Chapter Eight

The Keldran High Council

With a resigned sigh, Ruslan set about his task. Like most, his magic wasn’t compatible with the wyndgate’s inner mechanisms and thus, he required a wyndstone key to operate the device. He slid the flat, elliptical stone from his pocket and ran his thumb along its smooth surface. Iridescent blue smoke drifted in slow, idle currents within the clear confines of the key, awaiting his command. Despite their soreness, he flexed his meridians, bridging his mental and spiritual cores while reinforcing his static channels.

Closing his eyes, he focused on the stone, imbuing it with his Intent by supplying both his will and a touch of his own essence. The wyndstone rapidly warmed as the energy within primed and he nested it within a special notch along the central pedestal of the wyndgate. Blue light bled around the stone, streaking down the platinum pathways of the pedestal and down across the floor. Around him, the six empty archways that comprised the main body of the wyndgate hummed to life.

He drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Conversations with the Council were rarely pleasant affairs and he was certain this one would be no different. The hour was late and word of Inerys' existence was sure to draw interest, if not ire. He was lucky if he walked away from this encounter with his title and reputation among the Talhavar intact.

Admittedly, he had considered leaving Inerys’ fate in the hands of the Council. After all, they were far more equipped to handle matters of such delicacy, at least from a diplomatic standpoint. It would be all too easy to step away and return to his own life without the headache or risk of involving himself in the dealings of two rival nations. Perhaps the Council would even grant him a lighter sentence if he were to turn her over.

In his heart, though, he knew he couldn't walk away. Much like the Sanguine Court itself, the Keldran High Council could call for her head. Or worse, if they chose to use her for their own ends. If either transpired, Ruslan knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Better he die defending the innocent with his honor intact, than live out his days as a coward who chose the easy path.

To his left, the first of the archways activated, the glow amid its stone and metal visage fading from blue to gold. Ruslan spared it a glance, only for his shoulders to stiffen. He grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Of course he would be the first to answer his summons.

Beyond the weathering of a few additional years, the man waiting within the archway may as well have been Ruslan’s twin. The sharp, angular jaw and black hair were near identical. They even shared the same stern set to their brow. The only notable difference between them lay in the eyes. Where the Councilor in the archway had eyes of pale green, Ruslan’s were silver.

Like his mother’s.

“Good evening, father,” he said.

“I trust you have a good reason for summoning us at such an hour.”

“I wouldn't have summoned you otherwise," he said, "once the rest of the Council arrives, you will be briefed in full.”

His father opened his mouth to speak, but the awakening of two additional arches silenced him before he had the chance. Instead, his lips drew into a thin, disapproving line. Much as it riled Ruslan’s skin, the man was still a Pristine as well as a Councilor. To disrespect him was to disrespect the Council itself. So, as the others arrived, he took to one knee and bowed his head in respect until the whole of the ruling body was present.

Within a matter of moments, he was flanked on all sides by the six most powerful beings on the continent. Three men, three women, each with their own mark of power. Even across so vast a distance, his Awareness caught inklings of their influence. It was difficult enough to compose himself as it was, given the circumstances. He steeled himself, though, rising to meet each of the Councilors’ eyes in kind.

“Thank you for answering my summons at such a late hour,” he said, “it was not my intention to infringe upon the Council’s time, but new developments have arisen. I thought it best that you hear it from me, rather than a third party.”

“New developments?” One asked, “The rogue Matriarch is dead. So far as I see it, the matter is settled.”

“She is, Councilor Karseer. Our detachment was able to subdue her before she ventured too far into the Veil. However, while inside the field, she came in contact with a human woman. One of the inhabitants, I suspect, who appeared to have been hunting in the area at the time.”

“Go on,” his father said.

Ruslan grit his teeth.

“The Matriarch attacked the woman before I was able to land the killing blow. During which, their blood came in contact, enough for an Inheritance to take root.”

An uneasy silence settled, until another Councilor spoke.

“Are we to believe that a human was able to endure the bite of a Matriarch and live?”

“I’m afraid so, your Grace. The damage to her Soul was extensive, but may be mended with time. Duty bound me to seek the aid of the Sages. At the time, I didn’t expect the woman to survive the flight to Kresia.”

“So we have another Vampire on our hands,” his father said.

“One of the Matriarch’s own bloodline, no less,” said Councilor Karseer.

She had always been a curt woman, even during Ruslan’s youth. Beautiful, but not always the most agreeable. Her long ears were frilled by what appeared to be thin, membranous fins similar to those of some exotic fish. Which was fitting, given her magic’s affinity and her Domain.

Concerned murmurings broke out around him as the Councilors debated amongst themselves. Some were on the verge of arguing, with one side dismissing the dangers of a newly born vampire successor while the other pressed the urgency of the situation. Ruslan sighed through his nose and spared a glance toward his father. He observed his associates in silence, his hands neatly tucked behind his back. Ruslan wondered what he made of all this. While he would ultimately blame his son for the development, he was likely planning how to use the knowledge to his advantage.

“The fault is mine,” Ruslan said, raising his voice. “Had I not missed my first shot, none of this would have transpired.”

“Indeed,” Karseer said, fixing him with an accusatory glare.

Katrielle Nysine, High Lady of the Dreamfyre Court, was the first to come to Ruslan’s defense.

“Let us not forget that young Master Allair and his team succeeded in their mission. In a timely fashion and without major casualties or collateral damage,” she said, “It was Ezra herself who assailed the woman while he was carrying out his duty. We can hardly blame him for the actions of another.”

“Had he been carrying out his duty, the Matriarch would have been dead before she had the opportunity to attack this woman in the first place,” his father argued.

Ruslan rested his right hand on the pummel of the blade at his side, finding comfort in the strength it offered.

“The Matriarch was a Puresoul, Elaion,” another said, “or have you forgotten? Perhaps we should have sent you to subdue her in your son’s stead.”

“If I recall correctly, Thallan, it was your idea to send a detachment of lower Ascensions in the first place after I volunteered.”

“Enough,” Nysine said, “we all knew the risks. Bickering about it now changes nothing. Ultimately, the Talhavar succeeded where we could not. We owe them a debt of gratitude. I will not stand idly by while you defame one of our own for failing to down a Puresoul outright in the heat of battle.”

“Apologies, Lady of Dreams,” his father said without a hint of ire, “such was not my intention. I merely fear what this news may bring. Damaged or no, the girl is dangerous.”

“Then perhaps we should deliver her to the Patriarch,” Nysine said.

“Has he been made aware of the situation?” Councilor Karseer asked.

“He knows the Matriarch is dead, but nothing more,” Ruslan said, “I’ve yet to fully brief him.”

Councilor Nysine furrowed her brow, considering. “Then perhaps we should tell him ourselves. News will spread eventually. If he uncovers her existence through . . . unsavory means, relations could sour further. Offering the information freely would go a long way in improving our standing.”

“Agreed,” Karseer said.

“If it is the will of the Council, I will bring her before you as soon as she is able to travel,” Ruslan said. “Afterwhich, I intend to deliver her to the Sanguine Court. With your blessing, I shall see her safely across the sea and return to face whatever punishment the Council deems fit.”

“You must think highly of yourself, young Allair, to ask such a thing,” said one of the Councilors.

“It’s almost as if his brazenness runs in the family,” Karseer said, “wouldn’t you agree, Councilor Allair?”

“I think it only fitting,” Nysine said, “she is his charge, after all. Vampires have no place here. They belong with their court.”

“I would still like to gauge this woman for myself before anything is decided,” Elaion said, sharing a look with his son.

Ruslan’s nostrils subtly flared. No good could come from a meeting with his father, regardless of the circumstance. He knew the man would find a way to twist Inerys for his own ends. If he could spare her of his father’s interests, he would.

Nysine sighed. “We shall have her brought before us, then. With luck, seeing this woman first hand will sate our interest as well as our suspicions. From there, Ruslan shall escort her across the sea and deliver her to the Sanguine Court in person as a show of good faith. All in favor?”

There was a collective agreement, despite some initial hesitation.

Ruslan dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s settled, then,” she said.

One by one, the Councilors took their leave, until only the Lady of Dreams remained. Her steady glare was enough to chase even his father away, whom he was certain was determined to inch in another word. When his arch fell dark, she turned to Ruslan. Even from half a continent away, he felt the weight of her golden eyes settle upon his shoulders. The fingers of his left hand twitched at his side and he felt compelled to speak.

“Thank you, my Lady, for speaking on my behalf,” he said.

Her gaze turned appraising.

“Make no mistake, Ruslan, while I appreciate what you’ve done for this Council and the continent as a whole, your actions have put us all in danger,” she said, her voice light and honeyed as summer wine. In a way, her tone made her all the more imposing, “Tell me, why did you choose to save the girl? Any one of us would have struck her down and set her ashes to the wind.”

He shuddered.

In truth, he’d been asking himself the same question these last few days.

“If I’m being honest, I had considered it. Mostly to end her pain, but the way she struggled-” his grip on his blade tightened. “It wasn't her time, your Ladyship. She proved that. She should have died on the flight to Kresia and again when the Inheritance took her, yet she lives. A will as strong as hers deserves better than a swift death in a cold forest.”

The Lady studied him for a long moment. The tips of her violet hair flowed and twisted of their own accord, weaving like the threads of the dreams she commanded. He could have sworn stars twinkled in those curls, even through the hazy distortion of the wyndgate.

“I see,” she said.

“I understand what I did was rash, but I have no regrets.”

“Nor would I expect you to. A man of your conviction is rare,” she said.

He shifted on his feet, unsure of the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I look forward to seeing her in the flesh, Ruslan,” she said with a faint quirk to her lips. “Until we meet again. Don’t let the world taint you.”

He bowed his head, “Lady Nysine.”