“Don’t be absurd.”
“I tell you another way, and you won’t even hear me out?”
The alchemist shut the door and turned back. He spoke as one does to a very dull child. “You follow Rom to folly. There
is
no other way.”
“Your calculations have failed you. There is.”
“You can’t even reach Feyn, much less kill her. The old tunnels into the Citadel are far too heavily guarded for any Sovereign to pass.” He paused. “Even if you could get in—even if you
could
kill Feyn—you would only be paving the way for the Immortals.”
“Not if Roland is dead.”
He gave a short laugh. “Kill Feyn and Roland both?” He looked around with theatrical incredulity. “Have you hit your head?”
“If it were possible, Rom would have thought of it already,” Gamil said with audible reluctance.
“He has.”
“He would never approve of your killing Roland, much less Feyn,” Adah said.
“He wouldn’t approve. But Rom is no longer your leader, I am. If I say I can deliver Roland’s head, then clearly,” she said, looking meaningfully at Mattius, “I have a way.”
“How?”
She lowered her arms and walked to a bottle of wine on the table. She poured some into a goblet and set the cork back into the bottle. “That’s my concern.” She took a sip, set the goblet down, and turned to face Mattius.
“But I need more than six days. Give me ten.”
“You have six.”
“Give me nine days.”
“You have six.”
Jordin stalked toward the alchemist. “I would throw myself into the jaws of death to save us all, and you refuse to give even a day?”
“How can I, when you won’t share your plan?”
“I plan to cut off Roland’s head and bring it to you in a bag with Feyn’s. That’s all you need to know. But what I need is time!”
A long measure of silence filled the chamber before he spoke. “So you’ll fly into the Immortal lair, pluck off Roland’s head, fly to the Citadel, and do the same to Feyn. Do we look like fools?”
“Do you want me to answer that? Because history will. What foolishness is found in attempting one last desperate option before throwing the world back into Chaos with alchemy? Before throwing away all that Jonathan came to bring!”
“They’ll smell you coming and spill your blood on the sand before you lay eyes on them. It’s not reasonable. It’s not even sane.”
The echo of Rom’s parting words sounded in Jordin’s head.
Insanity
. She gave a slight quirk to her lips. “It’s a pity you never knew Jonathan. They said the same of him.”
Gamil stood up from the table. “Jordin, please. In one thing I agree with Mattius. There’s no way to get to Roland alive. How many lives must we lose? Take time to think.”
“I have. And I know what I must do.”
“Do you even know where the Immortals are?” Adah asked.
“No.”
“Have you ever seen one unmasked?”
“No.”
“How can you kill an enemy you can’t see?”
“That’s my problem. I just need more time.” She fixed Mattius with a hard gaze. “Give me eight days. If I don’t deliver both Feyn’s and Roland’s heads, assume that I am dead and the fate of all Sovereigns will be on yours.”
Mattius flicked a glance from Adah to Gamil, who both appeared at a loss for words.
“First Rom walks to his death, and now the fearless Jordin,” Mattius said. “Suicide abounds.”
“Better than genocide. Eight days.”
He spun and strode for the door. “Seven. If at that time either Feyn or Roland is still alive, Reaper will be loosed.”
C HAPTER F IVE
F EYN’S FATHER, Vorrin, had sat in this very chamber. At this dining table not ten strides from the claw-footed desk that dominated the far end of the room. In her father’s day as Sovereign, it had been covered with documents, newspapers, reports. But today it was meticulously clean, leaving bare a stone surface that reminded her at every glance of a sarcophagus lid or altar.
She was intimately familiar with both. For nine years
“I tell you another way, and you won’t even hear me out?”
The alchemist shut the door and turned back. He spoke as one does to a very dull child. “You follow Rom to folly. There
is
no other way.”
“Your calculations have failed you. There is.”
“You can’t even reach Feyn, much less kill her. The old tunnels into the Citadel are far too heavily guarded for any Sovereign to pass.” He paused. “Even if you could get in—even if you
could
kill Feyn—you would only be paving the way for the Immortals.”
“Not if Roland is dead.”
He gave a short laugh. “Kill Feyn and Roland both?” He looked around with theatrical incredulity. “Have you hit your head?”
“If it were possible, Rom would have thought of it already,” Gamil said with audible reluctance.
“He has.”
“He would never approve of your killing Roland, much less Feyn,” Adah said.
“He wouldn’t approve. But Rom is no longer your leader, I am. If I say I can deliver Roland’s head, then clearly,” she said, looking meaningfully at Mattius, “I have a way.”
“How?”
She lowered her arms and walked to a bottle of wine on the table. She poured some into a goblet and set the cork back into the bottle. “That’s my concern.” She took a sip, set the goblet down, and turned to face Mattius.
“But I need more than six days. Give me ten.”
“You have six.”
“Give me nine days.”
“You have six.”
Jordin stalked toward the alchemist. “I would throw myself into the jaws of death to save us all, and you refuse to give even a day?”
“How can I, when you won’t share your plan?”
“I plan to cut off Roland’s head and bring it to you in a bag with Feyn’s. That’s all you need to know. But what I need is time!”
A long measure of silence filled the chamber before he spoke. “So you’ll fly into the Immortal lair, pluck off Roland’s head, fly to the Citadel, and do the same to Feyn. Do we look like fools?”
“Do you want me to answer that? Because history will. What foolishness is found in attempting one last desperate option before throwing the world back into Chaos with alchemy? Before throwing away all that Jonathan came to bring!”
“They’ll smell you coming and spill your blood on the sand before you lay eyes on them. It’s not reasonable. It’s not even sane.”
The echo of Rom’s parting words sounded in Jordin’s head.
Insanity
. She gave a slight quirk to her lips. “It’s a pity you never knew Jonathan. They said the same of him.”
Gamil stood up from the table. “Jordin, please. In one thing I agree with Mattius. There’s no way to get to Roland alive. How many lives must we lose? Take time to think.”
“I have. And I know what I must do.”
“Do you even know where the Immortals are?” Adah asked.
“No.”
“Have you ever seen one unmasked?”
“No.”
“How can you kill an enemy you can’t see?”
“That’s my problem. I just need more time.” She fixed Mattius with a hard gaze. “Give me eight days. If I don’t deliver both Feyn’s and Roland’s heads, assume that I am dead and the fate of all Sovereigns will be on yours.”
Mattius flicked a glance from Adah to Gamil, who both appeared at a loss for words.
“First Rom walks to his death, and now the fearless Jordin,” Mattius said. “Suicide abounds.”
“Better than genocide. Eight days.”
He spun and strode for the door. “Seven. If at that time either Feyn or Roland is still alive, Reaper will be loosed.”
C HAPTER F IVE
F EYN’S FATHER, Vorrin, had sat in this very chamber. At this dining table not ten strides from the claw-footed desk that dominated the far end of the room. In her father’s day as Sovereign, it had been covered with documents, newspapers, reports. But today it was meticulously clean, leaving bare a stone surface that reminded her at every glance of a sarcophagus lid or altar.
She was intimately familiar with both. For nine years
Similar Books
