The Sleeper and the Silverblood

“Awake?” Zayne’s voice echoed the disbelief in Kitara’s own mind. “How?”

“They don’t know,” Phoebe said, her voice tight. “She just…woke up. She’s asking for Cornelius. He’s gone to Valëtyria.”

“Now?” Alasdair asked tiredly. “How did this happen now?”

“I don’t know,” the High Emissary replied. “I imagine Cornelius will know more when he returns.”

“If he returns,” Kitara finally spoke up.

Phoebe turned sympathetic eyes to her. “He will. Ilythia is his wife, but Storm is his son.”

“He would never abandon him, not now,” Robert added.

“Should we send someone else to Valëtyria?” Declan asked, his tone terse.

“No,” Phoebe answered, her expression distant as she considered their options. “We can’t afford to divide our attention any more than it already is. We need everyone here, focusing on finding Storm.”

Cornelius did not return.

As the fifth day dragged on, an uneasy silence permeated the war room. Yet in that silence, fear and hope permeated the air. Time was slipping away; they all felt it. Desperation clung to each person in the room like a second skin.

Alasdair’s hands twitched over holographic readouts, his gaze vacant but intense as he subconsciously fiddled with the edge of a console. Robert and Tyrrell traded murmured conversations, their expressions grim. Declan sat silent and brooding at the far end of the table, his face like stone. Phoebe seemed to have aged years in just days. The worry lines on her face deepened, her lips set in a hard line and eyes filled with a sorrow that tore at Kitara’s heart.

And Kitara’s bond with Storm continued its unyielding cycle between torment and emptiness.

On midday the sixth day, Phoebe finally received word from Cornelius. Ilythia was stable, but her sudden recovery still baffled Valëtyria’s Healers. She had asked for her husband and son, but no one wanted to tell her the reality of Storm’s whereabouts—and their lack of knowledge thereof.

As the seventh day dawned, a sense of impending doom hung in the room.

“How are you?” Phoebe startled Kitara with her quiet words, highlighting just how distracted the Sleeper really was.

“Kenric, Saoirse, Storm…” Kitara’s voice caught in her throat. “I’m afraid to know what’s next.”

“You can still sense him?”

Kitara nodded wearily. “They left him alone most of the night. I don’t think they want to kill him. Just…”

Torture him.

She couldn’t speak the words.

“We still have hope, Kitara. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“Do we?” Kitara whispered. “We haven’t had a new lead in two days. The Trackers have found nothing. Ostragarn is huge—a wasteland, but still huge.”

“But you still have the connection,” Phoebe said firmly. “That means something. Have you tried to mindspeak with him at all?”

“When he’s conscious, he can’t.” Kitara’s voice broke on the last word. “He’s—he’s trying to survive. Whatever they’re doing to him…he can’t focus on anything else.“

Phoebe reached over, taking hold of Kitara’s hand. Her grip was warm, the squeeze filled with empathy that did nothing to quell the dread seeping into Kitara’s soul. The lack of words, however, spoke volumes.

“What if he…” she began, covering her mouth to stifle a sob.

“No,” Phoebe whispered fiercely, gripping Kitara’s hand tighter. “We will not entertain those thoughts, do you hear me? Not until we’ve exhausted every option.”

Every option…

Kitara stared blankly at the floor as Phoebe turned to confer with Robert.

Every option…

Kitara stood in the hall, phone in hand. She couldn’t remember leaving the conference room.

Every option…

Kitara didn’t remember dialing the number. She didn’t even know what she would say—

“Kitara.” The accented voice came through the line, cool as ever. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Baylen sounded stung.

He would have to get over it.

“Did you mean it?” she rasped.

“Mean…what?”

“You want to make amends. Did you mean it?”

A pause. “I did.”

“Do you still mean it?”

“I do.”

Kitara headed for the ambassadors’ wing—for Storm’s room, a room she struggled to enter in his absence. “I’m giving you an opportunity to prove it.”

Baylen, to his credit, didn’t argue or resort to petty waffling in response. Kitara told him to meet her in Storm’s quarters.

He appeared not five minutes later.

Baylen scrutinized her hollow, wan expression and frowned. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

She might have laughed. “You don’t know? Itzal has Storm.”

Shock flashed in Baylen’s eyes. “What? During the attack…?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

Kitara refused to let the tears pricking the backs of her eyes form. “As ransom for the one person he wants more.”

Baylen studied her. “You.”

“Me.”

He shook his head. “If you want me to help you trade yourself for him, forget it—”

“I don’t.”

“Then…what?”

Kitara took a deep breath. “You’re half right. I need help to get to Itzal. I’m not leaving Storm to die there—if you won’t help me, I’ll go anyway, but that will take longer and likely end up with me dead.”

The Netherling didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “Go on.”

“I want you to take me to him. I want you to help me get Storm out alive.” Her hard emerald gaze met his sapphire one as she lifted a hand. Smoke curled around her fingers. “And I want you to teach me how to use this to kill Itzal.”

Baylen’s expression blossomed with surprise. “Kitara…”

“Do you know what this is?” she asked. “Because I don’t. I have no clue. I know it can burn a paralytic from my system. I know it can rip an immortal apart. And I know it comes from the Ninthëvel line. What I don’t know…is how to use it intentionally. Only…hide it.”

He stared at her in disbelief, then held up his own hand. A subtle shimmer wound around his fingers, distorting the view beyond. Where Kitara’s power was rippling dark, however, Baylen’s was ethereal light. “I’m the Maker,” he said. “I told you it wasn’t because I build bodies, but that’s not to say I couldn’t.”

Kitara raised an eyebrow and dropped her hand to her side. “And?”

“Kitara…if I’m right, you inherited your father’s power the same way I inherited mine. The antithesis of mine. And if that’s the case…well, if I’m the Maker, that makes you…the unMaker, I suppose.”

She frowned. “I know it’s destructive…”

He shook his head. “It’s not destruction, it’s unmaking. With a thought, with a glance… you could waste this entire facility. Cadfael could turn fire to ice, upend gravity, physics…hell, some thought he could unmake memories and reverse time. There’s a reason Shyamal sent me to track him down. He would have been impossible to find otherwise. And you’re telling me you’ve been stifling it?”

Kitara stiffened. “If the High Council knew I inherited it…I’d be seen as a threat. They’d execute me without a second thought.”

He barked a laugh. “You are a threat, Kitara. Probably the biggest threat they could ever face. They’ve somehow convinced you they could execute you, when you could neutralize poison or corrode a blade without a thought.”

“Then will you help me? I don’t need finesse. I have some control over it—it was necessary to hide it. But I need to know more to blast Itzal apart.”

He eyed her warily. “He could have you tied up, tortured…”

“Okay, maybe a little finesse then. I don’t want to waste a facility, just a single entity. A Fallen entity. And maybe a chain or two.”

Baylen shook his head, chuckling wryly. “You’re out of your mind.”

The words sent pain lancing through Kitara’s chest, but she still offered him a half-smile. “Heard that before.”

“It’s just mad enough it might work,” he mused. “Once we get to Itzal…what then?”

“I can’t make new realities, Baylen, but you can. Itzal will have a host of demons or Valorn on hand: I’m not stupid enough to think I can take them all out. I just need them to…be inaccessible for a few minutes. That’s why I need you.”

When he didn’t answer, Kitara began to plead. “Baylen, we’re out of options and time. I can feel some of what they’re doing to him. He won’t last much longer. The High Council is out of leads; they don’t even know where to look. Please.”

After a moment, Baylen nodded, his expression severe. “Okay.”

Kitara squeezed her eyes shut, gripping her cousin’s arm with one hand. “Thank you.”

“When do we go?”

“Soon,” Kitara said. “Stay here. I’ll send Robert to you. Explain my plan. Tell him to take you to a remote conference room.”

Baylen tilted his head, curiosity arching his brow. “Where will you be?”

“I’ve got a much harder job.”

Baylen huffed a laugh. “Which is?”

She sighed, rubbing her aching head. “The rest of the High Council has to agree. I have to make them see I’m the only one who can get him out.”