DAVID COE: Seeds of Betrayal

“You could leave me,” Cadel said. “Grant me peace and silence.”

The ghost smiled. “Why would we want to do that?”

The other wraiths came closer, crowding around him like eager buyers in a marketplace pressing to see some wares. Cadel held himself still, closing his eyes and readying himself for what he knew would come next. It was said to be common-something that all the wraiths did on this night. It even had a name: the Excoriation. Usually it began immediately, with nightfall and the appearance of the first wraiths. But tonight had been different, perhaps because of Brienne. Not that it mattered. This night’s Excoriation, like all of them, would last for hours.

They all began to shout at him, berating him for what he had done, not only to them, but to their loved ones. Their voices buffeted him like storm winds on the Scabbard coast, the din they created making his head pound. Yet, perhaps due to some power the wraiths possessed, or through some trick of the god who had sent them, Cadel could hear each of them. Brienne upbraided him for Tavis’s suffering in the days after her death, when her father tortured him in Kentigern’s prison. Chago told him of the tears shed by his son and wife in the few days since his death in the Great Forest. Eben blamed him for his mother’s descent into madness and his father’s suicide. On and on they went, and Cadel had no choice but to stand and listen.

Most of it he had heard before-the lament of the dead did not change much over the years-but that did little to make the night pass faster. They would continue this until dawn, as they did every year. Telling him all that they had dreamed of doing with their lives, of that which he had denied them with his blade, his garrote, or his poisons. If they ran out of things to say, they merely started over, forcing him to hear every word again. But he didn’t have to look at them anymore; at least he didn’t have to see Brienne.

He stood motionless, save for his trembling hands and the twitching muscles in his legs. He felt sweat running down his face, making his skin itch. But he dared not move, even to wipe his brow. He didn’t have to open his eyes to sense how close the wraiths had gathered around him. His skin prickled at the mere thought of it. He could almost feel their breath stirring his hair, though he knew this was impossible.

There was nothing for him to do but endure their abuse and cling to the knowledge that dawn had to come eventually. He tried to occupy his mind with song, but their voices drowned out his own. He called forth an image of Jedrek, who had come to him as a friend earlier in this turn, on the Night of Two Moons. But the dead would not allow him any diversions. Their words demanded his attention, and he hadn’t the strength to resist them.

He could not have guessed the time-if the midnight bells rang, he didn’t hear them. But after what seemed a lifetime, Cadel realized that the voices had stopped. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Brienne stood before him looking young and sad, despite her bloody wounds. The rest of the glowing figures had vanished.

“It’ll be dawn soon,” she said, her voice low. “The others left me to see you to the end.”

Cadel didn’t know what to say. His dead had never done this for one of their own before. Just as they had never waited to begin the Excoriation. In his mind, he saw once more how they had parted to let her come forward when this night began. Even the wraiths could see how special she was, how undeserving of this fate. What have I done ?

“You said earlier that you only have to face me once in a year, that you feared the Qirsi more because they were a part of your world.”

Cadel nodded. “I remember.”

“I believe this will be the only time in your life when you will have to face me in this way. By this time next year, I expect you’ll be dead and we’ll be together in the Deceiver’s realm.”

He felt a chill run through his body, as if some unseen ghost had run a cold finger down his spine.

“Is that prophecy, my lady,” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady, “or an idle attempt to frighten me?”

The ghost shrugged. “I’m merely telling you what I think. You can make of it whatever you will.”

“You’ll forgive me if I hope you’re wrong.”

“I will. It’s the only forgiveness you’ll ever have from me.”

“And still it may be more than I deserve.”

“Yes,” she said. “It may be.”

In the next instant she was gone, and the first silver light of dawn touched the stained-glass window at the farthest end of the shrine. Cadel closed his eyes briefly, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the nearest wall, and taking a long, ragged breath. The dawn bells tolled in the city, the sound drifting among the stone pillars of the sanctuary with the morning devotions of Bian’s clerics. It was time for Cadel to be leaving.

He straightened and began walking toward the main doors of the shrine. Before he could reach them, however, he found himself standing before the prioress.

“I heard you cry out once or twice,” she said. “It was a difficult night?”

The assassin gave a wan smile. “Yes.”

“More difficult than most?”

“More difficult than all that have come before.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope our sanctuary brought you some comfort.”

“It did, Mother Prioress. I wouldn’t have wanted to endure last night anywhere else.”

A smile touched her lips and was gone. “That’s kind of you to say.”

She turned away and Cadel started toward the doors once more.

“If last night was so difficult,” she said, stopping him, “it may be time you considered a new profession. Much of what the god teaches us can only be gleaned through patience and contemplation. But on occasion, his lessons are as clear as the new day.”

He gazed at her briefly, then nodded. “Thank you, Mother Prioress.”

She smiled again, but Cadel could see in her eyes that she had little hope he would heed her words.

He left the shrine as quickly as he could. He had much to do, he told himself. Lord Tavis was hunting the Forelands for him, and Cadel himself had quarry to pursue. And before he could turn his mind to any of that, he wished to pay a visit to a tavern in Dantrielle. It was called the Red Boar, and it was there, nearly eighteen years before, that he had first met Jedrek. He could only hope that this visit would bring him such good fortune.

In any case, he had no more time to waste in Solkara.

Or so he wanted to believe. He knew, however, that the truth lay elsewhere. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the sanctuary, to rid himself of the memory of the previous night, to be sure, but also to get away from the half-blind prioress who seemed to see him so plainly.

Orvinti, Aneira, Bohdan’s Moon waxing

The four dukes raised their goblets, the shifting flames in the hearth reflected on the polished silver.

“To Chago,” Brail said. “May Bian grant him a place of Bhonor and may the Underrealm shine with his light.”

“To Chago,” the others said as one.

They sipped the wine, then settled back in their seats, Brail still holding his cup so that it balanced on the arm of his chair.

Another gust of wind made the shutters rattle and stirred the tapestries hanging on his walls. He loved to see the hills covered with snow, Lake Orvinti shimmering with their reflection. But judging from the winds that already blew down from the Scabbard, this year’s freeze was going to be harsher than most.

Fortunately, the growing turns had been generous. His people wouldn’t starve, and there was plenty of food and wine to share with his guests. Such company was a rare luxury this time of year, and though he regretted the circumstances that had brought the other men to western Aneira, he was glad to have them in his castle just the same. Most dukes chose not to travel in the colder turns; usually they spent the waxing of Bohdan’s Turn preparing for the god’s festival on the Night of Two Moons.