s to continue being your apprentice.”
“Will she follow my orders?”
“As long as you clear them with me first. We will meet here at dawn every morning and again right after supper to discuss your assignments.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Valek left. He gathered the two parts of his shirt together, fisting the fabric in his right hand and pressing it against the bleeding wound on his chest. Pain flared, but his swirling thoughts distracted him. Possible explanations for the Commander’s behavior bubbled. Had Onora’s attack affected him that badly? Or was Owen to blame? No wonder neither Valek nor Janco picked up on magic. No need to hide behind an illusion when you were an invited guest. Valek would have to investigate how much Owen was influencing the Commander, which meant violating another direct order and further ruining their relationship.
Confusion warred with anger, which flipped to fear and then to outrage. Valek no longer knew what to think, to believe, to do. He’d always known what action to take, but not now. Too much had happened.
One thing stayed consistent. Yelena. He needed to protect her, to send her to safety, to ensure that she understood that his loyalties were no longer divided.
Valek arrived at his suite without any memory of the trip. Yelena sat at the table. She’d cleared a section off so she could eat her breakfast. Her forkful of sweet cakes paused in midair when she spotted him.
She dropped it. The metal clattered on the plate. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
He strode over and knelt next to her. “The Commander has reminded me of my pledge to serve him.” Opening his fist, he let his shirt hang open.
Yelena gasped and reached to touch him. “What—”
Valek grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Please, just listen. I’ve no idea what’s going on with him, but I do know that you’re the one who owns my heart and soul. And this—” he gestured to the C-shaped cut “—is not going to be a symbol of my loyalty to the Commander anymore. It’s...” Drawing his knife, Valek cut a backward C shape into his skin right next to the other, linking them so they resembled a heart. “It’s a symbol of my love, my loyalty, my respect, my trust and my commitment to you and only you. Yelena, will you marry me?”
9
LEIF
The air thickened with heat and smoke. Leif squinted through the flames that surrounded them, seeking a way to escape the barn as the fire’s roar pounded in his ears and his heart thudded in his chest.
“...your fire magic?” Devlen’s face shone with sweat.
“I can only start fires, not stop them.” Leif coughed into his sleeve.
“Any ideas?”
“Window.” Leif bent low and raced to the nearest one.
The wooden frame burned scorching hot, but the glass behind the flames remained intact. Shielding his face with his arm, Leif kicked the window. A loud crack juddered through the sole of his boot. He kicked again. This time the glass broke, and he used his heel to clear the shards.
“Pants,” Devlen yelled.
Leif glanced down. An old childhood taunt played in his mind. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Guess he was a liar. He almost laughed. Except a snapping and groaning noise shook the rafters. The roof. Fear pierced his inertia.
“Let’s go,” he yelled, diving through the flames dancing in the window. Leif slammed into the ground. The force knocked the wind from him, but he rolled to the side to clear the way for Devlen. He kept spinning to snuff out the fire clinging to his clothes as he gasped for air.
A thud and a curse sounded to his left. Devlen also spun on the ground to extinguish his tunic. Another warning screech reverberated.
“Run!” Leif scrambled to his feet and dashed away.
Devlen followed. They raced from the burning structure as its roof collapsed. A red-hot whoosh of air pushed them forward. Embers and sharp bits of flying debris pelted their backs. Leif stumbled. Devlen grabbed his arm and pulled him upright.
They continued for another fifty feet before collapsing onto the grass. Leif checked his body for flames while his brother-in-law did the same.
“What...the hell...happened?” Devlen panted.
“Booby trap.”
“You sure?”
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“Yep.” He drew in a breath. “Owen knew we’d investigate his glass houses. That stack of files was just too tempting. As soon as I opened the top one, it triggered the trap. Bastard left a note, too.”
“What did it say?”
“Gotcha.”
* * *
The horses arrived soon after their narrow escape. They cataloged their injuries. Leif mixed up a poultice for their burns. He bandaged the jagged cuts on his leg from the window’s glass and removed the splinters from Devlen’s back. Draining half his water skin, Leif wiped his mouth with a soot-covered sleeve.
The burning barn polluted the air with thick black clouds. Yet no one arrived to investigate or to help. Odd.
“Owen must have scared his neighbors away,” Devlen said.
By the time they were ready to leave, the structure resembled a pile of scorched lumber. Heat rippled the air above it and an angry orange-red glowed deep inside. Without a water source nearby, they couldn’t douse it. Instead, they rode to the nearest town and contacted the authorities.
Once they explained what had happened, they checked into a local inn. After a bath and a large meal, Leif dragged his battered body up to their room. He stretched out on the bed. Devlen plopped onto the other one. The springs squealed under his weight.
Pain pulsed from Leif’s right leg despite the healing ointment. His raw skin oozed and his throat burned. He felt like a pig who’d been tied to a spit and roasted over a fire. Leif would never eat pork again. Well... At least not for a couple days.
“Are we still going to check those other hothouses?” Devlen asked.
“No. I can’t stop a magical booby trap, and anything could be the trigger.” Leif considered. “I’ll message the locations to Irys tomorrow. Only she or Bain has the power to remove the trap without springing it.”
Disappointment panged. He’d been hoping to discover a clue to Owen’s whereabouts. Now it would be at least half a season before one of the Masters arrived.
“You think Owen had time to rig all ten?”
The magician had a six-day head start. “It’s possible. Best to assume they’re all disasters waiting to happen.” And if Owen had enough time for that, then he probably destroyed anything that would indicate his escape plans. Damn.
