The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper (howl and other poems TXT) 📗

too big for its arms, and its jaw vast and permanently open, perhaps because the spike teeth inside couldn’t fit in a normal mouth. It had been cold and glutinous when Branwyn cut it, and there had been orange-gray eyes studded all over it.

Branwyn stabbed through what passed as its body a few times. Its maw had yawned wider in a roar on those occasions, though no noise had emerged—neither she nor Yathana knew whether it was mute or whether its voice had been bound.

Some are void-silent, Yathana said. But I think its orders were to make it seem like you’d killed the Rognozis, then yourself. I’d have kept my demon quiet in that case, if I were the sort of bastard who’d do that.

Eventually, Branwyn had seen what she’d thought was an opening. She’d leapt up and in, striking for the head—and the demon had peeled back its face.

“It was like the things in Oakford,” Branwyn said, “the creatures that made men stand still while other abominations slaughtered them, but more so. The Sentinels could resist those. This one, even with Yathana—no.”

The soulsword didn’t give her those memories, only the words. Branwyn still had to pause and drink from her cup of well-fortified tea before she could go on.

“If I hadn’t been a Sentinel, it could have put a knife in my grasp and made me slit my own throat. And if it hadn’t had orders, it could probably have crushed my neck while I stood there like a stunned ox—being metal doesn’t prevent that.”

Instead, the demon had wrenched Yathana out of Branwyn’s grasp, then tossed Branwyn out the window, and returned to the Verengirs with its dubious prize.

It knew what I was, said the sword, and so did Zelen’s siblings. They didn’t want to touch me more than they had to. Neither did they want to bring me into the place where they conceal most of their work. There are enchantments there that mine might disrupt. So they covered me, and stuck me in a place where they figured I’d do no harm but they could still be sure I remained in their possession.

“Which of my siblings, my lady?” asked Zelen, once Branwyn had related Yathana’s words.

“Gedomir,” said Branwyn, after consultation with Yathana, “and Hanyi. They referred to telling a sister about the results, though. I’m sorry, Zelen.”

“As am I,” said Altien, “though I also, forgive me, wonder how it is that you turned out differently, and why they didn’t raise you in the faith, so to speak.”

Zelen grinned bitterly. “Easy enough to answer that one. The council invokes the gods to close each of our sessions. They needed one of the family who could do that without being struck down. I’m sure it also helped to have one of us who really didn’t know a damned thing the rest were doing. A distraction, as my mother said.”

He told his story then, quickly but leaving out no detail, staring straight ahead. The tall form beside Branwyn might have been a marble pillar, and the shoulders under her arm were taut as wire.

“You had no knowledge of their actions or their allegiance,” Altien said at the end. “We all know better than to say you can’t blame yourself, but I can state certainly that you shouldn’t.”

“No, and yes, and…” Zelen set his empty cup down on the table, every movement very careful. “I didn’t know, true. But I’ve no doubt that they got away with more because of me than if I hadn’t given them cover. Now I do know—and I have to act. Surely you understand that.”

Chapter 30

“Yes,” said Branwyn immediately. “I can clean Yathana quickly, and you can wrap my leg in case we’re wrong about it being healed. That’ll take perhaps half an hour. Do you have any armor?”

“Afraid not,” said Zelen. He still wasn’t feeling at his best, but a quick ride would sober him up. “I can’t imagine it’ll end in much of a fight, though. The demon’s contained, and only Gedomir’s really… Well, there are our household guard, but—”

He’d never stopped to consider which side the men would be on. It had never been a question before. He realized, with a sinking heart, that it wasn’t truly a question now. If they didn’t know the family’s ties and Zelen or Branwyn could prove them, that would be one thing—but otherwise, between their liege and a younger son making wild accusations, it would be no contest.

The guards might well be in on the whole affair too.

“How many would you say there are?” Branwyn asked. Her arm dropped away from his shoulders, but Zelen felt no insult. She was beginning the hunt. “And how are they disposed?”

“Both of you,” said Altien, getting smoothly to his feet, “would do well to stay where you are and not rush off as though you’re the only people in the world who can wield weapons, or the only ones interested in seeing this matter brought to a just conclusion.”

“Generous of you, Altien, but it’s my—” Zelen began.

“Are you proposing to go on your own?” Branwyn asked at the same time. “I’m sure you fight well, but—”

“I’m proposing,” Altien said slowly, breaking down the word into its separate syllables, “that I go to the temple of Alcerion—Tinival, as you have him—tell them of the situation, and bring back one of the knights to let you both swear to the truth of your stories. Then I’m proposing that they, who have a multitude of armed and trained warriors who have neither been severely wounded nor suffered great shocks in the last few days, take the measures that I assume they—or the guard—are prepared to take against murderers and traitors. I’ve never wielded a weapon, Sentinel, and I’d predict I would do so very badly, though I thank you for your misplaced confidence.”

The air of great purpose left Branwyn, replaced by one of considerable embarrassment, which was a comfort to Zelen, as he was sure it matched his. “Oh. Yes,” she