Shadow War - Deborah Chester [143]
“For someone so young, she is remarkably resourceful,” Sien said.
“Yes, she is. And I asked you if you can separate men from their shadows.”
Looking cool and unruffled by Caelan’s questions, Sien went on gazing at the empress. “You are an unbeliever,” he replied. “I have no answers to give you.”
“But did you set this thing loose on her?” Caelan persisted with growing horror.
“No.”
“Do you know who—or what—did?”
Again Sien paused to glance at him. “An interesting phrasing of that question. What is your name, guardsman?”
Caelan was surprised that Sien had forgotten him. “Caelan E’non.”
“Ah, yes. You were rejected by this lady as a possible protector. Yet here you are. How interesting.” There was an idle note of amusement woven in Sien’s tone.
Caelan caught it, and his lips tightened. “You toy with me, Lord Sien,” he said grimly. “You know me from before that. You have seen me often at the heels of my former master.”
“Yes, I have. And now you serve the empress instead. Although you were not her chosen protector, and you do not wear her colors.”
“Rander Malk is dead,” Caelan said evasively. “Killed by shadows. Will she recover?”
Sien stared intently at him. “What will you pay for her recovery?”
Confused, Caelan reached for his belt. If it was a matter of a healing fee—
“No,” Sien said as though he had read the thought in Caelan’s mind. “Put away your coinage, fool. It is answers I want. Where do you come from? What spawned you? Why do you serve those who are doomed? Why do you resist us? Resist even your own kinsman Agel? What powers enable you to fight like no other man alive?”
Caelan’s chin lifted, and his eyes grew steely. “I have no answers for you.”
Sien backed away from the empress and stood up. “Then I have no help for her Majesty.”
Furiously Caelan moved on him fast, pinning him with enough force to make the priest’s shaved head thump against the wall. Eyes narrowed, Caelan glared at Sien. “No matter what unholy shadows you serve, your duty still lies here. Attend her Majesty now, or—”
Sien’s long fingers curled around Caelan’s, and Caelan felt sevaisin leap into him from the other man.
For the first time in his life, he experienced the joining from the other direction. It was strong but clumsily done. It was an invasion, a violation. And he could feel himself shifting also to sevaisin, as though to make the link doubly strong.
Horrified, Caelan held himself back, refusing to cooperate with what called to him.
He could have snapped the link with severance, but caution warned him not to reveal the other side of his gift.
That left him with no choice but to endure Sien’s exploration of his feelings and his thoughts, even parts of his memories.
Then the priest withdrew with sinuous slowness, his questing coldness fading away. Shuddering, Caelan broke free of the man, shoving himself back. His legs felt wobbly and weak. His stomach was roiling. He felt both chilled and hot, as though a fever had seized him. Most of all, he felt defiled, as though he had been bathed in slime.
A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Sien’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was very informative.”
Caelan jerked out his dagger and held it on the man, ready to plunge it deep to end that smirk forever.
“I have a piece of you now,” Sien said fearlessly. “If you want it back, you must come to me of your own free will and ask for it.”
“No,” Caelan said hoarsely.
“You will come,” Sien said with soft assurance. “And you will give me the rest of your secrets in exchange.”
“Never.”
Laughter ghosted from Sien’s throat. His deep-set eyes glowed at Caelan with a madman’s fervor. “The shadow god wants you. He knows of you now. You are marked, and you cannot escape what awaits you.”
“You’re lying,” Caelan said defiantly. He closed his ears to what Sien was saying,