Sara Douglass - Sinner

“Zenith.” He grinned and held out his hands. “It’s been days! Where have you been?”

His youngest sister jumped lightly down from the windowsill and hugged her brother tight. Unlike Caelum, who remained bare-backed like their parents, Zenith had glossy wings, as raven-black as her hair. She was a beautiful birdwoman, even more stunning than her mother, Azhure. Mysterious, intriguing, and yet somehow sad, always apart from the life of Sigholt. Caelum held the hug, wondering why. Even as a child Zenith had seemed troubled. She had often slept badly, suffering formless nightmares, and on many days was withdrawn and uncommunicative. And sometimes … sometimes Caelum had caught her looking at him with an expression that was so unlike her that he’d wondered if …

“Why the frown?” Zenith leaned back and took her brother’s face briefly in her hands, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Caelum folded her wings against her back and stroked them softly. “I was thinking, loveliest of sisters, that it is high time you also thought about fleeing –”

Why had he used that word? Caelum stumbled slightly, but managed to carry on before Zenith could speak. “– leaving Sigholt. How many years since you left? No, don’t answer! Too many, that I know.”

Zenith quietened in that strange way she had, and Caelum sensed a slight withdrawal.

He stood back a little, but kept his hand lightly on her shoulders. “Zenith? StarDrifter would love to see you, I’m sure. You spent a great deal of time with him when you were a child, and the Island of Mist and Memory is a wondrous place.”

“Maybe.” She suddenly grinned, her dark blue eyes mischievous. “Should I take Drago with me, as I did when a child?” Zenith more than half suspected that Caelum’s suggestion was a roundabout way of ridding Sigholt of Drago’s presence for a while.

Caelum dropped his hands and walked away from her. “As you wish,” he said, his voice toneless. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

Zenith instantly regretted trying to joke about Drago. He was a constant note of disharmony within Sigholt, although he never said or did anything that could be in any way construed as sinister or hurtful. It was just that he was so different from his brothers and sisters. Caelum, RiverStar and Zenith (as also Isfrael, their half-brother) were the children of gods. They were highly magical beings, and their enchanted lives would likely stretch into infinity before they ended. Once Drago had been like them. Briefly. Drago had been born the second child of Axis and Azhure, the elder twin of RiverStar, and potentially one of the most powerful Enchanters ever birthed. But even as a mewling infant he had abused that power, allying himself with his father’s foe, Gorgrael, and plotting to murder Caelum so that Drago might inherit his place.

As punishment Azhure had disinherited him of his Icarii powers. Now, forty years on, Drago wandered the corridors of Sigholt a dark and enigmatic mortal, ageing into useless thin-faced middle years as he watched his brothers and sisters glory in their youth and enchanted powers.

Caelum was never able to trust him, even knowing his powers had gone. It was Caelum who had been the object of Drago’s infant ambitions, who had been subject to the terror of kidnap and abuse by Gorgrael, and it was Caelum who was daily reminded of that horror every time he caught sight of Drago from the corner of his eyes. Zenith knew that Caelum made every effort to avoid Drago whenever he could, but even in a place as large as Sigholt the brothers constantly ran into each other.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly to Caelum’s back. “I did not mean to jest.”

He turned his head her way, and smiled slightly. “It does not matter, Zenith. Drago does not –”

There was a knock at the door, and it opened without waiting for Caelum’s word. WingRidge CurlClaw entered, stopped after precisely five paces, and saluted Caelum. “StarSon.”

“WingRidge. What is it?”

WingRidge glanced at Zenith, but made no comment on her presence. “StarSon, a courier bird has just arrived from Carlon with a message from Prince Askam.”

Caelum took the proffered parchment, unrolled it with a snap of his wrist, and ran his eyes over the text.

“Curse him to … to … oh, damn him!” he cried, and Zenith laid a concerned hand on his arm.

“Caelum? What is –”

“That cursed fool has just levied a third … a third … tax on all goods moved along the Nordra and along the roadways of the West. And slapped a tax on any and every man and family who wants to move north to live. Gods! Look at the amount! That figure must have come to him when he was suffering a nightmare caused by chronic constipation. Oh! I can’t believe this!”

He threw the parchment on the table and stalked away to the window, standing and staring out as he fought to regain his temper. Gods, but Askam and Zared gave him more trouble combined than Borneheld and Gorgrael had ever given his father, he was sure of it! How many times had he had to draw one or the other aside for some diplomatic advice? Between them they controlled half the territory of Tencendor – was it too much to ask of them to try and do that in something even vaguely resembling peace?

Zenith looked at WingRidge, who remained completely expressionless, then picked up the parchment and briefly scanned the contents herself. Her eyes widened as she slowly put it down – no wonder Caelum had reacted so strongly.

“Caelum?” she said, and waited for her brother to look at her.

“Caelum … this time something needs to be done to solve their problems. And Leagh, you must surely end her misery soon.” Although Zenith had not seen Leagh in some four years, they remained in close touch; Zenith not only knew how much Leagh hungered for Zared, she understood why Caelum and Askam were going to deny Leagh her heart’s desire. Poor Leagh, she thought, it’s time she was told to move on with her life. Five years of alternating between misery and gut-wrenching hope was too long for anyone.

Caelum nodded slowly, and rubbed his face with one hand. He suddenly looked very, very tired. “The time has come to solve this. Askam has gone too far with his debt – and Zared should have been astute enough in the first instance to know that a marriage between him and Leagh, especially with Bethiam remaining so stubbornly barren, would be a political impossibility.”

He drew a deep breath. “This needs not only my authority, but the weight of the Council of Five.”

Zenith’s eyes widened. The heads of the leading five families of Tencendor only met on a biennual basis; to call them in now, not eight months since their last meeting, bespoke how serious Caelum thought the problem was. As ruler of Tencendor, Caelum’s final word was law – legally he did not need to call the Council on this matter – but he obviously felt both Zared and Askam needed the judgment of their peers as well as his own word.

“WingRidge?”

WingRidge snapped to attention.

“Send couriers to Zared, Sa’Domai, FreeFall, Yllgaine and Askam. We meet with the utmost haste – no later than seventh-day three weeks from now. And send for Isfrael as well.”

Isfrael, now Mage-King of the Avar, was not officially a member of the Council of Five and did not have a vote, but for the past ten years he had attended all the meetings, and given and listened to advice. As Caelum’s half-brother and leader of one of Tencendor’s three main races, he was usually invited as a courtesy.

Besides, no-one particularly liked to make a decision in Isfrael’s absence that might subsequently annoy him.

As WingRidge put his hand to the doorknob, Caelum called him back. “No, wait. Leave Askam. I will send a personal courier rather than one of yours.”