Keir Read online

  Chapter 6

  Late that night, Keir lay in his bed, curled into a knot as his head blazed in agony. Blue flames seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside his mind, filling him until he felt his skin would split open with the force of it. It scorched along his nerves, seared his veins until every beat of his heart was another surge of unbearable heat. He writhed within the fire, seeking an outlet, an escape from the pressure. With every fragment of strength he had, he thrust himself against invisible restraints and they shattered, freeing him.

  With a thought he redirected the fire, spilling the energy outward and twisting time and space to his own design. A gateway opened for him, a crystal pathway beckoning him into the void. Without hesitation he took it.

  Walking unseen through the shadows Keir traveled once more to the Poor Quarter of the city, to a dilapidated one-roomed house. He entered to walk across a hard-packed dirt floor that might once have been flagstones.

  A woman slept in a shabby, wooden chair, the fire in the grate burned down to a few orange embers gleaming amidst thick, gray ash. Her face was lined with age and sorrow, hair once long and black now gray and roughly cropped around her oval face. Keir reached out to touch the careworn cheek and found he could not. As insubstantial as mist, his hand passed straight through her. A single tear ran down his face.

  “Mother,” he whispered.

  She stirred then, as if his voice had disturbed her rest, but soon settled back into sleep. Keir stood and watched, unable to do more and unwilling to return to a half-remembered reality a world away.

  Suddenly, the door smashed open and a handful of city guards plunged into the room. Serena started from her sleep but a sword pressed at her throat before she could rise. She did not protest or demand an explanation. Instead she clutched the arms of her chair as her eyes flickered from the blade to the shielded face of her captor. The guard said nothing and Keir found his silence unnerving.

  Two guards searched the room thoroughly, although there were precious few places for even a mouse to hide. Keir recognized the familiar twisted knot symbol and colors of the Corizi personal bodyguards with a jolt of hatred. For what did they search? Why had the Family sent so many of their elite to harass his mother?

  All five now surrounded her, the search concluded, and a cold certainty swallowed his confusion. He was the cause. Their escape from the palace, and Quin’s defense of him against the villagers, would surely have driven the Corizi to fury. They had come for him.

  Someone entered the house, his pace regal, his tabard emblazoned with a golden commander’s insignia. Masked like his men, he slowly surveyed the scene before approaching Serena. Four of his men snapped to attention and saluted with their swords. The fifth kept his blade at her throat.

  “At ease,” ordered the commander, his voice muffled under his visor.

  The soldier stepped back and sheathed his blade, allowing his superior to move closer to the frightened woman. As he place a mailed hand on the arm of her chair and leaned over her, she cowered away from him. Only then did he remove his helmet, revealing a grizzled face as long and solemn as Keir’s, with the same narrow nose, high cheekbones and wide forehead, though his once curly hair was now gray and close-shaven.

  Horror shot through Keir and his breath locked in his throat. He could not move, could not think as he watched in silence.

  The man looked down his nose at Keir’s mother, his face twisted in fury. “Where is he, Serena?”

  She returned his glare. “Even if I knew, I would not betray our son.”

  He nodded solemnly, as if he had anticipated her reaction. “I would expect no less from a woman who consorts with demons,” he said. “But we will find him. The time has come to rid Adalucien of this curse. We will begin with you.”

  He waved a hand and his guard removed her from the chair to drag her outside. As Rialto followed his prisoner out, he scanned the room, his blue eyes like Keir’s own as he stared straight through his son. Keir tried to snatch at him, crying out in frustration as his blow made no impact. The scene faded away and Keir jerked upright, hands clutched to his head. A scream of fury and despair filled the small room, and his eyes opened to blaze a fiery blue in the darkness.

  * * * *

  Quin woke with a pounding heart and a scattering of images in her head. She thought she heard Keir call out, full of terrible rage, but couldn’t focus on him. Whatever had disturbed him had closed his mind to her. Concerned, Quin rose and dressed, pulling a long tunic over her head. As she reached the door the alarm on the gateway room began to sound and she broke into a desperate run, knowing she was already too late.

  Despite her earlier sense of foreboding, she wasn’t the first to reach the gateway. Sky, Taler, Surei and Mercury were already there, alerted by the security and all closer to hand. Sky stood armed guard over the open doorway, with Mercury at his side, as impassive as ever, following the set protocols for unauthorized use of the gateways.

  Surei took Quin aside, her ruffled feathers betraying her agitation.

  “Do you know who opened the gateway?” she demanded. Anger had stripped the usual melody from her voice.

  “I think it was Keir,” Quin admitted. “I’ve lost track of him.”

  “You promised me he wasn’t a danger. You said he didn’t have any of the Sentiac’s abilities. I think he just proved you wrong, Quin.”

  “No, I think he learned it from me. I think his mother is in danger and he’s gone back to save her.”

  “You’re going to follow him, aren’t you?” Surei’s amber eyes were almost incandescent in her fury. “You should never have brought him here! Why can’t you just let him go?”

  “I just can’t. I have to go after him,” Quin protested. “But this time, I’ll take some help.”

  “What about Ryan?”

  She had turned away, but the words stopped her as though they had impaled her on the spot. The ache that had haunted her for three hundred years returned in full force.

  “You’re going to abandon him? For Keir?” Surei pressed, her tone scathing.

  “No, I’m not.” Quin gazed back at the medic. “But Keir’s in danger now, and until the archivist comes up with some useful data, I don’t even know where to start looking for Ryan. So one thing at a time, huh?”

  Without another word, she walked away with a sickening wave of guilt surging in her chest.

  One thing at a time…

  * * * *

  It had all happened as he had imagined it. He had opened the gateway alone, duplicating Quin’s methods instinctively and arriving back in Adalucien before dawn. Hiding in the shadows came as naturally to him as breathing as he entered the city and secreted himself across the square from the ornate bronze doors of the palace.

  Wooden scaffolding twined around the North Tower, tumbled brickwork and cracked marble a testament to the damage Quin had caused with her explosion. His mother would be held somewhere inside, either near the inner court or in one of the towers, since she was one of the Family. Cloaked and hooded in the outfit he had worn on his first mission, the fine quality of the cloth should let him pass as one of the high-ranking citizens of the city. With luck he should be able to slip in as part of the aristocratic families arriving for the Dawn Assembly, when court would be held and his mother brought to face charges before the high-born of Adalucien. That is, if Rialto followed tradition. Having acted on impulse and in fear, he had no better plan. There was no possibility of crossing unseen to the palace doors, of penetrating the double walls or passing unconcealed through the well-guarded entrance. Camouflage was his only hope, but what he could do once inside left his mind frighteningly blank. He knew only that he had to try.

  As the sun rose over the opulent buildings of the Merchants Quarter, turning the marble facings of the palace gold, the Assembly Bell rang solemnly from the East Tower. Keir had lived here once, in the North Tower, hidden away from the world during the early years of his life. He had sat, concealed from sight by shadows, in a
corner of the assembly room, staring in awe at the high, vaulted ceilings with their colorful frescoes and bright decoration.

  His father had always read the charges whilst his grandmother sat in judgment, with the elite of the city resplendent on their gilded thrones along either side. The condemned were dragged through the main entrance to stand on a plinth of stone before the Matriarch. Grandmother was known to be harsh but fair, while his father had always taken the side of prosecutor and pushed for the highest penalties. For consorting with demons, Keir knew only one sentence was possible.

  The elite of Adalucien began to arrive, some drawing up in front of the palace in elegant coaches or mounted on horseback, others on foot but with a small entourage of attendants and guards. Most were cloaked and hooded against the dawn chill. As they gathered before the ornate bronze doors of the outer wall, Keir joined them, barely earning a second glance. The doors blazed a dull gold in the early morning light as they creaked open to reveal the ceremonial guard lining the way.

  Keir walked through with the crowd, suppressing a shudder as he stepped into the shadow of the gateway tower, with armed guards overhead and to either side. He passed the inner doors that led to the barracks. Before him lay the two-story square building that housed the central court, dominated by the North and South towers standing behind it. To either side ran raised walkways, backed by arched alcoves that provided a covered aisle for the elite in poor weather.

  A trio of arches faced him, with a second set of three above, rising to the pointed roof of the court. The highest, central arch held a larger-than-life bronze statue of General Corizi. In one hand, it held a torch with which he had purportedly burned down half the city. In the other, a sword was held point down, to symbolize having the city at his feet.

  The two smaller top arches held marble statues–of Sanari, the full-bodied goddess of healing, and Atlar, the muscular god of strength, each of whom had supposedly supported General Corizi in his campaign against the great plague. Their images had never held much meaning for Keir before but now he had seen the city in darkness and smelled it burning. Below the figure of the General, steps led down to the supporting main arch and the entrance to the court. Keir felt as though he was being funneled into a trap as he entered with the others. As the last walked through, the doors clanged shut behind them with a solemn finality. He was committed now, with little chance of escape.

  The ancient Matriarch sat on the central throne against the back wall, raised above her inferiors by an elaborately carved platform set on small, marble pillars. Seated like a queen, her regal face was creased with myriad lines and her hair, though styled into an elaborate cascade of curls and held up by dazzling silver combs, was snow white. Keir could not take his eyes from her as the rest of the court milled around him.

  Even in her dotage, she still struck a powerful figure. Keir regretted not having spent more time in her company. Arrogant and unyielding, yes, but his grandmother had been one of the few members of the Family who had visited in his youth and taken the time to speak to him. She had never been a kind woman, but neither had she been cruel. She had not shown him any special affection, yet had always been quick to praise him for his intelligence when they had discussed the day’s cases in court.

  His life might have been different had he been taken into her immediate household as she had once suggested. Rialto had forbidden it, of course, resulting in a terrible quarrel. Not long afterward, his father had opened the door to the hooded figures. Had she known what Rialto planned and tried to protect him? Or had her request merely precipitated his father’s decision to take immediate action? He would likely never know.

  To either side of the Matriarch sat a smaller throne–one for the prosecutor, his father, and the other for the defender. Before the thrones stood a small raised square of stone with a single step to the back, on which the accused would be placed. A clerk entered from a small door to one side of the throne platform and rapped his staff of office on the marble floor.

  “Silence,” he called. “Please take your places for the Dawn Assembly.”

  The request stirred the elite into purposeful movement as they seated themselves along the adjacent walls, removing helmets and throwing back hoods–aside from the occasional Church representative, who remained hooded. Keir knew from experience that the seats were not always full and their boxed sides would hide him. Although it was considered offensive to miss Assembly without good cause, anyone who did not take advantage of their right to sit at court was considered more fool than traitor.

  True to his memory, at least half a dozen seats remained empty and he chose one furthest from the triple throne, leaving a judicious gap between himself and the nearest resident. He leaned back within the long, wooden sides and inched his hood as far from his face as he dared. It gave him a good view while keeping him in shadow. Once everyone had been seated and the murmured conversations dwindled to a respectful silence, the clerk hammered the floor with his staff again, then turned and bowed to the Matriarch.

  “Your Dawn Assembly awaits, Matriarch.”

  The grand lady steepled her fingers, elbows resting on her throne. “Call the prosecutor and defender to attend me,” she intoned, her deep voice crackled with age.

  The clerk bowed again and stepped to the side door. “Prosecutor and defender, take your stand,” he commanded, and two figures swept into the room.

  Even without his father’s image burned into his memory, Rialto was instantly recognizable. Keir felt a wash of shame to see so much of himself in his father’s face. Age had not been kind to him. He limped more severely than ever, and the hardened lines of his face spoke of pain and anger. He had swapped his armor for robes of office in the red, black and silver of the Corizi Family with their complex twisted knot symbol, overlaid by the blue sash of the prosecutor.

  He was so intent on his father, so full of the old fear and hatred for the man who had made his life a misery, Keir barely registered the person who followed. When he finally wrenched his gaze from the prosecutor, her youth and beauty came as a greater shock. Long black hair–dressed and pinned with ornate mother-of-pearl combs–spiraled in lavish coils down her back almost to her waist. She had a small, oval face, bright-blue eyes and a full mouth that gave her a sulky appearance. Despite the impression of vulnerability given by her tender age, her eyes were as fierce as her opponent’s and she moved like a warrior marching to battle.

  Both knelt before the Matriarch with bowed heads until she ordered them to rise and take their places alongside her. As the girl did so, she glared at Keir, blue eyes intent. Paralyzed by her piercing stare, he knew in that moment she was not only aware of his presence, but also knew exactly who he was.

  Heart pounding, he tried not to let his thoughts betray him, tried to close his mind as Quin had taught him. The clattering arrival of the Captain of the City Guard shattered the invisible bond her gaze had forged between them, and the soldier’s noisy salute to the Matriarch drew everyone’s attention.

  “Captain, bring forth your prisoner for judgment.”

  He bowed, turned and gestured to another of his men at the doorway. Two more guards came marching up the steps with armor clanking, a third figure between them. They had done her the honor of dressing her as the lady of Family she had once been–soft velvet in the Corizi colors, and a simple headdress to hide the cropped hair favored more by the peasantry.

  Regal as any queen coming to her throne, she approached the central plinth with a calmness that belied the severity of her situation, and halted before the Matriarch. Rialto leaned forward with a hungry expression as the clerk of the court read the charges–consorting with demons and aiding the escape of a known criminal. The accusations elicited not a flicker of response from her as the words rang through the court. Serena then denied the charges in a clear and firm voice, without a tremor to suggest any hint of fear, and Rialto sat back with a frown.

  After a brief pause as if to ponder his tactics, Rialto got to his feet. He appr
oached Serena until he was so close a sharply exhaled breath stirred the gauzy fabric that overlaid her cropped hair. Telltale signs of anger mixed with revulsion dug grooves into his face, and the merest trace of a smile curved her lips.

  Rialto’s hands clenched into tight fists as if resisting the urge to place them around her throat and choke the information from her. For a moment he gazed at her then stalked around the prisoner’s plinth with his hands clasped behind his back. He met the questioning gazes that both the Matriarch and defender were aiming at him before turning back to the accused.

  “You are Serena de la Tirelle, once Corizi?” he asked, his tone mild.

  Serena drew herself taller at his implied slighting of her rank. “I am Serena de la Corizi.”

  Rialto glared at her, shaking his head. “You are no longer entitled to the Family name,” he told her. “The Matriarch herself approved our divorce in this very court after your…departure.”

  “You may have divorced me and disinherited my son,” she snapped, “but you cannot take my name. I am Serena de la Corizi.”

  Rialto waved it away, as if unimportant. “But you are the mother of Keirlan de Corizi, known as the Blue Demon, are you not?”

  “Yes. Our son, Rialto.”

  “Again, the prisoner is incorrect. The birth of this creature proves that you have consorted with demons and conceived a son.”

  “That is no proof. He is our son.”

  “He is not my son.” Rialto held a hand out to the defender, prompting the assembled elite to whisper at such a move against protocol.

  She hesitated and glanced at the Matriarch. The great lady looked thoughtful, as though considering his apparent disregard for convention. “Is there relevance to this move, prosecutor?” she inquired.

  Rialto inclined his head. “I wish to show the court proof that I do not father demons.”

  An arched eyebrow was her only comment, and she indicated her assent.

  Keir could barely keep his seat as the defender stepped down and took his father’s hand, a terrible sense of foreboding coursing through him like cold water down his back.