31 Chapter (2)

o go south.

“It still could be a trap,” Warrehn said, ever the optimist. “Considering who we’re meeting.”

Rohan made a face, knowing he was right. Unlike Tai’Lehrians, the adepts of the High Hronthar trained in the mind arts their whole lives. There was no telling what kind of mind tricks the monks were taught at that creepy monastery of theirs. For all they knew, they might be able to trick even Sirri. It was extremely unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible.

“It’s still worth the risk,” he said. “If the guy isn’t lying, he’s our only real chance to prove that we had nothing to do with the crimes we’re blamed for.”

He still couldn’t believe the wait was finally over—or almost over. All these months since his return home they had been waiting for this: for someone inside the Order to be willing to talk—to betray the High Hronthar. The plan had seemed unrealistic, even insane, when Rohan had heard it the first time. But Aroka and Sirri had convinced him that it would work, that there were always people unhappy with the way ananization like the High Hronthar was run.

And it seemed the wait was finally over.

The man waiting for them under the Shmei tree was all but a boy. He couldn’t be older than twenty, perhaps younger.

Sirri studied him before gesturing to Warrehn to go ahead of her.

Rohan stayed back, looking around the small clearing and stretching his senses as far as he could. There was no one else within at least half a tarsec. Not that it meant much, considering that teleporters could function in this area. They were still within the Blind. And it was very likely that the High Hronthar knew about the Blind, because the fact that Jamil’s husband had supposedly been murdered in the same area couldn’t be a mere coincidence.

Jamil.

Rohan bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the surge of want that rolled through his entire being. Want. What an inadequate word. He used to think it meant sexual desire, lust, but this want was different, uglier, needier, desperate and essential. It had little to do with physical lust.

He wanted to see Jamil.

Squashing the thought down, Rohan forced himself to focus on his immediate surroundings.

The boy looked fidgety, his eyes flicking from Warrehn to Sirri. “Are you—are you the rebels?”

“Maybe,” Sirri said. “And you are?”

“Master Xhen,” the boy said, lifting his pointy chin.

Sirri snorted. “If you’re a master, I’ll eat my boots. Try again, kid. And this time you’d better tell the truth.”

The boy glared at her, his pale cheeks turning crimson. But after a long moment, he grumbled, “I’m Initiate Xhen.”

Rohan frowned. They knew very little about the High Hronthar’s hierarchy. The monks were a secretive bunch.

“I’m guessing that means you weren’t deemed good enough to be called master,” Sirri said.

Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. Antagonizing their potential source wasn’t Sirri’s brightest idea.

As expected, the boy bristled. “I’m young! You generally don’t be a master at my age.”

“I thought masters’ pupils were called apprentices,” Sirri said.

The boy—Xhen—scowled. “They are,” he said, averting his gaze. “I wasn’t chosen by a master. There are more initiates than there are masters.”

Rohan nodded to himself. So they were dealing with someone who felt unappreciated and bitter—bitter enough to betray the High Hronthar. While he would have preferred their source to be someone who genuinely thought the Order was a bunch of power-hungry bastards, this they could work with too.

“Look, what does it matter?” Xhen said, looking around nervously. “Do we have to stay here?”

“Do you think you were followed?” Sirri said.

“No, but…”

Rohan leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. He listened to the rest of the conversation with half an ear, paying more attention to his senses. The boy radiated anxiety and bitterness, but Rohan couldn’t sense any deception from him. Sirri was toying with the boy, making him open up. She might lack diplomatic skills, but she knew what she was doing. Warrehn… he seemed torn between impatience and something that felt a lot like loss. He was probably thinking about his little brother, who would have been around that boy’s age had he been alive.

Rohan couldn’t sense anything else. Anything but the golden bond pulsing softly at the back of his mind. Hungry. Yearning.

Just one more time, it whispered. You’re already on the pl. One brief visit wouldn’t change anything. Just one more.

Rohan bit his lip hard until he felt the sour taste of blood. He forced himself to focus on the conversation. This was important. This was what he was here for. Not anything else.

“What does the Order know about the rebels?” Sirri said.

“I don’t know.”

“Why did the Order tamper with Dalatteya’il’zaver’s memories?”

Xhen scoffed. “You think a lowly initiate would know that? But I know she’s under the Order’s thumb, has been for years. She doesn’t sneeze without the Order’s permission.”

Rohan frowned. While he had suspected that the High Hronthar had been tampering with the regent’s memories, he hadn’t thought their control over her was so absolute.

“Do you know if the High Hronthar has anything to do with Prince-Consort Mehmer’s death?”

Although Xhen’s face didn’t betray anything, Rohan could sense his unease. “I’m not sure,” the boy said. “There were rumors that the prince-consort found out something he shouldn’t have. I remember all senior masters gathering to discuss it with the former Grandmaster, and a few days later, the prince-consort died.” Xhen shrugged, glancing around anxiously. “Look, it could be a coincidence,” he said ufortably. “I really don’t know what happened. Gossip is discouraged since Master Idhron became the Grandmaster.”

“Why?” Sirri said, cocking her head.

“Grandmaster Idhron is…” Xhen pulled a face, his aura darkening with hatred, grudging admiration, and fear. “What does it matter?” he said evasively. “My point is, I can’t give you proof that the Order has anything to do with that royal’s death.”

“That’s helpful,” Warrehn cut in, his voice flat. “If that’s all you know, your information isn’t worth a damn, I’m afraid.”

Xhen flushed. “That’s not all! I know something that can help you with the Grandmaster if you’re smart about it.”

“Really?” Sirri said, raising her eyebrows.

“His apprentice,” Xhen said, a fresh wave of hatred rolling off him. “If you can kidnap him, it will give you leverage against the Grandmaster.”

Rohan frowned.

Warrehn mirrored his thoughts. “I don’t know who you think we are, but we don’t kidnap kids, lad.”

“He’s hardly a kid,” Xhen said with a scoff. “He’s about my age.”

“Then it doesn’t make sense.” Sirri fixed him with an unimpressed look. “The Grandmaster of the High Hronthar would hardly care about a kidnapping of a grown apprentice—at least not enough for it to be good leverage. Aren’t you monks supposed to be all about no emotions? I’ve seen the High Adept. He’s as unemotional as it gets.”

Xhen sneered. “Well, yes. But his apprentice is the only exception. They are weird about each other. Trust me, it will be good leverage. As good as it gets.” He looked from Warrehn to Sirri. “Now, about my payment. Information isn’t free, you know.”

“Sure,” Warrehn said, looking him in the eye.

Within moments, the kid crumpled to the ground.

“No finesse at all,” Sirri said, shaking her head.

Warrehn leaned down, put his hand on Xhen’s telepathic point, and closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face.

“Was he lying?” Rohan said, stepping forward.

Straightening up, Warrehn shook his head. “He seems to believe he was telling the truth.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Sirri said, nudging the unconscious kid with her boot. “I feel a little bad about this if he was being honest with us.”

“We can’t risk taking him with us to Tai’Lehr,” Rohan said. “Even if he doesn’t betray us, his absence will be noticed.” He looked at Warrehn. “Did you modify his memories?” Warrehn was the strongest telepath on Tai’Lehr. Although he lacked specific gifts like the ones Rohan and Sirri had, he made up for it by the sheer strength of his telepathy. Altering memories was as easy for him as breathing, even those of unconscious people.

Warrehn nodded, his brows furrowed as he hauled the kid over his shoulder. “I’ll take his aircraft and leave him near the monastery. So do we use his tip? Should I grab the High Adept’s apprentice if I see him? I know what he looks like now.”

Rohan wanted to say no. He was loath to stoop to something the rebels were routinely used of—to live down to their reputation. But they needed all the leverage they could get. They couldn’t afford to be picky.

“Take Sirri with you,” Rohan said. “Her gift will be useful to avoid getting caught. Grab the apprentice and return to the Blind by midnight.” Although the TNIT could be activated almost anywhere on the pl, they would obviously want to avoid detection.

“You aren’ting?” Sirri said, narrowing her eyes.

Rohan averted his gaze. “No. I have something to check on. I’ll be here by midnight, too. Don’t get caught.” And he strode away before either of them could say anything.

Something to check on. Right. Is that what we call it now?

His lips thinning, Rohan continued walking, toward the aircraft he’d hidden in the forest all those months ago.

If it was still there.