The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,168
Lena had pressed me into a chair and ordered me to stay there. Every time I so much as twitched a foot, her dark eyes narrowed in warning.
She stood with her back so straight it pained mine to look at it. I slouched further in the rickety chair. The harsh zeal in Niskenntal’s eyes when he’d talked of burning me to death haunted me.
“You know the Council,” I said to Lena. “How many of them think like Niskenntal?”
Lena’s brows drew together. “Not all. And Captain Martennan intends to testify that without you sending Cara to us, we’d never have learned of the weakness in our wards that let a blood mage breach them.”
Not all—a far cry from the “none” I’d hoped to hear. I fought off images of hungry flames. Martennan’s interest signaled I had a chance for leverage, if only I could find it.
“What’s Martennan’s game in this?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s being awfully helpful to a pair of accused criminals.”
“He’s a good man.” She spoke the words as if she truly meant them.
“Yeah, right.” Clever, maybe. But good? Cara had learned from a guard that the seven Watch captains were second only in power and influence to the two mages on the Council. Good men didn’t rise so high.
“You truly don’t trust anyone, do you?” Pity tinged her voice. My back went nearly as rigid as hers.
“Of course I do,” I snapped. “But first, I wait until they’ve earned it, and second, I always listen to my instincts. Right now, my instincts say Martennan has something to gain from this.”
Lena folded her arms. “You’re not entirely wrong.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose you know much about our politics...”
No, I didn’t. Not that I’d admit it. But I’d never cared how the Alathians ran anything other than their border gates. I’d always spent as little time in Alathia as possible, only long enough to deliver goods to Gerran, resupply, and head back out to the Whitefires.
“Captain Martennan and some of the other Watch officers believe the Council is too restrictive on the types of magic we are allowed to perform.” She paused again. “He hasn’t said so directly, but I believe he hopes these events will force the Council to re-examine their policies.”
“He wants to do blood magic?” I said, taken aback.
“Of course not.” Distaste darkened Lena’s eyes. “But there are other types of spells...he thinks we might advance our own methods, if we didn’t automatically reject everything else.”
Other types of spells, sure. I figured Martennan wanted the threat of Ruslan as the stick to convince the Council to lift restrictions—no doubt he’d claim he needed more powerful spells for defense—and he wanted Kiran captive rather than executed, so he might pick Kiran’s brain for useful knowledge of forbidden magic. Good guy, my ass. But as Cara had so rightly said, I’d take his help now and worry about his motives later, if it meant he saved Kiran’s life.
Only problem was, I didn’t see why in Shaikar’s hells he should save mine.
The door creaked as someone unbarred it on the other side. I leapt to my feet, ignoring Lena’s belated grab for my arm.
Martennan herded Kiran through. Kiran looked awful, his blue eyes dark and sweat drying on his skin, but he gave me a wan smile. “Dev. They told me they’d healed you, but I wasn’t certain I believed it until I saw you in the Council chamber.” His smile faltered, as he peered more closely at me. “You truly are healed?”
“Yeah. Just a little sore and tired.” My worry sharpened as Martennan steered him to the second chair. I’d seen that white, set look to Kiran’s face before, when he’d endured the pain of his shattered arm. “You look like shit, though. What’d they do to you?”
Kiran sat with obvious relief. He shrugged, his eyes downcast. “The Council bound my magic, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
A lie, if I’d ever heard one. “Simon bound your magic, but in that cave you didn’t look like a man with half his ribs broken.”
“I regret to say we haven’t a blood mage’s finesse with mental bindings. We don’t cast such spells often here.” Martennan looked down at Kiran, all soft sympathy. “The worst of the pain should fade with time, but I’m afraid a certain level of discomfort will remain as long as the binding is in place.”
I opened my mouth, outraged, but Kiran spoke first. “I don’t mind.” He held my gaze, his own full of conviction. “I’d endure a